They ask me if I'm in pain.
"Can I describe it?" to them.
Shall I show them my book?
It is a bustling, budding, pain that breathes with my pulse.
A thousand stabs in methodical measure...
1...2...3...1...2...3... breathe-in,
breathe-out... 1...2...3..., the undeniable waltz.
Always there, those tiny dancers, in one place before the next and back again.
Slow, easy and predictable.
You could almost fall asleep to it's rhythm,
if it wasn't for the pain
Monday, 22 April 2013
Pervading Dark and Pertinent Blindness
How do we walk
when all is murk?
Irksome to wave ones hands
away and about awkwardly
Swiping for signs of life
Not knowing whether or wherever
existence lies in relation
to your own location
Realisation that nothing is known
It is ever so hard-
Pervading dark
and Pertinent Blindness
Monday, 8 April 2013
I didn't sleep; I dreamed awake
I had an unsettling night, not so many nights ago. My mind does not operate now how it did; what was once clarity is mostly now a tired smear of cognisance. I thought of paradox's; puzzles of semantics; words like digits. I lost the art of that, but I kept a note to remind me.
If it is the fate of all life
to die
(The truth of which cannot be denied;
for all who have died
once lived-
This is by the very self-same nature
a tautology)
than even the most fertile macaw
is just the solid rouge
of a deepening wound:
A heartbeat; a flutter of a second
in the grasp of a decade,
and all moves on as one.
Then the greatest of tragedies
is to live in immortality.
If it is the fate of all life
to die
(The truth of which cannot be denied;
for all who have died
once lived-
This is by the very self-same nature
a tautology)
than even the most fertile macaw
is just the solid rouge
of a deepening wound:
A heartbeat; a flutter of a second
in the grasp of a decade,
and all moves on as one.
Then the greatest of tragedies
is to live in immortality.
Wednesday, 3 April 2013
On Lust
Something about cutting my hand. Or else, something about the verisimilitude of passion/love/lust/desire and the vicissitude it brings by being at once a perfume and a poison. (Who says the two cannot be one?) How intoxicating it can be, as it lulls you to your death! But yet, we drink from it still, for we have no other wish than to be made to sleep; lulled into eternity.
The sex you expound-
it must be rancid!
That such effluvium could leak
perennially
down your legs, or
extending in waves from
your mouth, or
branching out, as in
tiny dunes from your
finger-tips.
That subtle pressure that grows-
it all adds up,
you know,
sure as the tin
will sink its rim, deeper,
into the pliable skin
of my thumb.
It bites,
it bleeds,
it bleeds as you bleed,
and the blood of your lust
shall drain evermore.
Monday, 1 April 2013
In memory of...
I've had a strange past few days...
I've been to new places and met strangers there; some who I warmed to, others I let know I detested them. I ended up, at dawn, at an illegal party in a building that was formerly a place I was lectured in for my university tuition. That was a fascinating experience, but one I hold few memories of.
The culmination of too many drinks and being fed bad drugs resulted in memory loss and winding up in a lavish apartment somewhere vaguely familiar. I attempted to sleep, I vomited the contents of the night before, I stripped down to my underwear, was cleaned up and tended to with glasses of water, lost consciousness and sunk my skull on the porcelain basin of a sink on the way down. The scar remains, an inch below a scar that I received as a child, when I collided with another object; a car.
The next day I awoke wearing someone else's clothes, in their stripped down bed, on my own. I gathered my things, walked home and slept all the way through until this morning. I awoke early, drank a coffee (I've still yet to eat since Saturday- It's mid Monday, now) and secured a job. I walked home, got terribly lost, and freezing cold, I wandered through a beautiful and imploringly sad cemetery.
This is something I penned while I ambled along, admiring everything around me.
How vast it all is;
The tome of the dead-
Weathered name, beyond name,
All as still as another.
Mother and child, in effigy,
Angel's wing, stone masonry,
free masonry,
Sign after sign.
Cross after cross.
Here it is they lie;
A name and the figure of Christ-
'Henceforth shall never divide'
Coloured with the garland's
Of the flowers of their kin
And hereafter I walk
The only one who holds
Onto what they hath lost
And I who walk, lost
To here; where they have found their way
And from whence shall move
Nevermore
I've been to new places and met strangers there; some who I warmed to, others I let know I detested them. I ended up, at dawn, at an illegal party in a building that was formerly a place I was lectured in for my university tuition. That was a fascinating experience, but one I hold few memories of.
The culmination of too many drinks and being fed bad drugs resulted in memory loss and winding up in a lavish apartment somewhere vaguely familiar. I attempted to sleep, I vomited the contents of the night before, I stripped down to my underwear, was cleaned up and tended to with glasses of water, lost consciousness and sunk my skull on the porcelain basin of a sink on the way down. The scar remains, an inch below a scar that I received as a child, when I collided with another object; a car.
The next day I awoke wearing someone else's clothes, in their stripped down bed, on my own. I gathered my things, walked home and slept all the way through until this morning. I awoke early, drank a coffee (I've still yet to eat since Saturday- It's mid Monday, now) and secured a job. I walked home, got terribly lost, and freezing cold, I wandered through a beautiful and imploringly sad cemetery.
This is something I penned while I ambled along, admiring everything around me.
How vast it all is;
The tome of the dead-
Weathered name, beyond name,
All as still as another.
Mother and child, in effigy,
Angel's wing, stone masonry,
free masonry,
Sign after sign.
Cross after cross.
Here it is they lie;
A name and the figure of Christ-
'Henceforth shall never divide'
Coloured with the garland's
Of the flowers of their kin
And hereafter I walk
The only one who holds
Onto what they hath lost
And I who walk, lost
To here; where they have found their way
And from whence shall move
Nevermore
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