It’s Boring to Breathe – Kurt McClellan
June 1, 2026
Gasp and gasp and flail. Swallow air and breathe water. Above and below. In and out. A pressure. A suffocating pressure. A deafening pressure. A piercing pressure, a needle through the ear canal pressed by a vice. The pressure stutters. Skips a beat. Yips. It….. forgets and transforms. A physical force becomes an auditory hallucination. It might be alive. It lingers with intent. Purpose. A goal to achieve. It bides. It opens the show with stunning scenery.
Seeking
Why am I here and why am I alone? Tropical. So pure it must be fake. The gods may set the universe in motion, but creation is its own entity. Without will nor want. Just. Natural. Beauty. I I see as if through eyes, but have no body. There is a power I can wield, but I cannot…..grasp. Cannot understand. Teasing. A real pot of gold. Touched but not felt. I can make the songs of birds a symphony. The wind and waves an accompaniment to the pearly gates. But the wind blows the birds offshore and the notes become sour. The song becomes human. The gates barbed. Off key. Sharp. Deaf-tone. Flat. Screech and whine. Tension and grinding and grinding. Grunt and twist and seize. Er. Squeeze, gulp, struggle. And more and more and more and more. Loathing and self and anger and weakness and……
A low rumbling. Guttural, mucus enhanced vibration. In the depths it shakes, ripples, and spreads. Acidic and foundational. An avalanche to a still pond. A winters howl encompassing a landscape of paradise. Sand, palm, water and green; no longer serene. Growls and tongues that make colors bleed. Sounds that put faces in trees, make unseen demons, seen, eyeing me.
As I put an image to the sound that threatens me, it becomes real. Imagination becomes existence. There is a darkening in the brush. It moves with stealth, barely disturbing. Smoke like, ever increasing with substance and validity. It follows relentlessly. I cannot run, but move from place to place without the passage of time. I am everywhere at once but can only see with evil sight, the darkening, the warble, the prison walls of infinity. Forever is distance. Sheets of steel thunder. Present. If I become far away, a mist expands, if I shrink, a shadow still casts. An equal and opposite, lurking, prowling, imminent. The fog solidifies. Smoke taking shape. Forming into a pool. A shimmering silver silhouette-matters not-value and rot. It does not get closer, it envelops. Gray to blackness. I see as if it approaches in front but know it is conquering all. Surround. I make. Runaway. Sheering screams and panic are the last flakes on the peak, paint the valley white.
I give it yellow eyes, low to the ground, stalking, stalking, stalking. Short sharp ears that hear the thumping of the heart I do not possess. Fangs already dripping with the blood of sustenance it does not need and it is coming. It does not come to kill, but to eliminate the eternal awareness of existence. Paradise is burning. Out of the brush, the barrier broken, the end celebrates. All is smoke, blackness, yellow and fang, and scream. Long and low to glass shattering. Puncturing the very picture, all becomes cannon fire. Grapeshot echoes. Assigned shrapnel-find artery-dine on me. Encroach. Hot. Steam, exhale and spit. Liquid audible poison. Volume and pressure overwhelming. Oblivion cascade…. Choking, gasping, pleading with the sandman’s henchmen…..halt. Abrupt. Retreat. Flow. Peace? Friction free we glide to…….elsewhere…..
My body has formed. Almost perfect. 6 feet. And 6 inches…… better make that an even 7. Vein. Vain. A sultry aura nearby manifests heat. The air is thick and humid. Wet. Swim. I’ve seen the naked woman next to me in my head my entire life. Salt. More than beauty she is essence. Presence of love, lust. Lucid. A magic I can taste. Naught is required. Paralyze here and now. This moment everlasting. The high before the high. Temptress take what temptress will. Save me from a pinch.
A siren. Is it coming or going? Does it race to capture? Does my only chance at salvation depart? Does it have nothing to do with me? Electric adrenaline. Blaring around the corner. Rise and fall. Pursue or flee. Jarred. Alarms foreshadow. Deflate. Leech. Crescendo. The moist whimper of flaccidity. Inhale noise, spasm and spasm, strangled fake orgasm, exhale to try again.
The woman looks at me but I cannot see her face. Her eyes have shape and color and phrasing. But they are skewed by yes. Man’s inability to say no. She is a child’s dream and a man’s obsession. Endless possibilities of face, race, and chase blur the perimeter. The hourglass is pristine. Stirred. I know what to do, I know how to be pleased but I go deaf, again, the siren stops. Panic. Chaos immediate. Caseloads of scenarios.
She is here. For me. For us. A dead end in life’s maze and the pen is dry. Parted lips, mouth closed. Beads of sweat, droplets of life on the mountains. Hair in harmony with disarray and desire. Eyes half closed she craves. Pulses. Slides. Expects. Her smile is rebellion and secrets. A mystery. Ruined if solved. I cannot fucking breathe and I cannot fucking hear. Rage. All of me yearns. Without necessities I die. Accept. Without want I suffer. Deny. Pressure is mounting. She is mounting. She rises. She is wisdom and expression. I want her breath. I am jealous and lustful. Irrational. Her chest heaves in and out, in and out. Large beautiful breath and breast. Soft. A gentle and dangerous kiss. Provocative play penetrating. Intoxicating me I grow. I can have all if I can just fucking breathe. Taut. Rigid. I try and shift focus. A caress and nip with a finger tip. Exploration in the affirmative. I try to hear the ocean in her thighs-breath replaced-the sea I taste. The waves crash and find the beach. Blessed by the moon-swoon-spoon. Came and come and coming and coming and……
A siren reverberating blows breath and clarity into a one way world. The eyes on an eagle, focused and carnivorous. Diamonds. Delivery. A single thrust will fill the voids of the universe with the ecstasy of Eden. I am rock and she is the water that cuts a canyon. Our bodies ready to become one, a teasing touch, a bee to the flower. Release is coming, relief, the power and petal, break the dam, her susurrations the precipice, and fading, and no, no, and gray, and siren, tepid, approaching, approaching, blue, decrescendo, leaving, leaving, shrink and wither, and all is black again. All is black again.
There is a push broom mustache in my peripherals. I cannot feel it, nor feel the rims of the spectacles on our face. Like I have hitched a ride in another’s body, free of stake and fare.
We are seated, waiting, anticipating.
Surrounded by wood and curtain. Pulleys and ropes. A hard chair on a hard floor. Backstage. Microphones are near. A low murmur hangs, drawls. Like a Sunday explanation on a topic no one gives a shit about. Slow and constant. Background. Artificial noise from artificial amplification.
Papers are in our hands but I know we do not need them. They would crumple like dried leaves if not for sweat in our palms. Nerveless. Anticipation of ascension. Rustle. We have memorized the revolution of mankind. Our revelations will demand compliance to a greater vision. Grandiose. I am invader of the orator and I am hooked. This will be our moment to shine. We will speak, enthrall, and we will be worshipped. The power to demand, absolutely. Peace and prosperity our gift. I am ready to become godlike. We rise. We grow taller. We cast a rainbow shadow-better days. It is time. Now.
Approaching the podium, we are in the past.
Turn of another century. Smokey and well dressed is our audience. Suits and cigars. Dresses and hats. Fans in hands. Seated and standing. They know not what is to come. Beleaguered. Eager.
Confidence is beaming. But the murmur ensues. A single blemish in our perfect moment. A tenor-singing the soprano part. A slow disturbance starts in the floor and goes upward. Lava. Reaching, reaching, leaking to breaching, flow and flow and overflow.
The frequency rattles the ribs, organ to bone. Decibels soar leaving decimals behind. Exits jammed with church hats, limbs, and desperation. Enclose and encapsulate. The feedback ascends. A malicious educator. A shriek that blinds. So loud it ensnares, no fight, no flight. Knee buckling. Curds and blood. We wish for death or silence and are greeted with the latter. Instant calm. Thank and sigh. God. Attention. Return. Disheveled.
Blissfully, we step up. The orchestra is tuned. Tip of the tounge. Arrive. Thrive. Edge of the seat. We open our mouth; fame, gurgle, wealth, choke, power, blockage, admiration, gasp and gasp and flail and, and…..gray…..and…….vibration….
I hear children, distant yet close, as if separated by a floor. Muffled by structure and reluctance. Laughter and tears. There is something tangible here. A responsibility neglected. The wardrobe has closed.
I sense a presence near, not threatening but annoyed. Real. A cut will bleed. A pinch will bruise. Awake. Monsters and women, trumpets and roars, songs and riots, grandeur and fear, echoes fading, fading, graying, like a lost age. Forgotten. Yet sex lingers on. I am man.
I open my eyes, my real eyes, and the brightness stings. Squint to avoid. Disappointed. Abed, a nights sleep, and no rest. A person looking down at me….
“Your snoring is fucking ridiculous!”