“Stay seated folks, we’re climbing up the tarantulous altitude spider here”

That can’t be what the pilot said.

I have to pretend that I’m sitting inside of a toy simulation or the Star Tours ride at Disneyland for my head not to pull into a forced perspective dolly zoom or a warped bout of existential confusion. How I can peek across the teenagers zoned into their Nintendo DS’s’s’s’s and peer along the Portland City Skyline and think about the streets I walk and the people with whom I talk and past moments that I’ve locked, and go on to watch a movie or listen to a garbled song over the blasting jets and try to exercise my prided denial of reality is beyond me.

I wouldn’t make it in the space academy.

 

These tiny pretzels make me feel like a giant. A comforting thought since I’m just a tiny blip traveling in a slightly less tiny carrier blip, swimming a small distance along the little bitty planet blip, rotating around a kind-of-significantly-larger-very-bright blip, hanging around in a greater universal blip, that will eventually expand and expand and expand into a nothingness blip that leads into the finding that I’m really just a projection of another person’s reality, and I’ve been living as a simulation all this time.

There’s just never enough of these lil’ pretzlz in these bags.


I focus on the friends who I’m reuniting with back home.


Matt- I smile at getting to see his goofy smile.

Sam- Gonna get a big ol’ bear hug

           That was a fun bump. Glad this sky coaster is still on the rails.


I focus on the friends that I’m reuniting with back home.


Mollie- Happy tears, Happy tears, Happy tears

John- Childhood heart hug

Andrew- General Tso’s & fried rice regret

HOLLY BERNS HOLLY BERNS HOLLY BERNS HOLLY BERNS


I look out the window and it’s black nothingness.

I think back to the episodes of Louis I watched this morning.


“Here’s your orange cheese”

Ooh that sounds good.

Oh.

Orange Juice. Yeah okay I guess that makes more sense.

 

More sense and more of a bummer. Although I don’t know what orange cheese would be, and outside of instinct, it sounds pretty horrible. All I picture now is some nasty squeeze cheeze oozing on some buttery ass club crackers. Used to love that shit. That’s why I had high triglycerides as a kid, man.

Ew I can taste the way that felt in my mouth.

And I miss it.

It’s crazy how much we miss things that were terrible for us. Past relationships, alcohol abused endeavors, squeeze cheeze.

 

Nostalgia is a hellofa drug, and its only a quick skip and a scoot along the mind web that crosses boundars of happiness, longing, and often denial of circumstance. It is easy and wonderful to tap into and share. To settle in and watch the re-run of your forlorn excursions and wonton desires. To apply your current, more enlightened perspectives to your then muddled and disoriented compass. To gaze into the entrancing eyes of past lovers without the sidecar frustrations they dragged along.

Oh cool, the blip is spinning now.

It’s just the NASA simulation from the science museum, Holly.

No it’s not, ya dingus.

I plug my ears with headphones and try to listen to Deltron 3030. I pump up the volume higher to blast over the blasters suspending this little blip in the whatever high altitude its pushing along in.

I can barely hear the MC.

I turn it up more.

Now everything is just loud.

How many decibels does an airplane put off?

How many decibels am I adding to it with this music?

How many decibels does it take for hearingloss to begin?

I used to have a decibel reader on my phone. I deleted it for the extra space Bumble needed that I now need extra space from.

 

I take the buds out of my ears.

 

Now I’m wondering about increased radiation exposure from airplane rides.

I’ve had a lot of X-rays and exams lately.

How much is too much radiation?

Things turned out okay for Spiderman.

Ugh I’m going to get cancer at some point if I don’t already die by 28.

 

I shouldn’t joke about that.

            Oh thank god my ear popped.

            Oh good the seatbelt sign is back

There’s some David Foster Wallace and a new book on hallucinations that sit in the bag under my feet.

Reading either would require me to maneuver the light above and risk bothering the cute couple watching Inception next to me. They wouldn’t really care. I’m just an insecure animal.

I figured out the sound balance was favoring my right earbud.

Fixed it.

Meatloaf is much more audible now.

Published by Holly Smith

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