Thursday, June 23, 2011

The Gods Gifted (Poisoned) Me With a Wrath So Great, Its Power Unspeakable...

(...but it was only potent against that which I loved.)

I've been neglecting the medium I am attached to most: the written word. These dead letters, so many corpses of meaning, compiled and assorted, lining ditches cut by paragraphs, amassing around so many miscarried intentions, the significance of which is forever buried (while these ghastly bodies lay exposed and naked on the bare page).

I'm southbound to Marion, crafting my handwriting, a little bit funky, but over-laden with melancholy.

I am killing myself with the thick soup of nostalgia, spoonful by spoonful, choking on What-Could-Have-Been.

Good. I want to paint it black. I want to see it bleed. It. Me. That IT I can't bear to bare any more. Fuck me.

But IT is tethered to this cluster of events that wear your skin and bare your teeth when I see them seeming to smile. You would tear my face off. A cynical smile. You think it flashes love, but I see only the explosion of a muzzle. And that after I feel the tenderness of your insincerity rip through my chest. First the feeling, then the sight, then then sound.

It is deafening, the noise that floods the space between my desire and your dispassion. It is torrents of static and calamitous waves, hurling boulders. You don't hear it over the bubbling of your laughter. You can't feel it, so blithely leaping from foothold to foothold, the rush of wind against your thick, impenetrable hide. Those impermanent foundations are pouring out of my hemophilic body! Thin-skinned and paling, I can only watch your movements. You no longer fly into the wound you open, into this terrible space you've punched through my body. Away, and up--or down, no matter: still just away--your lurching body is frantic and harried, tired too, but hungry for escape.

How many scenes of your leaving must I die before IT dies, too? And trapped here in these miserable confines--these atrocious symbols! A, B, C, D, E, (F-this)--these scenes multiply and amplify and ricochet and intensify until... what? will they ever COLLAPSE?! What obscene power is this, animating this hateful form?

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