Some thoughts after The Seagull

For so long I’ve wanted to be at the centre of things, at the middle of a crowd, because on the fringes id be, looking in. But perhaps what I mean is that id be looking away, away from myself. So eager to know what someone else thinks so I could qualify myself, so eager that I never realised that the opinion of someone else wouldn’t qualify mine if my opinion did not exist. If it was never formulated. Never created. Knowledge is certainly something, but I’m sure it wont give me that feeling, that unquantifiable feeling that I’m sure I’ve been unknowingly searching for. In the crowd it’s easy to forget that your searching but it doesn’t make the search any less able to bare, any more escapable. I am now considering that that feeling is something much more subtle than I might have thought. Something to be enjoyed, perhaps enjoyed isn’t the word, but something to be acknowledged quietly, a feeling that can only be experienced in the moment. To know that the moment is fleeting and unsustainable, impossible to contain, is to accept the nature of this search.

This Whore Eats

Glossy wrapped chocolate box

Smooth and sliding to the touch

The ribbon of violet silk loosely tied, watches as

A movie star whore slips off her bra and takes her nipple tight between her fingers.

The box is silent and still.

It is knowing --- it is ever present.

It is dominant to the whore who is

squeezing

harder

and

tighter.

The box’s jaw tightens

A low laugh escapes the whore and reaches into eternity.

The whore comes close to the box and

Her face is illuminated.

Her features are inverted and withered

Her eyes stream

     And she smiles so gay.

     She is maddening

    

          Constricting joyful

          Contorting joy

         

She reaches out her hand to touch the ribbon

Her body quivering

With

          Excitement

          Forceful anticipation

         

Her smile is wide and gaping

Her face streams where her eyes should be.

As the gap between her finger and the ribbon closes

The

Ribbon begins to vibrate like its lungs were being filled with liquid metal

          Liquid gold

The organic becomes one with the contrived

The boundaries are blurred

          Eradicated.

    

E  R  A  D  I  C  A  T  E

For a moment it looks as if the ribbon is undoing itself

Then it is unveiled with a hard clunk

It is not a ribbon but a chain

A thick black chain weighs heavy on the box

The whore takes the ends of the chain tightly in her hands and she

Pulls gleefully

She pulls as she has done before

Pulls frantically

A frantic maniacal scream fills the air

The box is open.

The chains are broken and cast across the room

As they fly through the air they lash the whores skin

She whips her head back like a dog to see the bleeding wound on her shoulder

Her teeth grey in the light separate and her tongue fills the gaps

Her tongue a great fatty pustule incapable of elegance writhes and

Burrows into the roof of her mouth trying to escape the world.

Her wounds soon lose their sting

All feeling flees this body

This carcase.

Now her hands reach to the box.

Inside the box

There are an infinite number of treats.

Each one more elaborate more more more more more more more

More

MORE MORE MORTE MORE MORTE

More

And each one more silent than the next,

And each one watches the whore intently

They see her crooked body

They see her frail hands

They see the place where her soul once was or at least should have been.

They see her spread legs and her closed mind.

They see her burning desire

They look around her room and they see the many rich trinkets she has amassed

     Each trinket scurries to the back of the room

     They feel the eyes of the contents of the box

     They feel that stare

     They feel inadequate in the presence of such treats.

They see her ignorance

They hear not a laugh but a cry.

They smile.

They fucking smile.

This circle will complete.

She grabs at the box at the treats not caring which one she consumes first

They are light in her hands and as they touch her mouth they melt like silken chocolate and seem to soothe her tongue

   For a moment,
       
      less than a second

she feels great rest, great ease, her muscles relax and  she almost chokes and tears stream from her face and fill her mouth and wet her skin she is drenched in tears and she does not know this feeling like joy like despair like eternal loneliness like freedom like a tiny cell like enlightenment like the closing of all the doors.

For Less than a second

Each second since then and each second which will tick on every clock into the future forever
     more she feels nothing. 
She is undead. She has not questions nor answers. Her belly rumbles a long journey into the night and into the day and back to the night.

This circle completes.

THIS WHORE EATS.

This circle completes.

THIS WHORE EATS.

This circle completes.

THIS WHORE EATS.

words

words words words
my sword
my love
my hope
there are so many words from which to choose to cure your blues
deep furrows made with words
waves of words
word by brick by word by brick
walls of words
puddles of words
growing words healing words dying words

so many words from which to choose
yet
i cant seem to get them in the right order

to get through to you

Forever freedom

I've felt life lightly. I've felt blethering heart strings tickle my throat and brush my face. I've felt silken light palm my hands from a far. And I've felt the very cells of my skin shake with fear, my eyelids collapse and invert at the imminence of the unknown. I've thrown myself to the ground, to the window, with no hope of a second chance. I've conjured emotions never charted by Hollywood. And still I know there is more to see. I demand there is more to see. I demand to feel, I demand to express. I demand my fellow man experience life to it's fullness and I demand he hold my hand. I demand to live the life I want. I am but a fraction of myself if I cannot have this freedom, to the point that freedom scares me. I must bathe in and relish this fear. This fear is all I have to keep my mind from the shadows. I must usher my heart and my thirst for knowledge into the light. So broken as I may be, I must always seek adventure and demand the clear sight of my brother. Forever freedom.

09/07/12

Emotion is a drug much like cocaine that continues to make a fool of me. The years that pass make me wise when I am calm but when I feel the heat I am the same as I always was. I am a brat, I am terribly dramatic and sadly I am still selfish. This is my whole experience, I cannot and would not change it. When emotion causes me to burst it serves to bring me back down to earth, sometimes I wonder if I was to burst in relative calm what new level of atonement might I find? It amazes me that myself awareness can offer only a pat on the back as my thermometer gauge rises, even in situations almost identical to ones already notched up I am unable to exercise restraint. But thank god. It seems to me that, to quote Whitman, people contain so many multitudes, that if they did not burst emotionally every now and then they surely would burst physically. Splat all oer the wall. And what's more, if you can deal with the stress, it does offer a good laugh. However sick, i think it is true to say people often are at their most entertaining when they are at their most stressed and dramatic. What's important is to know these outbursts are not my identity, they are a part of me but not my sum. I am a quivering wreck standing in the rain and I am teacher comforting a friend. My experience allows me to better understand the world and everyone in it, it allows me to understand you. I cannot hate a single part of me in the same way I cannot hate a single part of you. I try to understand my life with humour. A laugh, like dancing, makes no real sense, it cannot be dissected. This world is a place we all strive to understand but have no hope of explaining. This being the case I cannot explain my emotions in terms of right and wrong, instead I accept them with a sense of humour, both are articles which cannot be explained and so in that way they seem to fit, at least they fit with me.

Return Trip

The boat crossing took me by surprise, it should not have been so long.

Now long off the boat and this dizzy sensation has not left me yet.

I took a long pause at the shore, as long as I could without becoming pretentious or more lonely.

I dallied in the shallow sea to see if my senses might be rekindled, I longed that gloom might be battered from my cranium by the beating sun.

Long did I wait.

During this time I was offered bites of ideas:

For the first time in by reduced memory a smile curled my lips as I felt the sand pinch and tickle my toes.

This was the first layer.

The gentle waves pushed me back and forth, wetting my calves my thighs. I shifted my weight without thought,

A success to find that I could be part of something again.

I tried to imagine myself not human but in sync with the air the waves and constant rays of the sun.

I took refuge in the never defeated sea,

I tried to convince myself that I could fight forever the same battle, the sea and the sun at my side.

And so the sea became the second layer.

I dared to raise my arms, still not wanting to be seen by others on the beach.

I indulged myself that the air might raise my arms and my heart,

I found myself wrapped in white and blue and pink whisps of wind,

Streams, which like me, dallied here and there from moment to moment,

Convalescing or exploring.

The wind is layer three.

As I tried to become entwined with the elements I felt great surges of emotion,

Happiness. Laughter almost broke my sealed lips,

Several attempts but never did a sound escape me to melt my ears.

And I shant forget the great foreboding that chained me to the wet sandy shore.

I had managed to forget the others on the shore, such was my desire for the wind and the sea and the sun.

I could forget everyone.

More lashes scored my eyes as I looked into the sun.

I was trying to escape. I whispered secrets to the sea, I begged the wind to enter my ears.

I jumped disturbing the natural rhythm of the sea and I heard a shout on the shore.

I recalculated my entry into enlightenment and I opened my mouth to the sun

That I might drink it,

That it might make me drunk.

I thought my pours might open and I might feel a sudden rush as I was invoked by the elements.

I dashed my self and sacrificed thought in order to be without emotion.

I heard another shout on the shore.

I felt the sun take its fingers from my temples,

The sand seemed to push my feet closer to the shore.

I thought I might crash onto the sand

A spluttering reject of the sea.

But I did not fall.

More voices brushed my back as my experience became less intense.

The sun, the forth layer, gave me one last push down to earth

Before resettling itself in the heavens.

I could now behold all four layers as if they were framed and on a wall,

The sand the water the wind and the sun were again distanced from me.

As another voice could be heard behind me I turned back to my life on the shore,

I had been offered reassurance.

My feet began to walk me back to my deckchair.

Circle up circle down

Deep down here no one sees you,
Eyes wide and demanding,
The mirror is clouded or dusty
Irreverent of ridicule,
Ears play a single song over and again.

Sense the sour bitter sweet familiar.
Ice melts solid once more,
Water fails to wash and the heart is betrayed again.
A thousand beautiful iridescent raindrops
Tease the ground at foot
The shower is relentless and the force is not quite overpowering
I bask in its honesty.

Thighs push slowly,
The power of the foot long forgotten
Waist high
The head also relinquished to the moment.
Thighs still pushing pulling pushing pushing
Seemless is the subtext.

Small is the subtext
Realisation so close yet so far
But to realise
To step with the forgotten foot
To run
To swim and kick and run
And burst
To burst
Forget the shadow an burst into the light
Forget the small
Put wide eyes to good use
Attack the glaze
Attack

Old sleep finds bone and muscle again.
Sleep in the sun.
Look for us in the sun.
Awake.

Dashed

Love at first sight and cemented through the seconds minutes years, not quite a decade.

No thrashing or crashing or smashing would dissolve such a love.

But gossip ah gossip and worse yet, pride.
Pride is something so easily diluted by honesty and recounted facts but yet somehow has the weight required to pulverise love.

An old man once lay in hospital, death close at hand.
He was, in his heyday, the most popular man in town.
A pillar of the community.
When it came to the bit,
The bit that we all dread,
The bit we all deny for as long as we wake,
How many of his friends attended his bedside?
Not even a handful.
His family alone could be counted upon.
His daughter distraught and bemused by the treatment of her father led a life in the absence of friends that might abandon her later.

I grabbed the blossom on the trees and swallowed them whole,
Enraptured by the gifts which life might offer.

While it might be naive to presume that I shan't choke on even one petal I'll continue to drink my chosen medicine.

A disappointment in a sea of gifts will not be a lesson I'll hold close to my heart.

Past the Present

Cut open by the the hands of a Clock. Again.
Well it tickles it burns it gives me gass
Boke.
Picking my teeth with a pendulum
Half way to a quarter past the past that I forgot that I papered my insides with so many faces.
Never an old face. Every face remains fresh and bright.
How many anchors now?
Take root! Take stock! Take pride!

Take a hike! The past is the puture putrid past future

Stuck to identity stuck to recognition stuck to fear of invention

Bulldoze bash smash exterminate and eraze and eraaaaaZzzzzzzzzzze

Ahhhhhhhhhhahahaha ease

Breeze

Quiet breath in the air

The Back of My Head

Not sure how long ago now
But one morning, in the past, 
I woke up and was able to discern the back of my head.
And only the back of my head.
Perhaps I could see fractures of light
curving over my dome.
But mainly just the back of my head.
It's dizzying.
Claustrophobic.
Saddening.
My life wandering around,
blowing a draft onto my own neck with each breath.


Then one day I swallowed my head.


It tasted dirty. For a long time.
Some hairs were so long
They tickled my intestines
While still having ample maneuverability 
To floss my teeth.
When it no longer tasted dirty it tasted bland.
A big licky sticky Werther's Original
that lost its taste before its time.


Eventually my tongue began to tingle
my head began to release juices
Fruit Juices
Oils
Cocktails of bright colours and with measures of zing!


My mouth was salivating so profusely
i thought i might drown in my own spit.
There was nothing for it,


I houghed and hacked and whelped
and eventually I heaved
And I coughed up my own head.
I coughed with such force that when I opened my eyes
My eyes were blinded by the light,
My nose was no longer tickled by the hair of my own head.
The back of my head was back where it belonged.
At the bloody back.


Now my eyes look very wide.
And I've developed a phobia of queueing,
I can't bear the sight of the back of a head.
EUUCHHH!!!