The Tranquility of the Unbothered Mind

A Day in the Life of Griffin Pinch

Every morning I go up to the roof and piss in the pool. Malick hates it and Arthur sends me handwritten reminders on lime green sticky notes to cut it out, but I find it fucking funny. I’m leaving part of myself behind. Don’t we all want to leave part of ourselves behind? That’s what one of those stupid shrinks said to me before I shut him up. Scattered pretty nicely, that one.

When I come back to my room there’s always a tray with my breakfast in front of my door. Doesn’t matter when I get up, 5:30 or 7 or 10:15, tray shows up after I leave for the pool. Some mousy housemaid brings it up, or Malick himself, don’t know, don’t care.

Always the same meal too, a steak, a grapefruit cut in half and a big black coffee. I eat the steak and drink the coffee. Have the grapefruit after. I’m not a total heathen. 

They give me a newspaper. Not sure where Arthur finds them, it’s like playing the lottery. LA Times, London Telegraph, Bombay Chronicle, Le Monde, Rheinische Post, El Universal. I read whatever I get, or watch telly. Got a ratty telly in my room. Channel changer doesn’t work anymore. But the channel changes every time I whack the box with my hand. Percussive maintenance that is called. I maintain a lot of things percussively. 

Other times I listen to the sounds of the hotel. Lots of hoovering and scrubbing and putting things to order happens during the day. Don’t care much for it. Too much noise. Every now and then I help put things to order my way. Leave my room and go exploring. Ride the service lift for fun and walk the corridors of the place. If a room calls out to me, I enter. Some rooms are disappointing, some hold nice little presents. I like presents. Never got many of those when I was a kid.

I get dinner early, like an old man. And I am one. Outlived my time twice, thrice, ten times over. Who knows? Overstayed my welcome. Went to war once, when I was still a person. Was supposed to be cannon fodder, it didn’t work out that way. Made it through the mud and the cold and the heat, the bombs and the bullets, the boredom and the stupidity. Came out of it knowing nothing matters. No ego, no values, no status, nothing. Only death and pain. Pain is universal and death is the great equalizer. 

Only thing I got out of this war is room and board here. Arthur thinks I’m allowed to stay here because of his job. He got it backwards. I got room and board here because I saved someone’s kid. Resting on my laurels since then. Only, my laurels are fucking weeds. Lot of good that did, saving the kid, he turned into a vegetable. Still is. Vegetates hooked up to a bunch of machines in some posh nursing home somewhere. Should have killed him when I still had the chance, before they rescued us. Not making that mistake again. Death is mercy. 

‘Now I am become death’, Oppenheimer said that. Only, he was sad about it. I’m not. I bring peace. The screaming will stop. At some point it always does. Some take longer than others. But the end is blessed silence. Always. No more mutterings about wants and needs and worries and beliefs and who owes whom what. All that pesky day to day drama. It’s just noise. Too much noise in the world. Everybody is clamoring and nothing matters.

 

I like going down to the vats, watching the silent bodies as they float into nothingness. Wonder if that place is where I’ll end up one of these days. Nice vat full of acids. Might as well. Every coffin is the same dark box on the inside, whether it comes with satin or not. Death will not care, and neither will I. So, save that rigmarole and let me go the easy way, until I’m just a bunch of bullets at the bottom of the vat, cause I got so much lead in me, I rattle like a goddamn coin machine. Can feel them on the inside, giving me gravitas. 

At night, I go into the hidden corridors, watch the action of the players from behind portrait holes or one way mirrors. Give info to Arthur when I feel like it. He tells people I’m lost. I’m not. I go around and collect things. Rings and watches, stamps and souls. If you feel watched, it’s because I’m watching you. It’s not just the tangled, banged up, patched camera network that only Arthur understands. I am everywhere and nowhere. 

Of all the people living here, only Althea, little Miss Parker notices me when I’m on the move. Not sure if she thinks I'm a ghost. I might as well be one. She sees me coming and going and never, ever approaches me. I like that.

Sometimes I go talk with Bishop. He gives me Schnapps or makes me bloody mary after bloody mary and tells me whatever buzzes through his mind. Words come easy to him. I tell him about my collections and the tranquility of the unbothered mind. He likes his mind bothered. I’ll be there for him if that ever changes, or if he and his bestie annoy me too much. Making the voices stop is a specialty of mine. 

I go to sleep in the early morning hours. Those few, precious moments when all activity stops. Party time over, day time not yet there. I drift into nothing until it's time to piss in the pool again.