First there is darkness and quiet. Unassumed, unsuspecting blackness. There is a muffled noise. A unwinding of a cable rubbing against fabric, circular and rhythmic in its audible motion. Then it stops. There is energy, muted. A flick of a button and I have come to life, full electric adrenaline now. Roaring and screaming and moving all across the kitchen floor, the bathroom rug, the dining room carpet. With my teeth I pickup dust and forgotten refuse. It is my breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I wail at a single pitch, pulled back and forth, and repositioned. Thunderous diaphragm, booming still, until the cable gets pulled from the wall, until the button clicks off, or the power goes out - But who vacuums during a thunderstorm? Circuit-breaker, earth-shaker, vrooming through the noise, scaring the dog. Vibrations reverberate off the floor, getting down to the nitty gritty of the wooden foundation of the house, the apartment. Letting neighbors know there is cleaning going on here. Or there has been an accident. Or I think my house is being tapped and I need to have a conversation with you. But honestly these days, with all the technology out there and the way to filter out hums in post, you might as well just talk in the open air. Singular lightbulbs switch back on this haunted house. The handle of the vacuum cleaner lightly shaking in my hand as I continue to hold it. Sometimes the pitch goes higher with the movement compared to when it stands still, like a building in a model of the city. Tipping back, it cranes its neck and bends its pitch. Back and forth, back and forth. Lift. Back and forth. There is clean carpet now. I hold my breath when I empty that bag, filled with dust and dirt and hair, all amalgamated and together like it's some perverse cotton candy stuffing, all grey and smelling like old socks. Let it be released into the wasteland void, never to be seen or heard from again. Let be thrown in the trash, taken away to the dump, where the dust of our home will incinerate and pollute the skys. Howl to the smoke; Big plumes of cough-inducing pollution, let it ravish our lungs and flood our bodies with cancer so we can no longer breathe or stand or think or cry or want to. We're just one sinking gravity ball weight of depression, hoping to fall out of trees or windows, or fall asleep at the wheel. This planet is the victim of several million micro-aggressions such as these. But this is the way to live in the world -

Author: Roe

30. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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