seems like every day something about me changes. i'm a willow in the wind. it's maddening. people are supposed to have paths and walk on them and end up somewhere. not no-where. any-where. i've been dreaming, but it's been stupid, and disappointingly bland. real world anxieties barely twisted by the dream mind. i want the real world to fade away forever and leave behind its ghost, its weird underface, its impulses. some sort of echo of something that was concrete but now is ethereal. more ether than real. then, maybe, i can be less afraid.
1.26.2011
1.17.2011
circular
i was driving a car down a dirt road. i'd been down the road before. passed two kids, black-clad. the teenaged boy kept giving me horns. the first time i passed, i didn't stop. when i came around again, i pulled the car over after passing them.
two kids. the boy: "hey, my older sister's obsessed with you." something about Lord Of The Rings. i asked who she was, and he told me, but it didn't really make sense to me. the girl with him was quiet and shy. long hair. not the older sister. the boy left to clean the yard and i was alone with the girl. said i: "if you ever want to borrow some books, or music..." i wanted to give her an address to contact me. she produced paper. i tried to write my email down for her but i kept getting frustrated. either my letters would run into a dark area of the paper, obscuring them, or i would misspell my address. always an extra letter. wrote it down ten or eleven times, never correctly. the dream ended and i hadn't given her the correct contact. i don't expect i'll hear from them again.
two kids. the boy: "hey, my older sister's obsessed with you." something about Lord Of The Rings. i asked who she was, and he told me, but it didn't really make sense to me. the girl with him was quiet and shy. long hair. not the older sister. the boy left to clean the yard and i was alone with the girl. said i: "if you ever want to borrow some books, or music..." i wanted to give her an address to contact me. she produced paper. i tried to write my email down for her but i kept getting frustrated. either my letters would run into a dark area of the paper, obscuring them, or i would misspell my address. always an extra letter. wrote it down ten or eleven times, never correctly. the dream ended and i hadn't given her the correct contact. i don't expect i'll hear from them again.
1.08.2011
1.07.2011
sleeper dreams
i learned tonight that Sleazy died, in his sleep, at 55. a great man, paired with a great man. one can only strive to emulate such greatness in ones own small way. ripple, ripple, the coil expands.
7.29.2010
prismprison
i'm staring at _____. i'm thinking that there is nothing more important than _____ understanding what i'm about to say. i begin:
"i want you to understallečneunttergamerrüng." nonplussed. my words didn't coalesce. i begin again:
"it's very important that you follorêiglubznåttervistąntce." mild panic. why can't i say it? it's important. before i can rephrase, _____ whispers:
"no, no. no no no, no. no no no no no. no." barely audible, but insistent, repetitive. "no, no." i am at a loss as to whether _____ denies my words or can't understand them, or is fugued out. hair undulates around the face as if underwater. eyes are distant, glazed.
again:
"i really, really need you to harpenkskoðrieffegón..." frantic now. i mouth the words in my mind -- they're there. i grasp them in my mind -- there, there. i won't submit, fuck this Babel. i open my maw again to hurl words:
"...///,/..///.../////,/,/.//"
indecipherable sound and symbols made manifest pour from my shocked jaw -- a gigantic copy of Klimt's "The Kiss" twirls forth, followed by a terrified bat with a jetpack and a stream of cold blue numbers, counting themselves off. 1, 4, 5, 3, 7, 7, 8. my throat heaves forth more -- a torrent of hundreds of ancient hand-bound books flap like crazed gulls out of my gullet, shedding gilt & flecks of gold as they go. i'm screaming now, or trying to. a waterfall, fully formed, rocks and all, cascades down my lips; the sun sets in my throat and throws fire into the sky beyond my teeth; pitchforks erect themselves into words i can't read; my tongue licks trails of moss and bramble across _____; i cough up a cross.
all the while, _____ murmurs, gaining intensity and volume: "no, no. no no no, No. No No No No No. NO." indifferent to my riot of symbols, my attempts to bridge the gap.
a word in my mind: a symbol of a skill. "ADAPT." so i try, begin to talk a different way, but what now sounds are blasts of dissonance betwixt melodies, meaningless arpeggios, discordant scales, bent notes, and here a segment of Shostakovich, here Bartók, here Glass, here a 303 line... sounds turn to stones, different colors for different voices, saffron, tear-slicked black, pulsing magenta fuzz. there are insects between the stones, who turn to static and noise up my vision. all is synesthesia, bliss-pulse-confusion.
& _____ shouting now, "NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!" denying me! denying it all!
i try to shout! to scream what i mean! but what comes out is an enormous prism, the size of a rhino, spinning, scintillating, blinding. as it twirls it reveals the multiplicity of meanings of each of my every words, throwing out possible interpretations under different circumstances, a tornado of effulgent data, maddening me with possibility and nuance. it is all i can see now, the rotating prism prison, shackling me with my own words in chains of language and misunderstanding. i am a wizard of words, but this spell is beyond my skill.
"i want you to understallečneunttergamerrüng." nonplussed. my words didn't coalesce. i begin again:
"it's very important that you follorêiglubznåttervistąntce." mild panic. why can't i say it? it's important. before i can rephrase, _____ whispers:
"no, no. no no no, no. no no no no no. no." barely audible, but insistent, repetitive. "no, no." i am at a loss as to whether _____ denies my words or can't understand them, or is fugued out. hair undulates around the face as if underwater. eyes are distant, glazed.
again:
"i really, really need you to harpenkskoðrieffegón..." frantic now. i mouth the words in my mind -- they're there. i grasp them in my mind -- there, there. i won't submit, fuck this Babel. i open my maw again to hurl words:
"...///,/..///.../////,/,/.//"
indecipherable sound and symbols made manifest pour from my shocked jaw -- a gigantic copy of Klimt's "The Kiss" twirls forth, followed by a terrified bat with a jetpack and a stream of cold blue numbers, counting themselves off. 1, 4, 5, 3, 7, 7, 8. my throat heaves forth more -- a torrent of hundreds of ancient hand-bound books flap like crazed gulls out of my gullet, shedding gilt & flecks of gold as they go. i'm screaming now, or trying to. a waterfall, fully formed, rocks and all, cascades down my lips; the sun sets in my throat and throws fire into the sky beyond my teeth; pitchforks erect themselves into words i can't read; my tongue licks trails of moss and bramble across _____; i cough up a cross.
all the while, _____ murmurs, gaining intensity and volume: "no, no. no no no, No. No No No No No. NO." indifferent to my riot of symbols, my attempts to bridge the gap.
a word in my mind: a symbol of a skill. "ADAPT." so i try, begin to talk a different way, but what now sounds are blasts of dissonance betwixt melodies, meaningless arpeggios, discordant scales, bent notes, and here a segment of Shostakovich, here Bartók, here Glass, here a 303 line... sounds turn to stones, different colors for different voices, saffron, tear-slicked black, pulsing magenta fuzz. there are insects between the stones, who turn to static and noise up my vision. all is synesthesia, bliss-pulse-confusion.
& _____ shouting now, "NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!" denying me! denying it all!
i try to shout! to scream what i mean! but what comes out is an enormous prism, the size of a rhino, spinning, scintillating, blinding. as it twirls it reveals the multiplicity of meanings of each of my every words, throwing out possible interpretations under different circumstances, a tornado of effulgent data, maddening me with possibility and nuance. it is all i can see now, the rotating prism prison, shackling me with my own words in chains of language and misunderstanding. i am a wizard of words, but this spell is beyond my skill.
2.12.2010
there's a hole in the cup
a tornado of indecision. at once, so many options and so few. and he'd forgotten, again, what his colors were. who streaked him with the mourning tint? a smudge of grey across the landscape.
each day he'd awake feeling smaller. a tiny voice screaming out! but only as significant as tears in the rain: unseen, unnoticed. "a profound sense of alienation linked to lack of self-worth and -discipline." reading from a sheet. he likes to be told where to go, what to do. otherwise it's quite hard for him to move.
each day he'd awake feeling smaller. a tiny voice screaming out! but only as significant as tears in the rain: unseen, unnoticed. "a profound sense of alienation linked to lack of self-worth and -discipline." reading from a sheet. he likes to be told where to go, what to do. otherwise it's quite hard for him to move.
5.02.2009
...dream of a seal...
"...dreamed i was a smallish seal. i heard a hollow thunk and was a bit afraid. there was a vast expanse of water to my left as i approached a chute with other seals that were sensed but not seen. i went into the chute and rocketed down it so fast that my mind balked. shot into the water like some watertight bullet, speeding deeper and deeper into the freezing depths. i did not feel cold though i expected to. my seal-heart was beating furiously as the water got darker and darker. the enormity of the ocean was too much to comprehend. suddenly: a brightening. at the bottom of the sea were frozen ice sculptures in fantastic shapes, in sizes that boggled the mind! mirianets, spires, flutes and twists of the titan ice, monoliths and fallen walls. i used the momentum from the chute to dart in and out of these giants, hyperventilating with excitement and the feel of something entirely new.
"it seemed that as a seal all i needed was the energy to explore and survive. my life as a seal was simpler."
"it seemed that as a seal all i needed was the energy to explore and survive. my life as a seal was simpler."
5.01.2009
...teacher...
i have no voice. i have only your voice. hold my hand in your hand. i’ll live in your world. i can escape myself. i can swim in your dreams. it’s easier this way. think for me. disempower me, unman me. i’ll be your child. you’ll be my father.
your hands guide me. i’m fearful alone. i gaze at you with ardor. your wrath is to be feared; your approval, courted. you can make me into myself. shade this grave with the ash of your thoughts: castings from castoffs.
when you bind my hands together, i nod. when you kiss my mouth with yours, i glow. you run your fingers up my side, letting me know that you are all. our tongues entwined. moonlight draws the shadows -- yours (and inside, mine).
a ghost of a thought. your stern visages dissuades vague impulse. i am weak. i have become frail. your bones must buttress my flagging skin. i’m forgetting how to forget. a body lecture -- pain & pleasure. false my fear & watch me fade. you know this is a better way.
(modified from a prior version)
your hands guide me. i’m fearful alone. i gaze at you with ardor. your wrath is to be feared; your approval, courted. you can make me into myself. shade this grave with the ash of your thoughts: castings from castoffs.
when you bind my hands together, i nod. when you kiss my mouth with yours, i glow. you run your fingers up my side, letting me know that you are all. our tongues entwined. moonlight draws the shadows -- yours (and inside, mine).
a ghost of a thought. your stern visages dissuades vague impulse. i am weak. i have become frail. your bones must buttress my flagging skin. i’m forgetting how to forget. a body lecture -- pain & pleasure. false my fear & watch me fade. you know this is a better way.
(modified from a prior version)
...enshadowed & buried...
one day, a mirror spoke:
"Erase yourself. Your past is fraught with deception. You are an image riddled with holes. You are the sum of your actions. Your actions have been worthless. You've invented yourself. You're good at one thing: lying. You make others believe your lies. I can see the real you."
continues:
"Erase yourself. Start again. You're wrong. Your existence is a sham. I don't have to convince you of this; it's true. You know. You have no belief. You have no faith in yourself, because you don't exist. You're a shadow of other people. You're what is cast, not what is casting."
continues:
"Erase yourself. You're not a failure, because you don't take risks. You've never failed, because you've never tried. You're calculating; your every move is designed to mask the fact that you have nothing inside you. You're not real. You have no experiences. You've been held by the hand your whole life. You pretend to search for yourself, but you already know what you are: nothing."
continues:
"Erase yourself. You understand little. If only others could see you the way I see you. If only others would acknowledge these facts. You'd be freed. If only someone would point a finger at you and proclaim you to be empty! If only someone would identify you as what you are! Alas, your artifice is too great for others to penetrate."
continues:
"Erase yourself. You are the embodiment of fault. You are the epitome of surface. If beaten, you will fold. If pressured, you will crack. You are used by those stronger than yourself. You know this and are powerless to halt it. Inaction defines you. You are a void. Let go... slip away."
(slightly modified from a prior version)
"Erase yourself. Your past is fraught with deception. You are an image riddled with holes. You are the sum of your actions. Your actions have been worthless. You've invented yourself. You're good at one thing: lying. You make others believe your lies. I can see the real you."
continues:
"Erase yourself. Start again. You're wrong. Your existence is a sham. I don't have to convince you of this; it's true. You know. You have no belief. You have no faith in yourself, because you don't exist. You're a shadow of other people. You're what is cast, not what is casting."
continues:
"Erase yourself. You're not a failure, because you don't take risks. You've never failed, because you've never tried. You're calculating; your every move is designed to mask the fact that you have nothing inside you. You're not real. You have no experiences. You've been held by the hand your whole life. You pretend to search for yourself, but you already know what you are: nothing."
continues:
"Erase yourself. You understand little. If only others could see you the way I see you. If only others would acknowledge these facts. You'd be freed. If only someone would point a finger at you and proclaim you to be empty! If only someone would identify you as what you are! Alas, your artifice is too great for others to penetrate."
continues:
"Erase yourself. You are the embodiment of fault. You are the epitome of surface. If beaten, you will fold. If pressured, you will crack. You are used by those stronger than yourself. You know this and are powerless to halt it. Inaction defines you. You are a void. Let go... slip away."
(slightly modified from a prior version)
...becoming a human...
"it seems that the act of swinging on a swing is a metaphor for life. you start at a standstill; you move by exerting effort. no matter how strong or weak you are, each push sends you further. everyone can propel themselves on a swing. the maximum height you can reach is determined solely by how hard you're willing to push. each new cycle of swinging ups the stakes: the falls become more dangerous, the lifts, more joyful.
who knows... maybe if we push hard enough, we'll never come down?"
(slightly modified from a prior version)
who knows... maybe if we push hard enough, we'll never come down?"
(slightly modified from a prior version)
...the struggle...
"All of our maps are lost in the wind... life on a grey seacoast, snowsailing into the deep December lavender of a heartbeat's cadence... music of the sea, stars, drugs, dreams, soft nothingness treasured..." (words from a lying mouth)
"What is there to say?"
thinking, overthinking, forcing thoughts into forms: & the rain still falls. the fog builds, only to fade under the sunlight, sundered like faith's vanguard. and where are we now? who are we now?
"What is there to say?"
clothe me in black; wind me in the cloth... lies can become something more than what they are. back to belief. we are lost, searching for something... but what?
"What is there to say?"
the battle is over. there are no absolutes... there are only dreams wearing flesh. i've fought in the battles, only to desert when i learned what the war was for. my colors fade... black into grey. my hair grows long, tangled. my beard grows gnarled.
"What is theretosay
there's nothing left. each to their own. left to drown, instead he accepted the sea. murky underwater pulse. strangely attuned to the heart. his eyelids floated away, flapping like some strange underwater bird. no more becauled...
"What is there to say?"
thinking, overthinking, forcing thoughts into forms: & the rain still falls. the fog builds, only to fade under the sunlight, sundered like faith's vanguard. and where are we now? who are we now?
"What is there to say?"
clothe me in black; wind me in the cloth... lies can become something more than what they are. back to belief. we are lost, searching for something... but what?
"What is there to say?"
the battle is over. there are no absolutes... there are only dreams wearing flesh. i've fought in the battles, only to desert when i learned what the war was for. my colors fade... black into grey. my hair grows long, tangled. my beard grows gnarled.
"What is theretosay
there's nothing left. each to their own. left to drown, instead he accepted the sea. murky underwater pulse. strangely attuned to the heart. his eyelids floated away, flapping like some strange underwater bird. no more becauled...
...a hurricane-hung-halo...
a butterfly beats its wings & seasons bloom, worlds away. interconnectedness. it's no wonder that when a girl bats a lash...
to see it as it is, and not as you'd like it to be.
wisdom is wrapping your hands around the blade of a sword.
to see it as it is, and not as you'd like it to be.
wisdom is wrapping your hands around the blade of a sword.
...moondawn...
my job one day was to attach wristbands to the wrists of customers who wished to see a band's acoustic in-store performance. i encountered all types of wrists: hairy & cumbersome trucker wrists, swathed in grime; the thin & anemic wrists of little girls, shaking like trapped does; tattooed wrists of virile young men & coquettish young women; shy & reserved wrists of reclusive and awkward pubescent girls; wrinkled & worn wrists of the elderly, almost blue in their age; and more.
if you place your hands upon the pulse of life as i did, you will feel the power that flows under the skin... memories, rationalizations, wonder, confusion & sorrow, guilt and grace. secrets the body keeps, pumping through crimson gateways, hidden forever. a present forever passing, circulating & recycling... a reality only the owners of the wrists can understand.
when you paint the walls with your blood, when you seep into the floor, your microcosm becomes known. all your secret lies, buried fears, neuroses, hopes, and whatever dreams remain in you are exposed to the aether. you are absorbed into the earth. guilt to brambles, dreams to birds, sorrow to rivers. you flee your coil and melt into the ocean, forever to reflect off the caps of cresting waves, to become the patience of the deep. and that last spark of consciousness that flees... that last regretful glance at your broken body, that last, sorrowful sigh... it becomes moonlight. forever bathing the rest of us in your gentle & unknowable glow.
(slightly modified from a prior version)
if you place your hands upon the pulse of life as i did, you will feel the power that flows under the skin... memories, rationalizations, wonder, confusion & sorrow, guilt and grace. secrets the body keeps, pumping through crimson gateways, hidden forever. a present forever passing, circulating & recycling... a reality only the owners of the wrists can understand.
when you paint the walls with your blood, when you seep into the floor, your microcosm becomes known. all your secret lies, buried fears, neuroses, hopes, and whatever dreams remain in you are exposed to the aether. you are absorbed into the earth. guilt to brambles, dreams to birds, sorrow to rivers. you flee your coil and melt into the ocean, forever to reflect off the caps of cresting waves, to become the patience of the deep. and that last spark of consciousness that flees... that last regretful glance at your broken body, that last, sorrowful sigh... it becomes moonlight. forever bathing the rest of us in your gentle & unknowable glow.
(slightly modified from a prior version)
...the ungazed...
i began as nothing: blank, a void, an emptiness. lacking shape, i could not yearn for one. lacking emotion, i could not pine; lacking thought, i could not ponder. all was still and silent, an eternity of ennui.
& then: a maker's eyes saw the self-within-the-naught. the buried line and form. the unblushed colors. the resonance, the unbeating heart, the stilled movements, the silent music. the mirror-maker. a maker decided to raise these elements to my surface, but this decision was not solely a maker's. it was our collaboration.
o, to be given form! how to express the feeling of first feeling? the sight, the taste, the first colors? the knitting of bone and the blossoming of the blood? the sensuous rapture of the feathers of the brush, the raking rasp; the stroke of the god-tongue! & with each, a maker became ever more mine. i saw, with my new eyes, each glass of wine, each bitter tear, every wracking sob. & i saw the return of my maker to me, each day, inevitable as the push and pull of the tides, heard with my new ears. determined. our essences, having fused, denied us the possibility of cessation.
the dawn of every day: my maker poured life and experience, hope and heartache into me. a dwindling and a growing. to bloom and wither as one. vicariously, i came to know love, to yearn for the stars. to envy youth, to feel regret. to know the twisting knife of betrayal, the confusion and bitterness and sorrow of loss. faith and fear -- blood speaks to blood.
one day of these every days, my maker gazed into me, and i into my maker. we knew we had finished.
"made," said maker, "i have given you myself: my quiet evenings, my thoughts and dreams, my wishes, hopes and fears. my life is your life; your life is eternal." my maker lifted me, gentle as a babe, and placed me opposite a large window overlooking the ocean, over which we had toiled for so long. i had heard, but never seen. my heart soared. o, the sea! there is music there, beauty beyond anything! the shimmering sunbeam, the glinting waves, the leaping fish & scuttling crab, the ceaseless eddies! the sun and moon, the very tidal breath of the earth itself... the mirror of heaven!
my maker made me, and in doing so bestowed a gift beyond measure. yet i in turn made something of my maker. more intangible, perhaps, but no less profound. this i know from my maker's final, tearful glance before leaving. my maker, mine.
how much time has passed since that day, i cannot know. my view of the glorious sea has widened as my maker's tower has crumbled. no one has seen me since my maker's departure, and somehow, this seems as it should be. we made each other. it is only fitting that we wait to view each other again. blood spoke to blood: we are one or we are none.
someday, i think, my maker may return. & i will laugh! i will feel joy! & i will say, look! look at the beauty of the sea, the shining light you showed to me!
and until that day, i am ungazed, yet forever gazing, in a tower by the sea.
& then: a maker's eyes saw the self-within-the-naught. the buried line and form. the unblushed colors. the resonance, the unbeating heart, the stilled movements, the silent music. the mirror-maker. a maker decided to raise these elements to my surface, but this decision was not solely a maker's. it was our collaboration.
o, to be given form! how to express the feeling of first feeling? the sight, the taste, the first colors? the knitting of bone and the blossoming of the blood? the sensuous rapture of the feathers of the brush, the raking rasp; the stroke of the god-tongue! & with each, a maker became ever more mine. i saw, with my new eyes, each glass of wine, each bitter tear, every wracking sob. & i saw the return of my maker to me, each day, inevitable as the push and pull of the tides, heard with my new ears. determined. our essences, having fused, denied us the possibility of cessation.
the dawn of every day: my maker poured life and experience, hope and heartache into me. a dwindling and a growing. to bloom and wither as one. vicariously, i came to know love, to yearn for the stars. to envy youth, to feel regret. to know the twisting knife of betrayal, the confusion and bitterness and sorrow of loss. faith and fear -- blood speaks to blood.
one day of these every days, my maker gazed into me, and i into my maker. we knew we had finished.
"made," said maker, "i have given you myself: my quiet evenings, my thoughts and dreams, my wishes, hopes and fears. my life is your life; your life is eternal." my maker lifted me, gentle as a babe, and placed me opposite a large window overlooking the ocean, over which we had toiled for so long. i had heard, but never seen. my heart soared. o, the sea! there is music there, beauty beyond anything! the shimmering sunbeam, the glinting waves, the leaping fish & scuttling crab, the ceaseless eddies! the sun and moon, the very tidal breath of the earth itself... the mirror of heaven!
my maker made me, and in doing so bestowed a gift beyond measure. yet i in turn made something of my maker. more intangible, perhaps, but no less profound. this i know from my maker's final, tearful glance before leaving. my maker, mine.
how much time has passed since that day, i cannot know. my view of the glorious sea has widened as my maker's tower has crumbled. no one has seen me since my maker's departure, and somehow, this seems as it should be. we made each other. it is only fitting that we wait to view each other again. blood spoke to blood: we are one or we are none.
someday, i think, my maker may return. & i will laugh! i will feel joy! & i will say, look! look at the beauty of the sea, the shining light you showed to me!
and until that day, i am ungazed, yet forever gazing, in a tower by the sea.
...bizarre cruelties (desert-riven)...
...shook my head to get the sand out of my eyes & hair. from my vantage i could see he was tied to a massive wooden pole -- must have been twenty, thirty, forty feet tall. he was strapped to the thing by yards and yards of roughspun rope about the chest & arms and the thighs, leaving his naked midriff exposed. the others -- the ones who had caught and subdued us -- milled about some distance away, their lank-haired apparent leader gesturing about something.
slowly
slowly
s..l...o.....w.......e............r...
it had become laughably sexual. the leader sauntered toward me. tied as i was to a similar pole i couldn't move away. my thoughts flitted about, wondering where the girls had gone (been taken to?). he was next to me, speaking to me, his voice a buzzing in my ear. i couldn't understand his language. his fingers cupped my chin and gently turned my head toward the other. i could now see the tableau unfold.
a member of the group, the gang, had donned a black metal helmet and stood some distance away from my companion. before i could make sense of what was happening, the helmeted man ran, head down, toward my bound friend. it could be called running only in the sense that his legs propelled him; the speed with which he moved was beyond anything i'd ever experienced. his metal helmet impacted my friend's unprotected midsection with sickening force. he turned his head toward me; his eyes held nausea and confusion & something far, far worse than the realization of pain.
this was something they did to those they found. to those who couldn't resist.
my scream tore the sky. i felt my tears run down my face, melting my flesh away, rivulets of regret... who i was... i felt it blurring away, melting into something else... guilt, rage, self-hatred & recrimination, how had it come to this? shifting shadows of a person... who was i? who am i?
(slightly modified from a prior version)
slowly
slowly
s..l...o.....w.......e............r...
it had become laughably sexual. the leader sauntered toward me. tied as i was to a similar pole i couldn't move away. my thoughts flitted about, wondering where the girls had gone (been taken to?). he was next to me, speaking to me, his voice a buzzing in my ear. i couldn't understand his language. his fingers cupped my chin and gently turned my head toward the other. i could now see the tableau unfold.
a member of the group, the gang, had donned a black metal helmet and stood some distance away from my companion. before i could make sense of what was happening, the helmeted man ran, head down, toward my bound friend. it could be called running only in the sense that his legs propelled him; the speed with which he moved was beyond anything i'd ever experienced. his metal helmet impacted my friend's unprotected midsection with sickening force. he turned his head toward me; his eyes held nausea and confusion & something far, far worse than the realization of pain.
this was something they did to those they found. to those who couldn't resist.
my scream tore the sky. i felt my tears run down my face, melting my flesh away, rivulets of regret... who i was... i felt it blurring away, melting into something else... guilt, rage, self-hatred & recrimination, how had it come to this? shifting shadows of a person... who was i? who am i?
(slightly modified from a prior version)
...courting the starqueen...
"feelin' like self-destruction tonight..."
it started simply -- a thoughtless jump. "i've done it before." but you can't win if neither side will give in. crashing waves of dissonance, rhythmic squeals of wood hitting metal. drink the devil's blood. numb throat and vague thoughts. something wasn't right this time. something lurked inside, waiting to spar with the starqueen. body below the waves, mind adrift in the maddening, silent gloom of the heavens. you're alone up there while your gate dilates. you've become a signalrod, receiving garbled transmissions. which of the imperatives are yours?
the starqueen hates you, delights in breaking you. you let her in, knowing this full well. a part of you is eager for the dance, a part of you recoils at her numbing, invasive touch. & yet as a moth to flame, you return again. the candle has become a pyre but your wings remain unchanged.
the starqueen, slick as the stellar oil she coats your eyes with; as deep as the tractless void of space you're banished to. she speaks with your tongue in a language you can't comprehend & rarely recall. strange ships made of flesh bump gently against what's left of your body, yearning to dock there. waging an inquisition into yourself... did you choose this, or did she?
eerie eddies... visions of your parents at your age, sitting, silent, in a room, watching as you ascend. other figures gather, faceless & grey, distant and ghostly: a failure congregation.
"never again." but the starqueen is patient. her pleasure comes, in part, from breaking your vows. "i've done it before." your voice or hers? she knows to sing the song of stone, to paint your eyes with blurs of warmth, to tease you with the possibility of the infinite journey. to leave you numbed yet in love with her personal poison. to never reveal the enigma.
(slightly modified from a prior version)
it started simply -- a thoughtless jump. "i've done it before." but you can't win if neither side will give in. crashing waves of dissonance, rhythmic squeals of wood hitting metal. drink the devil's blood. numb throat and vague thoughts. something wasn't right this time. something lurked inside, waiting to spar with the starqueen. body below the waves, mind adrift in the maddening, silent gloom of the heavens. you're alone up there while your gate dilates. you've become a signalrod, receiving garbled transmissions. which of the imperatives are yours?
the starqueen hates you, delights in breaking you. you let her in, knowing this full well. a part of you is eager for the dance, a part of you recoils at her numbing, invasive touch. & yet as a moth to flame, you return again. the candle has become a pyre but your wings remain unchanged.
the starqueen, slick as the stellar oil she coats your eyes with; as deep as the tractless void of space you're banished to. she speaks with your tongue in a language you can't comprehend & rarely recall. strange ships made of flesh bump gently against what's left of your body, yearning to dock there. waging an inquisition into yourself... did you choose this, or did she?
eerie eddies... visions of your parents at your age, sitting, silent, in a room, watching as you ascend. other figures gather, faceless & grey, distant and ghostly: a failure congregation.
"never again." but the starqueen is patient. her pleasure comes, in part, from breaking your vows. "i've done it before." your voice or hers? she knows to sing the song of stone, to paint your eyes with blurs of warmth, to tease you with the possibility of the infinite journey. to leave you numbed yet in love with her personal poison. to never reveal the enigma.
(slightly modified from a prior version)
...the last human (redemption pt. 1)...
negative feelings multiplied, reflected, refracted. drug-induced comadreams of black snow, of falling to pieces. of drowning in sorrow so deep it actualized itself. physically choking on digust for myself and those around me. blades across my chest in the dark of night, ghosts haunting the castle. nights that seemed to last forever... the low rumble of coffinbound thoughts reverberating endlessly. pulling over on the freeway, sobbing hysterically to the hate, the hurt, in myself and others. sweating, shaking, dreaming of being "pure" again, cursing my weakness. fading into myself, growing into something else... no longer sure of anything.
my sight failed -- i saw, but didn't understand.
my hearing failed -- i heard, but didn't comprehend.
my thinking failed -- i intook, but didn't process.
sailing on endless seas of grey fog, wilfully diving deeper, deeper... leaving myself above the waves, i became only vague currents, drifting on the pulse of the deep ocean. covered in the luminescent midnight oil, absorbing all light, hallucinating for days, never really coming down, only ebbing and flowing with waves of sickness. confused, confused, confused. hovering over a sink, puking hard enough to break ribs, mind reeling deeper and deeper into the hateful black spiral. a rising warmth followed by freezing cold and numbness, forgetting myself, becoming lungs and a mouth...
D I S A S S O CI A T E
gasping, croaking, shrieking, summoning poisonous black entities. the sickening astral dust coating the inside of my lungs. brainplagued, floorridden, destroyed. watching my life melt away like the insignificant sand of nothingness that it was. staring directly into the deadpool. fuzzed out, fucked up, thorncrowned, divided, deviated, scattered across the galaxy, absorbed into cold grey stars, dying, lighting an empty universe. feeling the last pulse of blood drying in my veins. The last human.
a clamor: the fluttering of inky wings. the visions so fragile, easily disturbed and cast aside. riding the inside of a vine into the heart of the polar sun. feeling nothing but self-hatred, then only nothing but detachment at my own insignificance. seeing through stone. an orange painted shape, a blur in the canvas, stumbling away from the fire. a magical songstress weaving me deeper into the current with her wordless hymn. towers of vast immensity rising in total silence, footsteps in the dust; suited in coal, a choking halo of burning insects erasing the last vestiges of humanity. born again in darkness, riding the knife edge of insanity, forever changed. my heart no longer beating.
lay my head in the murky guillotine, eyes roll back, cross... blood covers my face, my own or not my own... wooden boats, creaking in the mist, rotting... a chord plays itself, a drum beats to the rhythm of my heart, or my heart beats to the cadence of the drum... worlds mindlessly evolving, systems creating themselves only to come to an end, leaves moving in total silence along the conveyer of light... falling down the stairs, noises echoing endlessly, clanging, the metal world... falling inside myself... fading out with a mournful strum, buried hope, the last human...
(slightly modified from a prior version)
my sight failed -- i saw, but didn't understand.
my hearing failed -- i heard, but didn't comprehend.
my thinking failed -- i intook, but didn't process.
sailing on endless seas of grey fog, wilfully diving deeper, deeper... leaving myself above the waves, i became only vague currents, drifting on the pulse of the deep ocean. covered in the luminescent midnight oil, absorbing all light, hallucinating for days, never really coming down, only ebbing and flowing with waves of sickness. confused, confused, confused. hovering over a sink, puking hard enough to break ribs, mind reeling deeper and deeper into the hateful black spiral. a rising warmth followed by freezing cold and numbness, forgetting myself, becoming lungs and a mouth...
D I S A S S O CI A T E
gasping, croaking, shrieking, summoning poisonous black entities. the sickening astral dust coating the inside of my lungs. brainplagued, floorridden, destroyed. watching my life melt away like the insignificant sand of nothingness that it was. staring directly into the deadpool. fuzzed out, fucked up, thorncrowned, divided, deviated, scattered across the galaxy, absorbed into cold grey stars, dying, lighting an empty universe. feeling the last pulse of blood drying in my veins. The last human.
a clamor: the fluttering of inky wings. the visions so fragile, easily disturbed and cast aside. riding the inside of a vine into the heart of the polar sun. feeling nothing but self-hatred, then only nothing but detachment at my own insignificance. seeing through stone. an orange painted shape, a blur in the canvas, stumbling away from the fire. a magical songstress weaving me deeper into the current with her wordless hymn. towers of vast immensity rising in total silence, footsteps in the dust; suited in coal, a choking halo of burning insects erasing the last vestiges of humanity. born again in darkness, riding the knife edge of insanity, forever changed. my heart no longer beating.
lay my head in the murky guillotine, eyes roll back, cross... blood covers my face, my own or not my own... wooden boats, creaking in the mist, rotting... a chord plays itself, a drum beats to the rhythm of my heart, or my heart beats to the cadence of the drum... worlds mindlessly evolving, systems creating themselves only to come to an end, leaves moving in total silence along the conveyer of light... falling down the stairs, noises echoing endlessly, clanging, the metal world... falling inside myself... fading out with a mournful strum, buried hope, the last human...
(slightly modified from a prior version)
...a dream/a wish...
"i got these new tapes in the mail... want to listen to them with me?"
:sure:
sitting together on a couch in a room above a room. rain pounds on a glass window. painted by candlelight, flickering, never constant. they're not touching; the music playing from the deck links them.
:it's good:
"yeah."
she makes a motion with her hand. his heart leaps. rhat feeling of starting something new, something important, floods over them. trepidation and hope. like it's never happened before.
"should we turn it off?"
:no:
she inches a hand toward his. she's not looking at his eyes. her hair falls over her face.
:when the music plays, we can be happy:
(slightly modified from a prior version)
:sure:
sitting together on a couch in a room above a room. rain pounds on a glass window. painted by candlelight, flickering, never constant. they're not touching; the music playing from the deck links them.
:it's good:
"yeah."
she makes a motion with her hand. his heart leaps. rhat feeling of starting something new, something important, floods over them. trepidation and hope. like it's never happened before.
"should we turn it off?"
:no:
she inches a hand toward his. she's not looking at his eyes. her hair falls over her face.
:when the music plays, we can be happy:
(slightly modified from a prior version)
...a small & fleeting fantasy...
part I
i was walking around the mall before work and i wanted to look out a window to watch the snow
falling
but the only windows were overhead
so i laid down and looked up at the descending snow
i wondered what it would be like if the windows faded away and the snow was able to enter
piling up and d.....r....if..ti..............ng
bringing the outside in
i'd be sitting under the sky-lights as the weight of the cold pressed itself onto the glass
eventually...
it would yield
i'd be staring up at it as the barriers broke
hundreds of pounds of snow and glassteel cascading down onto me
i'd become three seconds of fear and mad exhiliration before
i'd become the heart of this new monument.
part II
but it didn't happen that way (of course)
i just stared up and hoped for that fall.
to be shredded and crushed by glass knives
my blood not even allowed to seep into the earth
instead spreading across the tile, welcomed by snow
choking on blood, impaled and buried, dying where no one knows.
an offering to nothing?
or a sorrow & sacrifice too secret for others to see?
part III
i looked up one final time
and the built-up snow slid off the glass
slipping away like the wasps of my thoughts
and before i left
light washed over me
...heavy halo...
black veil hides my face, a spray of stars rings my head. soft snow underfoot, a fire blazes nearby, incinerating an effigy. warm breath mists the air... i have become more and less than myself.
i am risen. lungs and a mouth. fingers become talons, become melting wax, become dust. i'm dreaming myself away. winter overtakes everything; black snow coats the world. sleeping under the stars, lost on the "infinite plateau." look up: the horned-crowned He fucks the multi-limbed She with a massive phallus encrusted with diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds. a microcosm of the macrocosm, Baphomet meets Ganesh. The sacraments... the ritual... the all-consuming velvet numbness. craving for nothing.
complete blackness, complete silence. i cannot hear the beating of my heart. i know, in this instant, no one. there is no life in the universe beyond. there is no life in the world i've left behind. i feel a poison halo humming like a power station, trying to fit itself around my skull.
there is nothing holy in this new world. meaning shifts with the merest breath. there are no individual senses here. there exists only noise & confusion & projections of the pulse of the aether.
delete yourself. you can't understand this fear.
(slightly modified from a prior version)
i am risen. lungs and a mouth. fingers become talons, become melting wax, become dust. i'm dreaming myself away. winter overtakes everything; black snow coats the world. sleeping under the stars, lost on the "infinite plateau." look up: the horned-crowned He fucks the multi-limbed She with a massive phallus encrusted with diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds. a microcosm of the macrocosm, Baphomet meets Ganesh. The sacraments... the ritual... the all-consuming velvet numbness. craving for nothing.
complete blackness, complete silence. i cannot hear the beating of my heart. i know, in this instant, no one. there is no life in the universe beyond. there is no life in the world i've left behind. i feel a poison halo humming like a power station, trying to fit itself around my skull.
there is nothing holy in this new world. meaning shifts with the merest breath. there are no individual senses here. there exists only noise & confusion & projections of the pulse of the aether.
delete yourself. you can't understand this fear.
(slightly modified from a prior version)
...been walkin'...
"...& i been walkin' a long time, now. down this same path... feels like i been here before. maybe i have, in a dream... anyway. lemme just -- yeah. okay. yeah, it's fine. so i saw this fork in my path. nothin' fancy -- one road went that way, yeah, over there. but i went on the other one. not sure why, 'cept for plain old curiosity, i 'spose. i'd been down that road a time back. well, this other road went on for a ways, windin' and twistin' and just loopin' on, and on. through the forest, sure, where else's it gonna go? yeah, i know it pretty good, lived here my whole life y'know. but for some reason i just... i dunno.
"anyhow, down this path i went. i start somethin' and i finish it, yes i do. after a fair bit i come to a rise in these here woods that i didn't know about afore now. i know, but i ain't a maker - i just been livin' here for a long time. the road took a curve at th'rise and continued down 'longside it. i recall lookin' at the sky - had to be movin' on that night - it was gettin' on but i had some time. damn good thing, too.
"i saw the damndest thing thing. hidden in a little dell were all these kids! they had a little buildin' to sleep in, another one that looked like some sorta church or somesuch, i dunno. they were all out 'n about, dancin' and prancin' all over, singin' strange songs. naw, i didn't catch none o' the words, wasn't too concerned about that at th'time. just didn't recollect hearin' 'em before is all.
"so all these kids, they're singin' and such, an' then they get in a circle. they grab each other's hands and lie down, all at once, still holdin' on to each other, still singin' these weird songs. by now i'm curious as all hell so i creep a mite closer. i still can't rightly figure what happened next.
"from the middle o' the circle, a huge bird up an' flew out! no, damn it, o'course the bird weren't there before! it sorta came into bein' right then and there. ain't never seen anythin' like it. i could see right through it, like it were a ghost or somesuch. by now i was gettin' right confused. why? why the hell you think? the bird was huge! the size of a boxcar at least! it was connected to each o' the children by a separate feather, an' it kept gettin' bigger, an' the feathers kept gettin' longer! right chillin' when you think about it...
"can't rightly say what happened after that -- this man knows when 'nuff's enough. crossed m'self and went on my way, i did. nope, never went back -- didn't feel no need to. i saw what i saw, 'sall. y'see things all the time -- just gotta keep walkin'."
"anyhow, down this path i went. i start somethin' and i finish it, yes i do. after a fair bit i come to a rise in these here woods that i didn't know about afore now. i know, but i ain't a maker - i just been livin' here for a long time. the road took a curve at th'rise and continued down 'longside it. i recall lookin' at the sky - had to be movin' on that night - it was gettin' on but i had some time. damn good thing, too.
"i saw the damndest thing thing. hidden in a little dell were all these kids! they had a little buildin' to sleep in, another one that looked like some sorta church or somesuch, i dunno. they were all out 'n about, dancin' and prancin' all over, singin' strange songs. naw, i didn't catch none o' the words, wasn't too concerned about that at th'time. just didn't recollect hearin' 'em before is all.
"so all these kids, they're singin' and such, an' then they get in a circle. they grab each other's hands and lie down, all at once, still holdin' on to each other, still singin' these weird songs. by now i'm curious as all hell so i creep a mite closer. i still can't rightly figure what happened next.
"from the middle o' the circle, a huge bird up an' flew out! no, damn it, o'course the bird weren't there before! it sorta came into bein' right then and there. ain't never seen anythin' like it. i could see right through it, like it were a ghost or somesuch. by now i was gettin' right confused. why? why the hell you think? the bird was huge! the size of a boxcar at least! it was connected to each o' the children by a separate feather, an' it kept gettin' bigger, an' the feathers kept gettin' longer! right chillin' when you think about it...
"can't rightly say what happened after that -- this man knows when 'nuff's enough. crossed m'self and went on my way, i did. nope, never went back -- didn't feel no need to. i saw what i saw, 'sall. y'see things all the time -- just gotta keep walkin'."
4.29.2009
...a weakness/a reflection...
when i was in the eighth grade, our classes held elections of a sort to bestow superlatives on different people. there were the usual categories: "smartest", "craziest hair", "funniest", etc. in addition to these was a category that i won: "most conceited" (actually i was tied with another girl in my class but that's beside the point). at the time i couldn't have been happier with this decision. my rationale was simply that it must be better to be brimming with self-confidence than not. this is what i told those who gave me incredulous looks. i'd say i firmly believed this right up until about halfway through college.
to me, "conceited" didn't have any negative connotations. it merely indicated that the "conceited" person was solid in their belief in themselves. if arrogance was a byproduct, so be it; dealing with my attitude wasn't my problem, after all, it was yours.
it was only after i graduated from college that i began to realize how flawed this view was. my self-confidence had been undermined by having my eyes opened through travel and learning. i began to have the barest inkling of just how little i actually knew about anything. funny how years of education can teach you nothing more than how to actually begin to learn.
so now i'm at a point where part of me wishes i could go back to those days in the past where i was so sure of my every action. even though those actions weren't always right. a larger part of me is satisfied with where i'm going, if not where i'm at. and there's one thing that hasn't changed: my desire to know myself as absolutely as possible. as brutally as possible. in that sense, i'm the same fifteen year old kid who taped "INFORMATION WANTS TO BE FREE" in electric tape to his ceiling so he could stare at the adage every night. confidence waxes and wanes, and wisdom is something that you can only work toward, but the journey seems to be what's important. at least, right now.
to me, "conceited" didn't have any negative connotations. it merely indicated that the "conceited" person was solid in their belief in themselves. if arrogance was a byproduct, so be it; dealing with my attitude wasn't my problem, after all, it was yours.
it was only after i graduated from college that i began to realize how flawed this view was. my self-confidence had been undermined by having my eyes opened through travel and learning. i began to have the barest inkling of just how little i actually knew about anything. funny how years of education can teach you nothing more than how to actually begin to learn.
so now i'm at a point where part of me wishes i could go back to those days in the past where i was so sure of my every action. even though those actions weren't always right. a larger part of me is satisfied with where i'm going, if not where i'm at. and there's one thing that hasn't changed: my desire to know myself as absolutely as possible. as brutally as possible. in that sense, i'm the same fifteen year old kid who taped "INFORMATION WANTS TO BE FREE" in electric tape to his ceiling so he could stare at the adage every night. confidence waxes and wanes, and wisdom is something that you can only work toward, but the journey seems to be what's important. at least, right now.
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