The words "household waste" on the bin across the room talk to me about my faraway hometown, my bare back agains this blue chair slaps me back to homerton hospital.
The chubby face of the guy that ran me and my bike over comes to mind.. like Rocky, I want to run in the park till I'm so fit I can slap him away next time we meet.. I still want to meet him again, I still want to be Rocky.
The angel of relative things sets on my left shoulder, whispers in my ear about his favourite subject: relativity. He tells me how on the night I had my cycling accident episode, just up the road, a guy exactly my age died when one of two cars racing hit him. Next day the police caught the driver but the spaniard was dead. The police would never catch the guy that knocked me off because I lived, didn't make a headline, didn't have an ambulance and paid for my cab home.
I know he's right but I still wan to be Rocky.. And I want to do it for the other guy too, the dead one, but mainly for myself. Now, I don't really know if this guy was Spanish, because apart from his age the victim was never identified, I just always felt he was, go figure.
My cock twitches to the right after the first blast of sound. I must say I didn't remember this being so noisy. I had an MRI before when I first bust my knee playing football in college, top scorer I was back then, haven't played since.
After the little waiting room where I reminisced about my home town, semi naked wearing nothing but my new leather converse and a gown, I was rested in a bed. nice plastic covers hide all of the heavy machinery, something serious is going to happen inside, and as I'm about to be remembered, something very loud. The look of the chamber reassures me time travel is just around the corner, we definitely have the shape, we just miss the technology.
The operational tells me the drill before sending me inside the big time washing machine, I mention that joke from one of my favourite stand up proffets, the one about the Xray technician that tells people everything is going to be fine before sitting behind a radiation/blast proof concrete wall while someone is naked facing radiation, but he misses the point, routine does that I guess.
I slip inside not wearing my shiny converse anymore , only the gown. Last minute I have two presents: a furry headphone set with a sturdy cable attached to it, more or less the style of things spaceship crews would wear in 50's films, flying through space with incredible technology and still waiting for those wireless headphones. I hoped they were blasting sea sounds and children laughing but nothing. Another corded device is placed on my right hand, a switch that makes everything stop, if I had a question mid way the exam or if I felt my body dematerialising "please push button immediately". This guy actually thought that if I felt my atoms move and relocate into another dimension I would ask them to stop.
My cock twitches again, like a little worm on the first light, somehow that thought felt preferable to the idea of magnetic waves hitting my genitalia to the point it moved.
I look up and my name is above me, the machine needs to be reminded that I am inside and she also knows my weight. I've been introduced in many ways but "this is Rui, he's 73kg", felt new and pleasantly flattering.
The noise is alien and the nice futuristic plastic covers are looking less and less reassuring. A lot is going on inside all that whiteness and for a moment my mind sees these moving parts, working and moving at incredible speed colliding with each other spraying caos and noise on a council scale.
I see a section of the plastic bulge on impact,my body is trapped inside the heaven like tunnel only my head peers out, my analyst has gone rogue I think, just like a Woddy Allen film I think, plus the noise and the violence. A huge hole appears 2 feet away from my head, I'm not sure how long 2 feet actually is but it feels more accurate than "less than a meter away", I can't see what came out of it but even through the furry headphones I can hear it crash into something structural behind me, shortly followed by someone shouting "Matt Matt! Oh my god Matt". Another whole and the shouting ceases. The tunnel light is still on and the vibration has passed fetish levels, the noise has become wild and the metal inside, always the metal hidden under nice plastic, is loose and blasting. How thick is the cotton thread count on my hospital gown, comes to mind, and, if only I had my new shinny converse. This idea has haunted me before, being caught barefoot in a cataclysmic event - I can have a go at surviving without underwear, but shoes... Now there are wholes on the concrete sceilling, I still can't see what is coming out of the machine in a spiral demolition, just the wholes it makes and the way it sounds like when it hits something, like when it hit Matt.
The shouting and screaming are now distant but definitely more and more varied, this shit is real. I remain inside the machine, my converse somewhere close to my crutches next door except, there is nothing but dust and debris that way. They are leather converse I think to myself "maybe they made it" - a flash of this Getty images dreamlike image of carbonised upside down cows in a field reminds me leather does burn.
This is a hospital, what better place for something to go wrong. All the moving parts of this MRI unit are going somewhere else, forever free they are spreading the usual caos fast heavy moving machinery makes when it fucks up.
My survival instinct wiggles my toes, then my feet, and I would like to say, my cock, except somewhere in my brain the autonomous decision of ignoring it was taken and I wasn't consulted. That one would have been of very little use at the time so was left out I thought, luckily sometimes your brain is like a franchise of your soul that just says "fuck it, I have control". Good. My weight is still showing on the screen, I'm still inside the machine, what's left of it, and it's only a question of time before everything collapses on me. I must leave.
Shortly after my accident (the cycling accident that got me to this hospital I mean, I've been told I'm accident prone so i need to specify) I remember thinking how impractical it would be if apocalypse happened before I fixed my leg, I followed anxiously all international crisis and reahsed looking at Central London from my window, past the building across the street, seeing the typical mushroom cloud from a portable nuclear device someone had detonated on the tube and thinking "fucking shit hit the big fan and you're a dumb ass on crutches". "Positive thoughts" mum always said.
The dust tastes like liking something you'd find on a top shelf - anytime you feel inclined to lick a forgotten top shelf like most people - the noise is becoming defending and, if my cinematic education doesn't fail me, coming to a drastic end. By now the disorder around me has reached urban replanning proportions and I can see stars from the massive wholes above me. An arm still holding another smaller arm drops on my forehead from one of the floors above. I move.
Some of my sexual fantasies come to mind for some weird reason.. Anal sex was never a predicament or sometnigh of an enciting nature but, now, it sounds amazing. I would trade my best/worst anal sex fantasies for this now. Mind you my worst sexual fantasies about anal sex revolve around a girl asking me to explore her anal self, it just kills the jam, my jam at least. I have this Catholic upbringing where the girl has to have vaginal climax and ask you, politely in whatever sexual lingo she might speak, to come, while she's at it with all her energy and facial mimic. my grandmothe never tough me about anal sex, she did on the other hand, tell me all about cleaning you sin sheet and protecting yourself with a little in bed prayer. Since the age of 12 I thought making myself come thinking of another human of my choice of desire, was a far better way to fall into the lord's graceful sleep. I've been doing it ever since. My left arm is far bigger than my right arm.
