The Lamp

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SPEAKER_01 0:17

Hey everyone and welcome back to my Curiously Queer Life. So this week I'm going to switch it up. I just want to say I promised guests, and I tried very hard to get them, but uh I like the way this podcast is. I like it so much in this format. So I am going to create something else so the interviews can go there and this can stay whatever this is. I'm still gonna have people on if they want to engage in this format and tell a story from their heart, but the world really wants to promote themselves, and I respect that so much. We all need to do it. I just I don't want that here.

SPEAKER_00 1:09

So that being said, I have written something different. I hope you like it. Here it is.

SPEAKER_01 1:19

And the woman looks up at her, but keeps looking past her, and the man's mouth is moving, but the words arrive late. Cloth is the wrong color, and her hands are too warm. Someone is saying this would suit you from a direction she can't find, and the street is tightening. Everyone tightening. The thoughts already going before she takes three steps. What do they see? What's wrong? What did I carry in? Ask her. Where's lifting on both sides like hands out of water? Color stacking, voice stacking. This what about this? This would suit you. She is not walking the street, she is somewhere behind her eyes, pulling through the chaos. Hold your shoulders, take up less. The flinch of every face turned at her, deeper, the market a blur of offering and recoil, her mind a blur to match.

SPEAKER_00 2:16

And then the table, a lamp, a man behind it all smiling, a smile that said, Trust me. And the spinning slows and eases.

SPEAKER_01 2:31

The voice pulls back to a hum somewhere behind her. The color settles. She comes up out of it, up into her own eyes, into the small quiet room that opens around her. The flame flickering on the table in front of her, and she is present for the first time since the street took her entirely. Lifetime warranty, the man says. The wick is so short, and this still holds long enough this time. Long enough that the words and the wick lie down beside each other in her mind, and she sees it plainly. The way you see a thing when the noise finally stops, they don't match. They can't match. A wick cut too short, does not last a lifetime. It burns down to the brass gutters and goes out. There's no lifetime in that. The word is a lie sitting on top of the proof itself, right there, in clean glass for anyone to see. And she does. In this one lit second, aware enough, she sees the whole of it. The warranty, the wick, the warm smile selling one against the other. She sees it whole. And it's a lie. She goes to open her mouth to say so. The man still smiling. Trust me. And it's such a small, warm word, lifetime. She is so tired. And it's a nice lamp, isn't it? The light's so easy on our eyes, and he's being so kind. They're all being so kind. And the thing she was about to say, there was something. A cold, clear thing, right at the front of her mouth. The music is coming back up, and the colors are lifting again. Someone beside her here says, This would be great for you. And it really, it really might be. And the warmth is crawling up around her shoulders once more. The words on her tongue, the ones that were so clear a moment ago, are loosening. Softening. What was it? She thinks. Doesn't matter. It's nice here. And the poll resumes. Gentle this time. Sweet. And it takes her. She closes her mouth and the market closes on top of her like a wave. And she is walking again down the street among the wares and the warm-turned faces. The lamp well behind her and a feeling about something she can no longer remember. Alright, everyone, that is it for this week. As always, fill your tanks with joy, love, and kindness. And when you feel it spilling over the edges, you share it with everyone around you. My name is Thomas St. James, and this is my Curiously Queer Life.