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[5 | Pray for Death] Download or Read PDF

{“Nothing goes better together than death and physics.” “What world are you living in? Are you here with us, or have you created your own reality?” “The end is near, my dear, but not close enough to hear.” “Wait, and you shall see that nothing is more than you and me.”}

August 24th, 2016

(Gun – the gun. I need the gun. I need it. I need to buy a gun. I’ll put the gun next to my head, pull the trigger, and then I’ll be dead. ‘What?’ The gun, I said. I must buy the gun—not for fun, but to have the gun, my son. I’ll put the gun against my head, pull the trigger, and I’ll be dead. For fun is not the gun—it just must be done; the gun is to make me done—done. I’ll put the gun against my head, pull the trigger, and soon I’ll be dead. ‘He puts the gun against his head, pulls the trigger, and then he’s dead.’)

J.F. goes on in a tireless sleep. His brain repeats itself like a broken record, (The gun – The gun, I need the gun. If I put it next to my head, pull the trigger, I’ll be dead, he said.)

The poor man lays in bed, unaware of whether he is asleep or has been tossing and turning for hours. He is twisted up in the sheets, surrounded by darkness, wondering where he is. His body excretes droplets of sweat from head to toe, soaking the mattress beneath his naked body. His brain rants in uncontrollable loops, (The gun I said – the gun, wouldn’t it be fun to have the gun for if I had the gun soon, I’d be done. I’ll put the gun against my head, pull the trigger, and I’ll be dead. The end is near, my dear. I am so eager to hear, but first - we need - to get - the gun.)

Between mental ravings about suicide, a single lyric by Ray Conniff and The Singers - Tie A Yellow Ribbon Round The Old Oak Tree plays in his head. The lyrics drive him mad. The terrifying sound of the singer's voices makes him feel like he is in some sort of an interdimensional hell where the only available punishment is listening to sweater-wearing racists from the 70s belt out gay music. 

“Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree

Round the Ole Oak Tree

the Ole Oak Tree

the Ole Oak Tree

the Ole Oak Tree

Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree

Round the Ole Oak Tree

the Ole Oak Tree

the Ole Oak Tree

the Ole Oak Tree

Oak Tree

Oak Tree-Oak Tree-Oak Tree-Oak Tree-Oak Tree”

The song will only stop when he switches back to obsessing about suicidal fantasies.

The repeating lyric doesn’t seem to have a beginning or end for him; it just goes on in endless successions. His inability to recall the start and the end of the song drives him mad, so he switches back to his gun obsession. Focusing on the gun allows him to put a stop to the repeating lyric. 

J.F. rolls over, feeling air brush against his sweat-soaked back; it cools him for a moment. He then uses all his strength to slide himself over to the dry half of the bed. Once positioned, he pulls the blankets back, lifting them off the wet areas hoping that the area will dry by the time his body soaks the other side of the mattress. 

The delusional state continues as he lays on a queen-size foam mattress tucked in the corner of the small bedroom in his unfurnished apartment. The repeating song lyric feels like someone stuck an icepick in his brain, and he cannot get it out. The only thing that stops it is the obsession about getting a handgun and blowing his brains out. 

He sleeps naked with a single white sheet covering his genitals. He cannot stay still and flips side-to-side, feeling bits of sweat build up, on his back. He fantasizes that he is not alone and grabs a pillow squeezing it tightly, pretending it is a woman that loves him unconditionally. For a brief moment, he has feelings of bliss as he fabricates the perfect female. This lasts only a fraction of a second