A Million Little Pieces - James Frey [83]
Number three. Overesteem men and people become powerless. Overvalue possessions and people begin to steal. Empty your mind and fill your core. Weaken your ambition and toughen your resolve. Lose everything you know and everything you desire and ignore those who say they know. Practice not wanting, desiring, judging, doing, fighting, knowing. Practice just being. Everything will fall into place.
Four. The Tao is used, but never used up. An eternal void, it is filled with infinite possibilities. It is not there, but always there. It is older and more powerful than any God. It is not there, but always there. It is older and more powerful than any God.
I stop reading and I read them again. One through four, again and again. The words and the words together and the meaning and the context are simple so simple and basic so basic and true and that is all that matters true. They speak to me, make sense to me, reverberate within me, calm ease sedate relax still pacify me. They ring true and that is all that matters the truth. Although I am no expert on this or anything related to this or anything at all except being a fuck-up, I seem to understand what this book this weird beautiful enlightened little book is saying to me. Live and let live, do not judge, take life as it comes and deal with it, everything will be okay.
I close the book and I let the sounds of the clarinet carry me carry me carry me. They are low and slow and soft and long and easy, as are the thoughts in my head. They carry me carry me carry me.
Live and let live.
Do not judge.
Take it as it comes.
Deal with it.
Everything will be okay.
Chapter 12
Screaming, long and loud and hideous, like a Child being burned alive.
I sit up in my bed. It is silent and dark. I don’t know if it’s real or a dream. Then it comes again. Like a Child being burned alive.
I get out of my bed and I walk out of my room and I head toward the scream. It’s coming from the Main Rooms of the Unit and with each step that I take it becomes louder and more intense. It’s like a fucking Child being burned alive.
I’m scared. The hair on the back of my neck is standing and the hair on my arms is standing and my heart is thudding and my ears are ringing and it’s louder and more intense with each step. I want it to stop. I’m scared. Poor Child. I’m scared. Poor Child.
I walk into the Upper Level. There are a couple of other men there and they are staring down at the Lower Level with stunned faces. I follow their eyes and the sounds of the screams, which are echoing through the room, and I see Roy standing on top of a couch holding a thick, brutal wooden stick, short like a battering ram, with a bloody, fragmented tip. He is waving the stick around, swinging at invisible enemies, and screaming at the top of his lungs. His clothes, which are old and torn, are covered in dirt and blood, as are his arms and his face and his hair, and his eyes are wide and empty, the whites a deep furnace red, the pupils an endless black.
More men arrive, drawn in by the horrible shrieking screams, and they stand around the Upper Level watching Roy, unsure of what to do or how to react, unsure if there’s a way to stop him. He has increased the pace of his madness and he is jumping up and down on the couch, banging the stick against its back with one hand and clawing at his face with the other. Spit is flying from his mouth and particles of blood are staining the carpet and the walls and it appears as if he’s pissed his pants or is in the process of pissing his pants. He does not appear to notice that there is anybody else in the Room.
Lincoln arrives with a large man wearing a gray outfit and carrying a handheld radio who I assume is some sort of Security.