IT

IT came to earth about 275,000 years ago.

Whether IT came with the aid of technology, under IT's own power, or simply thumbed a ride on a passing meteor, I do not know.

Whether IT came by accident or design, I do not know. If by design, whose, I do not know. Whether IT was driven out or came of IT's own volition, I have my ideas.

The only fact that matters is IT's here, and it would appear that IT means to make it a long stay.

Of course, this is assuming that IT is intelligent and does not merely react from instinct.

I did not know IT existed for a long time. But that state of innocence has passed. I have fought IT.

My intellect tells me to not be violent. So I pretend I'm not and hoard all my violence and store it in a container. The container is in a state of constant violence. I hope it doesn't stop for a while. The container is my heart. I served IT an eviction notice but IT just laughed and said, “So sue me.”

Once IT got into my inner ear and I thought I was losing my hearing. So I put on my favorite record at very loud volume. IT moved out of my ear in a hurry. Everyone's a critic.

IT then moved on to my liver. Unfortunately IT moved in on a weekend. IT was not sober enough to move out until late Sunday afternoon.

IT is now living in my testicles. Much to my regret, IT is safe there. IT considers this to be the ideal resort for peace and quiet.

I first began to suspect something when I met Lori. IT communicates through my eyes. IT's thoughts hold so much fear that most people shun eye contact. But my eyes met hers and IT's plans were laid. But IT is a master of subtlety. Subtlety is what allows IT to remain undetected. IT makes you think that all your thoughts and actions are your own. But IT is not God. IT cannot create. IT can only manipulate. IT can twist your thoughts or bring to the surface deeply buried treasure chests, or should I say 'Pandora's boxes'? No, this is too allegorical. Allegory is the mark of an amateur trying to look professional. IT finds allegory entertaining, so sometimes when I'm not paying attention, IT may slip in an allegorical remark which I attribute to my own wit.

We went places, Lori and I, getting high together, spending days together, and eventually a night. IT told me I was in love. I believed IT. I wanted to believe IT. Actually, I was putting on a show for IT. I was in a circus, tightrope walking on the slender line that separates love and hate.

I told myself that I fell in love on my own. I did wonder though, if all this was merely a convenience.

What IT was doing to Lori I can't imagine. IT made me afraid to talk to her. IT's cruelty is focused. Like a dental drill.

IT would make me say all the wrong things and all the things I wanted to say stuck in my throat.

I was being bled dry . . .

I am bleeding now . . .

IT caused me to think bad things about me, about life, and about Lori. I do not want to think these things. But IT is stronger than I am. I resist IT long enough to write a love poem. IT laughs at romance. I see IT's point. But I have a warped sense of humor.

IT cannot corrupt my creativity. But IT is trying. IT hinders me, IT molds my experiences, IT shapes my thoughts, IT makes me forget good phrases I think of before I can get them down on paper. IT is afraid of my imagination.

This is how I fought IT . . .

IT had just pulled a cheap trick, leaving me lying on my bed alone, stoned and in despair. I went to sleep with IT praying on my mind. I thought how nice it would be to never wake up. I awoke with a start and (as the saying goes) saw just out of the corner of my eye, IT diving back down to IT's hidden lair. But too late. IT had been seen. I could now openly oppose IT. I could call IT's bluff.

I jumped out of bed, grabbed a blue ballpoint pen and a notebook, and started to write.

And you know what? I fight IT still.