Personal Archaeology: Infinizine, part 4
“What's past is prologue.” ― William Shakespeare, The Tempest
CONTENT WARNING: Glorification (kinda) of suicide.
This artifact was created c. 2007.
Read my introduction to the Personal Archaeology series for paid subscribers here:
Personal Archaeology: Infinizine, part 4
This is the fourth part of a multi-part series showcasing a ‘zine I made c. 2007, when I was 17 years old. I called it Infinizine. It had only one issue and was never distributed—I never even took it to Kinkos. But, as you will see, I’ve been running on the same hamster wheel for a long time.
In many ways, Juxtaposition is, now, what I couldn’t make Infinizine be, then.
Editorial note: Infinizine was my own personal creative endeavor but I solicited art-work and a couple poems from friends with whom I no longer have any contact. I don’t feel right posting those sections without permission or credit, so I will black out any content that was not created by me, except for the cover photo, which I found on the 2007 internet.
Infinizine, Part 4 comes with a rare content warning: Glorification (sorta) of suicide.
Transcript: “Impact” (a short story)
They sat on the bench at the BART station, kissing frantically and crying. Neither of them had cried in a decade. But, they cried now. Her make-up ran and so did his. They kissed away eachother’s tears and they knew, for the first time in either of their lives, where they were. Who they were. In fact, they’d never been more sure of anything.
Then it came. The first stir of wind from out of the dark tunnel of fate. And they looked in eachother’s eyes and suddenly neither was crying anymore. They clasped the other’s hand and walked to the edge.
It seemed like an eternity ago that she was pulling on her midnight boots.
An eternity ago that he was buttoning his twilight jacket.
An eternity ago. It was really more like an hour.
The wind was stronger now.
A warm, heavy, artificial wind that whipped her hair around her face.
He glanced at her stony expression and her wild locks and could think of nowhere he would rather be.
He gripped her hand tightly and braced himself for the inevitable.
Now that warm, heavy wind became forceful. It seemed vicious and toothy...hungry for whatever it could find. And they stood there, suddenly painfully aware of time. Of each second that ticked past. For them, that is how life had come to be measured: in seconds. That's all that was left. Seconds. Each second they stood there contained a thousand memories. The night they spent in the park. The poem he wrote in lipstick on her bathroom mirror. The car accident. The flowers she once grew in her garden. The dead babies. Dancing barefoot in the rain outside her house in the middle of the street. Playing in the ocean on that perfect cloudy day until neither of them could feel cold anymore. Hot chocolate on the porch. The day she got lost. The day he found her. The abandoned coal mines and the ghosts. Digging up the body. Burying the future. Her brother. His childhood. A second had never seemed so precious. The wind reached its peak. They could no longer resist its pleading. She turned her face to his and kissed him, open mouthed and forever. Then they leapt.
Their feet struck the ground between the track and here there was no wind.
Here, all was still.
They saw the train. They saw the end. They saw mortality. They saw completion.
They finally understood infinity because, in that moment, they felt infinity disappear.
Prepare to evacuate soul in 3... It was an old movie now. Or the way everything looks under a strobe light. Only part of the movement is captured. They saw the train's approach in a series of broken snapshots
2…
They had never felt true calm before now. Nor true terror. Nor happiness. Nor fulfillment. Nostalgia. Regret. Love. Nor seen true beauty. Known true feeling. Nor felt so real. It was like licking an emotional alka seltzer tablet. Every sensation they'd ever experienced colliding in this one instant, fully realized and yet conspicuously detached.
1...
And now they were falling.
Stomachs in their throats.
Terrified grins on their faces.
Veins full of pure adrenaline
And one final thought in their heads.
"I love..."
Impact.
The newspapers
had a field day.
Thank You for Being. Here.
I hope you found some resonance with this exhibit. The complete Infinizine series will be freely available to all subscribers—but, as a thank-you to anyone choosing to place an early bet on Juxtaposition’s success, the price to upgrade will be at its lowest during this limited time.
Use the button below to upgrade your subscription for just $5.55/month or $55.55/year1 any time before I release Infinizine Part 5 in a couple weeks. That will be your price forever, as long as you don’t cancel.
Each subsequent Infinizine exhibit will see those numerals count upwards2 until reaching $7.77/month or $77.77/year, which will be the final price.
Will You think about it? You have some time to decide.
If You’d rather stay on a free subscription for now, I won’t blame You at all. You’ll still receive all of my best content—but I sure would appreciate it if You’d take a moment to share Juxtaposition with someone in Your life who might appreciate it.
And as always, You can be read by me via email to juxtaposition@substack.com. I may not respond, but take a look at the “Commun(icat)ion” section of the About Page to find out why You should definitely still write to me.
Substack actually won’t let me set a price this low, so I had to add a percentage discount with a lot of decimal places and it’ll probably force it to round. It might end up being $5.51/month or $55.10/year, which is less satisfying but fine.
Or as close as I can get using percentage discounts, ha.