Leveling Down (PREVIEW)

by Josué Dávila

LEVELING DOWN IS A LIVING DOCUMENT ABOUT
LIFE AND DEATH, LIGHT AND DARKNESS, LOVE AND DAMAGE.

Ignore the real.

Learn to love the unreal.

Reality is unreal.

CLOUDS

When looking at clouds, remember two people can agree they both see Dumbo,

but not necessarily in the same pose

Sometimes they are pointing at different clouds

Sometimes he’s flying

Or laying down

But his ears are always unmistakable

Sometimes we act like we see the same exact thing, just to get closer to one another

Same with stars. The patterns to get to the same shape are almost never identical

But it’s nice when two beings see the same exact pattern

When we can map out the exact constellation we want them to look at

When two souls understand they are having the same train of thought

When they are completely in sync

For a moment… 

They become one.

Lucía Díaz

[Redacted]

I lost myself in a way that I will never forget. Trust in my friend shattered, because she knew the amount of stuff she put in front of me was no joke.  There is no way she didn’t know I was going to completely lose myself from what she put in front of me. 

But something else shattered as well. The experience made me realize that I create the world around me more subjectively than I previously thought. That my mind is more powerful than I ever imagined, and that I don’t need to be sleeping for it to take me to some other place away from earth.

 It made me realize that the diagnosis my father had, was a battle with this fact. The things he always said he heard and saw– I finally somewhat understood. After my paranoia faded away and Claudia was snoring, I queued up “The Finch Declaration” comedy stand-up on her TV.

“…everything’s funny, ‘til it happens to you.” – Pavel Padleech

MORNING AFTER

LD

 I’m unsure if I got a second of sleep last night. Don’t remember my eyes ever shutting down. A sliver of light slips through the curtains and alerts me that daybreak began at some point. The constant sneezing from not vacuuming my room did not help with getting any rest. My room turned into a mess over the course of the year. I want to get a clean start, but unsure how. It takes me the entire morning to gather up the will to get up.

The turtle lamp above my bed has it’s shell glowing a nice shade of orange. A few tissues are in Claudia’s pajamas I’m still wearing. I quickly wipe my nose and notice my tiny trash can is filled. I forgot I broke my glasses the night before.  None of my clothes are folded, just thrown into a dirty pile and clean pile.  My red and yellow Nirvana t-shirt is on top of the dirty pile…but I’m positive I hadn’t worn it. After a couple sniffs of the shirt, I slip it on with some jeans and walk out of my room.

The lights in Dad’s room are off. Not entirely sure if Alma is in there with him or not because I didn’t see her car in the driveway. The comfort that I see in my Dad with Alma is something I long for. It’s just been hard while I am trying to figure out what the hell my next path is. The haze continues, and though I am not seeing things I shouldn’t anymore, something still feels off.

I go for a bike ride around Julian Park before work. Called out of work and told them I had a bit of a rough night and that I’d come in around noon. It’s a nice Chinese cultural garden with a few small man-made lakes and fountains. There’s a small temple that no one’s allowed into on the opposite corner of the entrance. I walk over to the broken wooden bench with graffiti all over it, right outside of the temple. My hand scribbles as many thoughts into my black notebook as I could fit. Attempting to make sense of why I’m still unsatisfied with how my life is going, even though nothing is truly wrong.

I’ve been living from paycheck to paycheck, mooching off my dad. Something has to change. Some sort of forward movement, not stagnancy. After a year of therapy to treat my anxieties and some meditation practice, I could finally make my mind become still— but only for small moments. Dr. Yin just prescribed me some new drug to put me to sleep. I mentioned to him I couldn’t remember the last time I had dreamt at all.

One of the first dreams I remember was me sitting on a bright orange bench with the number 35 written in the middle with blue paint. The bench faced an enormous crystal clear lake…might have been an ocean. I held hands with someone I knew was important to me. I couldn’t make out exactly who it was, I didn’t want to face them and ruin everything. It was a bit overcast, sprinkling, a little cold. My head rested on their shoulder, tapping my fingers on the back of their hand as I held it. A pattern 1324354152. Their words echoed…

“This feels nice, doesn’t it Lucia?”

There was some innocuous conversation in the middle; some giggling; some silence. Forgot how I got to the bench in the first place and didn’t care. Just happy I was there.

I tried to hold on to the moment for as long as I could, but I couldn’t hold back the tears. An air of melancholy surrounded me. The sounds of birds stopped, and the ripples in the water almost froze as I did my best to slow down time.

Their next words lingered.

“What’s wrong?”

I held on for as long as I could, tapping the back of their knuckles in the same pattern. I could not take it anymore, the words were pried out of me, I whimpered—

 “I know this isn’t real. Who are you?”

The hand fades away along with the warmth it gave me. The lake transforms into an abyss along with the ground at the edge. The bench floats in an ether and my feet dangle—failing to find the earth below.

It’s just me.

Everything blends.

Edited 1/16/2024

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