Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Goodbye Ink and Paper Quinze

The reflection in the water is unrecognizable to me.
Where did I intend to go?

I missed my exit. I wasn't paying any attention. I am stuck in this lane, going at a high rate of speed. No exits in sight, going nowhere, fast. Highways, a means to get to some place, a road less traveled. There is no hesitation.

I split the guilt into two parts. I generously assign you the bigger half.

I've never believed in causing external injuries. I starve, dying from the inside out. I wash my face so that no one knows I am fasting. Now you do. An emaciated corpse is resting on the altar. As a devoted priestess I perfume the body. Bitter scibblings, a notebook which documents the incarnation to the aftermath. A pile of beautiful bones. Fade away. Being and Nothingness. Hell is other people. "They say I'm plump, but I threw up all the time.""It makes me sick. Now I've stumbled here, failed to make it mine." Cleansing the sacrifice. Untarnished virginal creature singing a song that no one was meant to hear. Echoes are all around the doorway, crawling to the ceiling, they penetrate the song, they turn it into a fearful howl. They ring loudly in my ears, like the cries of children throwing tantrums and fits, which I don't bother to soothe. A lullaby. A trance. Go to sleep. I will not wake again, no matter how loudly you scream. I am stuck here in a vacant dream.

I am the seed sown among thorns.

My lover belongs to me and I to him. I belong to my lover, and for me he yearns.
Skimming though a book.

How I answer your question isn't half as important as how I will question your answer. The world is full of crashing bores, I must not be one, because someone always turns to me and says "Take me in your arms and love me."

When the unknown became known I did not fear it any less. The mystical world I entered was one not due to pen and paper, or even lonely musings, I entered it accompanied.

All that was lost cannot be recovered or removed from time. I assuage my own pains, I leave you to your own devices. Pick your weapon wisely, my dear. I sharpen mine. It exists in a hidden place. A glance, you won't pick up on it. Density. Intensity. Spitefulness. Rancor.

They realize they are there to torture each other, which they do effectively, by probing each other's sins, desires, and unpleasant memories.

I think about life, I think about death, neither one particularly appeals to me. If the day came when I felt a natural emotion, I'd lie in the middle of the street and die.

You just haven't earned it yet, and I'm telling you why. All the love that you long for eludes you. I'll tell you why. You wouldn't believe me.

I've seen pictures, so I've seen people.

I searched, what I seek is unseen.

I've seen stores which sell it objectified.

Objects I'd like to be.

Won't you please objectify me?

Something you hold.

Something someone can mold.

I'll keep scanning, seeking life, objectified.
Glass coffins. A firm resting place for my head. Sleeping Beauty. Thorns. A glass case, so all you do is look at me. The absence of interaction.

Reprisal. Tomorrow in the Battle, think of me. The game is, in fact, so dirty and so biased that, on such a basis, no justice system can possibly presume to be just, and perhaps, therefore, there is no possible justice, ever, anywhere, perhaps justice is a phantasmagoria, a false concept.

Things past. You are trying, but not as hard as I. Your existence is trying.

The substantial, falling in love- and the insignificant-falling in love. People are ceaselessly relating without even realising they are, and quite unaware of the uncontrollable mechanisms of treachery, misunderstanding and chaos they are setting in motion, and what could prove disastrous, they talk about others, and about themselves. This constant telling and retelling is perceived, wrongly, as a transaction, disguised as a gift, and is more often than not a bribe, a repayment of debt, and a curse. Backbiting, how kind, I thank you. What is it you are trying to achieve? It is approval you seek. That's not how you find it. Justification, justice-a false concept, we have established that.

Insignificant odes to concrete objects, only finite substance, just like you. Compare. I am the judge. Jokes with severe injury. False accusations. Perjury. Imitation. It was only a bad impression of sincerity. I found it easy to enter into. I feel my lungs closing up. I feel that feeling I get at only one time. Leave it alone, I was only singing. It was a song that I will not perform again.

I speak to the one who needs to be spoken to. Make amends. How I love you!

The poets of long ago, I am the weed that chokes your roots.
I am the seed sown on rocky ground.

I am the sun. I am the air. I nourish you. I deprive myself.

We're done, at least I am, I can't speak for you, but this has been a long time coming. Try and guess what I mean. Try and figure out who this is directed toward, no one who would read this, or even knows it exists. The games children play. I can't pretend I feel love for you. I can't pretend it gets easier. I have hung on, I have egded along this narrow ledge. I can't pretend I feel love for you.


  1. I know you are a creature defiant of sadness. But what I don't understand is why one is content to lie still in a grave knowing the dirt will fall in a killing rain. If there is a God, there is hope to fight towards light and joy and leave behind comfort of dissolution and despair. Yet, I know I'm not one to tell you this.

  2. I know, it's hard being a lightbulb when everyone is flailing around with hammers.
    I'll put down my shovel if you put yours down first.
    Enough of that. When you figure out what sound rabbits make/what they do when they are happy, I will gladly oblige.

  3. You need to enter some writing contests. Seriously.