Coffee

Coffee

"Passionate hatred can give meaning and purpose to an empty life."
--Eric Hoffer

Goddamn the dark. The dark that fills my apartment. My apartment’s so goddamn small, too. I mean, the kitchen, dining room, and living room are all one room. It’s bullshit. Ah, the world is full of problems. Turn on the TV, and watch children die and people hate each other. Whatever happened to “come on people now, smile on your brother” and all those old, forgotten hippie values? It’s quite depressing to think about. To think that, at one point in a century full of genocide and hatred, a small beautiful ray of hope shined into the darkness. But what happened? Where is that light now? The evil, the darkness enveloped the goodness, as usual. The love and peace just turned out to be another fad, another hollow, meaningless trend. We sat back and watched without care as the love and understanding in the late 1960’s gave way to superficiality and cocaine in the 1970’s. I don’t know why all this occurs to me now, staring through thick glass lenses at one of the many boring white walls of the world, stomach full of scotch whiskey and strong black coffee. I turn my gaze to the miniscule kitchen compartment of this place(a "kitchen nook" as the landlady describes it to downplay its pathetic size). The clock on the microwave reads 3:56, in the AM. My stomach turns, and a large belch emits from my mouth, followed by a wheezing cough. A red mist of blood sprays from my mouth. Not a good sign. I think I better have some more coffee. Have to stay up and finish what I’m doing. By the way, what the hell am I doing?
What the fuck is that ringing that I keep hearing? I stumble over to the radio, now blaring out the melodious hit single by the Cyrkle. “I think it’s gonna be alright, yet the worst is over now, the morning sun is shining like a red rubber ball.” I don’t know what kind of rubber ball shines. Those guys were probably on acid or something. In fact, I'd be willing to bet that pretty much everyone was on acid in the 60’s. Call me a pessimist, but perhaps the excessive drug use was single-handedly responsible for the universally accepted love-and-peace fetish of the era. Maybe there was no real feeling behind any of it. Maybe the peace and free love was all just an effect of a drug.
I run to the bathroom, located down the hall from my kitchen/dining room/living room, fling up the toilet seat, and vomit a dark mixture of coffee, scotch, and blood into the bowl. I need more coffee. Have to stay awake and finish what I’m doing. What the FUCK is that ringing? It’s really getting to me. I don’t know where it’s coming from. I should probably find it before I go crazy. But first I need some more coffee.
Stomach growling ominously, I stumble my way into the kitchen, grab the pot of opaque black energy, and pour myself a glass. It barely fills it halfway. Hey, I guess I’m an optimist if I say it’s half full, right? I emit a half-hearted chuckle as I fill the rest of the cup with non-dairy creamer (can’t have the real stuff, too many nutrients), then down the cup in a matter of seconds. Almost immediately I feel the caffeine rush. Oh, well. Time to make a new pot. Coughing another cloud of red mist, I load some coffee beans into my small beige coffee grinder and press the white button. The loud grinding dulls the god-awful ringing for a sweet moment. After the beans are ground finely enough, I load them into the Mr. Coffee and pour water into it. It’s taking too goddamn long, so I take a handful of coffee beans and empty them into my mouth. The bitter taste at once assails my taste buds, but I love it all the same. For a moment, bliss…
THE RINGING! GODDAMN! Why won’t it stop? It sounds like it might be coming from my television, although it’s off. THAT’S IT! Still riding my caffeine rush, I run over to it and kick it off the wooden television stand that I placed it on. The glass screen shatters as it collides with the wall. My cheap-ass landlady couldn’t even paint the wall some interesting color. It’s white. Just plain old white. Not even eggshell white, just plain old boring white. The radio is now screaming out another tune from the good old 60’s. Flutes sound as Canned Heat plays their one hit Woodstock tune. The ringing still doesn’t stop. The light fixture! That’s where it’s coming from! My hands are shaking furiously as I grab a poorly-upholstered ottoman (a supplement to an armchair of equally-poor quality) from the living room section of my kitchen-dining-living piece of shit apartment room. Blood trickles from the corners of my mouth as the lyrics explode from the radio. “I’m goin’ where the water tastes like wine.” I hurl the small piece of carelessly-crafted furniture at the tacky, dusty, imitation Victorian light fixture. Still, the ringing persists. “We can jump in the water, stay drunk all the time.” More hippy flute. The ottoman collides with the light fixture with a cacophonic explosion. Complete and total darkness envelops my living room-kitchen-dining room. “No use for you running, or screaming and crying, ‘cause you’ve got a home as long as I’ve got mine.” Footsteps from the apartment above me. The ringing still penetrating my skull. A voice from the apartment above. Mrs. Bates asking if I’m alright. I ignore her. The radio DJ comes on with his sleazy used car salesman persona. “Another tune from the psychedelic 60’s. Canned Heat with Goin’ up the Country. You know, that song always reminds me of that documentary about Woodstock ‘69-” I run blindly through the complete darkness to my bedroom, my tiny cramped shithole bedroom of my tiny cramped shithole apartment of my tiny cramped shithole apartment complex. Fuck the world. Fuck everyone. The human race is nothing but a putrid assortment of empty morals, of lies and pretension, of selfishness and unfathomable treachery. They're all PIGS! Once again, I feel my stomach turn, and I vomit into the blackness. I can hear it splatter onto the cream-colored carpet below. The black finally wins it’s battle with my consciousness, and closes in on my eyes. I fall to the ground as the darkness overwhelms me.