Adam Gregory, ‘Tick’, Winter Supplement 2015
2. ADAM GREGORY
There is a substratum tick at the edge of the nerve, embedded in a
spindle of synapse and white heat.
It has been mandated by the British Empire, (1.) and it feeds the
Zombies in Minecraft (I think), waiting for night to wrap itself around
cube-shaped blocks of human endeavour.
It’s Count Orlok at the end of a dark hallway, steps from my door. The
light breaks and he’s there – the length of a KitKat (2.) from my nose.
I am afraid of it telling me I deserve more, that I’ve been cheated. I don’t.
I haven’t been. (3.) So I live like a parade. Oblique to a level of desire,
petaled, (4.) that I keep within my body, a pantomime injustice safe from
the corruption of a dimensional life. Outside of circumstance or story.
From beauty, I recede into myself in layers, to Star Trek, (5.) or a place
where I guard my solitude, (6.) gnarled in the bed of some ancient Oak,
rooted to the register of the 7Eleven munchies line.
I am with all of them. Waiting. High. Angry. Wandering where the
universe swells with star-eating 7Eleven light.
Open the pod bay doors, HAL.
I’m sorry, Dave, I can’t do that. (7.)
Make it so. Please.
ADAM GREGORY is an undergraduate student of Arabic and
English at the University of Toronto.