One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
{ New Literary Magazine presents unpublished literary remixes. We are happy to present our first author Nigel Tomm and his ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest Remix’ }
Can I touch you? Yes? No. She touches me. Sometimes. Somewhere. I was searching for you. You know, don’t you? I ask. Too many questions. Sometimes. She can’t answer. I can’t. She says. In the middle of the conversation. I’m reading. Searching. For her lips. In words. Words are repeating. Words. And she says. Maybe. Maybe yes. Maybe. But no. I say. You say. No! Too many times. One time is going backwards. I scream. You are screaming. Now. Everything is over. And it is. For one moment. You find. Your moment. Moments stop. In two beginnings. I ask you. About silence. Some part of silence stops. It stops by you. You say. Chief says five words. McMurphy says. It’s over. But it isn’t. I believe. Sometimes it doesn’t matter. You repeat. My words. They are disappearing. Slowly. Very slowly. I take my hands. In your mouth. It looks inviting. It can’t be. You say. Stop it, Billy! He’s crying. Why? I ask. His face. It’s cold. Cold words are repeating silence. Between lost sounds. We are passing. Into gaps. Where? Asks McMurphy. He asks me. My face is full of water. I can feel it. But can’t escape. It. And it escapes. With stolen feelings. I’m feeling emptiness. Now. Chief shows us a painting. It’s a portrait. He says. It’s me. And everybody’s looking. Laughing. Sometimes. It’s hard. To be alone and don’t feel loneliness. Inside happy mirrors. They tell you stories. You tell them truth. Who is it? Asks McMurphy. It’s me. I answer. One too many times. He answers. To my nonexistent question. And disappears. Just disappears. In the broken sound. Of broken language. I’m repeating. His moves. His motives. Or strongly motivated madness. Before he says goodbye. I cannot cross. My thoughts. With jaded language. In tomorrow’s forms. You have a shape. But it’s already broken. Got it? Chief slowly picks one word. He says. Yes. I’m happy. For him. No. I’m not so happy for myself. Is it a problem? I don’t think so. Says… Who said that? Who? I’m asking questions. But there are no answers. For today. Games are over. But they aren’t. They just can’t reach. One end. In the beginning. We are very simple. In the end. I was looking for you. I say it. While you smile.
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