This day, I
I was memorable and profane,
emotion conceptualized,
t h o u g ht
splintered and frightening;
I was History,
itself,
an immaterial being, the
shadow over my grave.
I obliged her.
I was alone, but not,
in a field of static
and white noise…
drowning in the
expanses and the rising
Fear
that I was being surrounded by the
Unknown.
I
my skin made me feel uncomfortable—
I needed to step out
get some air
"Let's go for a walk."
I was like darkness, then,
melting into a puddle of
what was formerly a machine.
I was them,
distrusting and vengeful
and I was those sad others.
The sun had risen on my day…
but it was getting late and the
scaffolding was shaking
under the moving weight
of shifting blues.
It threatened collapse with every
ice-laden cloud.
During this time, an abstract light was
promising closure
and hinting at a new day,
should the night be survived.
The surroundings crept in
as she sank back
into them?
Retreating from some horror
or retired to some paradise
or overcome by the dismalness of
was i the fading signal?
This was a time of doubt.
"Alone at last,"
voiced familiarity.
There was the sensation of movement
then the terrifying
understanding
the ground was spinning
desperation: Find a foothold
find some rope and a tree…
Where's a safe puddle to drown in?
A voice was crying out
gibberish
misunderstood
like tracing lightning sparks.
"Welcome," it rang out, again.
And my neck hair stood on end…
strained eyes, drooping from the
pulsation and
intensity
sound, muffled
like delayed rumbling over hills…
filled the earth
as sky fell open to shed only pinhole
scenes of violence
and a moonless night
with that sickening pink glow, far far off
clinging to the northern horizon
like
a warning. It was a rotting corpse on a pike.
I was transfixed
like a battlefield picnicker
a gallows gawker
a—
"Turn away."
You, again?
came a rattle from my disconnected chest.
"Follow…"
Why?
"Follow…"
Where?
and I was staring at
a child
blue painted gold radiance
naked and
smiling…
holding a sunflower,
its petals shimmering
The earth paused and
I felt secure on my stilt legs,
clinging desperately to
this child's free hand.
I felt weighted
in this husk, hollow throughout…
heavy
like irony
or a paradox
We passed by the edge of the wooded zone
and paused, waiting for the earth to catch up.
a moth hovered
floating ash over thermals
craving direction,
cursing the moon for abandoning it,
just before a screech pierced through
the dense satin
and a leathered fluttering
swooped in,
beating her way through the black.
I wept as I celebrated her victory.
the moth
the bat
and suddenly, grasping
a circular hint
Again, the child beckoned me to follow.
We slipped between two colossal pillars
into the heavy
green velvet curtain.
There were deer, birds, snakes and spiders;
things that
only existed in flat two dimensionality
or stuffed display—
the sensation of life was overwhelming.
Are we going to where He killed God?
laughter
reverberating from a thousand
unseen surfaces
was the only response.
so we continued on
into the darkness
into the forest
into the tangle
and I followed
in silence.
A tree fell
a snake struck
a bird called
a vine reached further up
a trunk
tightening its parasitic grip
a mosquito bit and drank deeply
and I collapsed
anemic
but the child steadied me.
"sit"
and we took refuge below
an ancient tree
I slumped and curled
cradled by the roots,
but the child forced me
to sit upright
attentive
contemplative
I sat with my back to the trunk
head resting slightly
How old are you? Do you feel? Bleed?
and with that I felt the subtle throbbing pulse
the concealed flowing
I tingled from root to leaf and back
every concentric
experienced;
every hardened, preserved memory
became instantaneously vivid
struggle and survival played out before me
…and I drifted further
I sat and watched a mountain erode,
topple like a stack of papers
from an open window gust.
I saw the conquest of a continent play out,
rising and falling,
like a tragedy, heartfelt
comedic.
And I suddenly realized that I was history
I was history
I was history
I was the—
yet, where am I?
where trapped in this…
this body
does this body
hold me?
this
skull?
where—
At last, the child spoke, again.
the blue brilliance had shifted
reddened into
deep purple
like paternal anger:
"Scoff at your manly enlightenment
your hypocritical contempt and
disappointment for them
your voice forsaking language
your stiff and prim tongue losing meaning
your booming for the sake of echoes."
But how else can I locate
anything
in the abyss?
I was comforted with a smile
and beckoned to rise.
We continued on
the sapphire child
and I.
We came to
a river's swollen banks—
saturating roar
"This is where you cross
alone."
Where you will leave me
alone.
Another smile
but the consolation
was flushed out
and faded
swept away
as the rushing
muddy
waters
widened
deepened
engulfed
me
up to my eyes
How will I make it to the safety
of dry land?
How will I make it to the other bank
and not be lost?
i'm sure to drown.
give me footing…
Panic flashed over me
a distress spark
shot from the base of my
skull
I am lost
I am forsaken
I am alone
tumbled dizzy
and sick to my stomach
with heavy lungs
and terrifying
dark
vertigo
claustrophobic and abandoned
by the security
of the compost
silt
And the rushing noise condensed
became clear
A voice boomed distinctly
articulate
shook me violently
threatening to shatter my splinter shard
pillar of being
Behold.
fall and collapse
What is magnificent, dramatic,
cataclysmic
to you
my empty self caved-in
is but a hiccup,
a sneeze,
a blink.
i am driftwood
left for decay.
give me a toehold…
My chest heaves
arms flailing
reaching
thrashing
a voice cries out in gargled anguish
I need air
God, please deliver
-
*gasp*
my chest heaves
throbbing torso numbness
coughing out water
paralyzed arms
and blessed
mud-caked salvation
head aching
swollen eye
pummeled violence
bloody nose
lapping ripples
caress my cheeks
blue lipped
heart pulse
and air-filled lungs
I am alive.
Panic and blindness
slowly faded
disorientation
Did I make it across?
"Nicely done."
god damn me…
"Tenacity and luck…"
but this wasn't a child's voice?
"that's how you've
made it this far."
Excuse me?
"What's there to forgive?
Survival is its own justification."
fuck, when will I come down?
"Here, friend, take my hand.
No one will know. Besides, even
heroes need help some times."
Please don't use that word.
"Yes, it's tough to admit that
even the strong need help."
That wasn't what I was talking about.
"Then you don't like the thought
of polite relationships? An
individual, through and through."
Excuse me.
"Where are you going, Hero? You've
just had quite the orde—"
I asked you not to use that word.
annoyed, I rose on
shaky knees and
continued on my way…
where the hell am I going?
"It is rather impressive, in a sick way."
I'm tired of traveling companions
"You've been rather successful
at masochistic nose thumbing.
What drives you?"
Pardon?
"Another strange trait…
‘Life feeds on life,' yes?
Necessity makes right. What is your guilt?"
Who are you?
"An admirer of life."
A nuisance.
"So, brave man, where did you come from?"
I…I can't remember…
"Clearly, you are not from these woods;
you would know about the downed tree,
just down river from where you drowned,
and the bridge just beyond that."
Drowned?
"Perhaps. Is that shocking?"
But I'm walking and breathing…
"That's all relatively inconsequential
or merely coincidental. You're alive,
you're dead; whichever. When did you
last eat? Are you hungry?"
I
don't know.
"See? Where are you going?"
I don't know.
"A wandering spirit
sounds like being dead."
To you.
"Not you?"
But I'm alive, breathing, feeling.
"Yet, you don't know if you're hungry."
how long had it been since I ate?
what time is it?
I remember that there was a time…
there was time
posted
precise
their clocks…
but
but it's still dark…
how long has it been dark?
god damn the rain
where am I going?
"Come, friend.
You've got a lot to see, but
the body's got a soul.
Come and eat."
So,
we continued on…
my stomach grumbled and groaned
pangs and
appetite grew
until
"Here it is."
the wafting stench of decay
stagnated blood-rot
putrid
shit weighted air
of the pig pen.
"They may stink, but pork
is relatively high yield."
I'm not sure I'm hungry any more.
"You weren't sure in the first place.
So, death smells?"
"Come, have a look around."
So, I followed him
stopping here
and there
the outhouse
the well
the slaughterhouse
every instrument shined with clean efficiency
but the dim lit openness
screamed
throat-slit death
the clouds parted slightly
and I was struck
that the razor reflections
did not produce a
flattering light for my friend.
The stark contrast and shadows elongated his
oddly pointed nose
his eyes sank deeper into his skull
the moonlight collapsed
his butcher stained hands
into gravity heavy
black
murderer
we moved on
to the pen,
piss fecal mud
and huddled fearful shaking
god…
we grow life to kill it
and eat it.
"… and that is that. Are you hungry, now?"
torn psychology
and the hole in my belly
where my stomach disappeared—
I obliged to be obliged.
And taking my nod as queue
he pulled out a gun
high caliber revolver…always guns
squeals
explosion
shriek
and the hollow sound of smoke wafting
"For tomorrow, of course.
Today's pig is already cooked. Time to eat."
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