Mental Diarrhea: Insomnia Thoughts
Copyright© 2021 by Kim Cancer
Chapter 1
The apartment had a grotesque, silent, and almost paranormal presence. As if thousands of glaring eyes were hidden in its walls. This was the premonition that found me upon my initial visit...
Moreover, the apartment’s air had a peculiar scent, a certain sterile acidity. Similar to that of a cleaning fluid. And there was an unusual and occasional heaviness to the air, too, a passing pressure, much like the cabin of a descending aircraft.
However, despite my off-putting first impressions, the apartment’s pros outweighed its cons. The place was in a prime location, smackdab downtown, only a short walk to a subway station. In addition, it was sprawling, bright, and on an upper floor of a sleek, glass-plated tower.
But most importantly, it was cheap. Very cheap. The unctuous leasing agent averring that the bargain price was because of “COVIT” (as he pronounced it: koh-veet).
So I pounced on it, without hesitation. Scoring a place this big, in downtown Bangkok, a furnished apartment with floor-length windows and panoramic views of the “Big Mango” was having me feel as if I won the lotto. Then I remembered the alms I gave to that young muscular monk at Wat Benchamabophit, “The Marble Temple”, last year, and I supposed my altruism must be paying its dividends.
(That monk was shredded, too, his body cabled with rippling muscles. He appeared more like a pro kickboxer than a monk. Perhaps he was a Thai kickboxer, partaking in a monastic year, expiating his sins, collecting and distributing karma... )
Note to self: Exercise more and practice more Buddhism.
Upon moving in, the cleaning fluid smells, declivity, and the ethereal presence remained but dissipated. And I’d been fascinated by the sound I’d been hearing. A sound I’d not heard in ages. The sound of silence.
I’d been delighted, enamored with the apartment’s silence. Unlike my last place, on the 3rd floor of a 5 storey building, here, in my new apartment, there were no hawkers outside my window, no-one pushing creaky carts or cajoling or honking squeaky little horns, and the ambient traffic sounds were merely a distant hum.
However, as is typical in Thailand, the silence wouldn’t last long.
Noises came forth. Noises crawling like hermit crabs from their shells; noises grinding like teeth in the night. The noises digging up skeletons. The noises casting spells and moving minutes. Noises buttfucking vampires. Noises birthing phantasms. Phantasms ... falling out like popcorn ... Phantasms ... those chattering dark creatures of thought somewhere between the somnambulist and psychosomatic.
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