mad eye dirty

it happened when i was rushing past the tides of people to catch the redline at eight one nine.
my right eye escaped and fell flat on the tiled floor.

the world became an edward munch artwork until i was able to locate my rebellious right eye.

thinking is a luxury that i can’t afford at that point so i placed the eye back to its socket as soon as i can.

and that, ladies and gentlemen, is when it all started.

the flashes, i mean.
the visions. the stories, the nitty, gritty, grimy, dirty details.

yeah, i saw them the moment i put my tainted right eye back to its cradle in my skull.

saw the fingerprints of the homeless guy from a quarter that lost its way down a crevice at the subway.
apparently, the guy was an aspiring actor from the east coast who have lost the fire inside his heart a long time ago.

there are thousands of footprints and shoeprints of people screaming, laughing and crying but there’s one shoeprint that shines among them all. it’s the shoeprint of someone who is in love. it’s different. it's warm. it's beautiful.

there are hairstrands. there’s a myriad of them that you can match using a pantone book.
it’s kind of creepy. you know, hairstrands coming from various parts of various people’s bodies. these are very intimate visuals. ugh.

there’s the solidified liquids.
droplets of spit that learned to hug the tiniest crevices of the subway, sweat that seemingly acquired spiderman’s wall crawling ability, the multinational territorial pee droplets that barricaded darker places with their pungent smell, and of course the resin-like dried tears of people. those dried tears tells a lot of story that can give gabriel garcia marquez a run for his money.

there are pieces of dead skin from the burnt body of a 40 year old asian escort who earns a lot of money online. he tried to commit suicide a couple of times when his wife discovered his secret but he always fail.

there’s the group of tiny rejected yellow paint pieces from a lady who scratched a newly painted yellow corvette with her nails. she’s a fan of anne hathaway and batman.

there’s also part of the fossilized poop of the dog of a gay porn set designer who tried to rape one of his clients during one of their shoots.

i also saw veins. veins of some beautiful white rose petals left astray. for some reason i think they actually glow in the dark.

yeah, i saw them all- the grains, the fragments and the figments of the stories and histories of a lot of things haunting and residing down the tiled floor of the subway.

oh well.
i missed my ride and boarded the eight two nine instead

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