Look Around, but not too long

Christ. I know, relax and breath in. The spinning will stop. But the road calls out in languish, and the fear holler back. They want me to stay, then like me here, the voices whimper then shout. You are comfortable, you are home, everything shall be alright, the chorus continues. Though I wonder. Like an shade I float among the scenery, effecting the interplay of light and dark, but despite the obvious effect I have on the landscape, I am not of it. Were i too root myself not, so early, it would not be a discovery, or a journey, but a flow to a new familiar, a slide to a smaller port. New things soon become old. For all the allure of a simple life of aesthetic indulgence, it is not my time. The horizon calls, and I shall answer.

Sunrise

You see, not all days share the same lighting, others are darker than the rest. Even when the path itself is clear, and the way forward decided, the shadows that pass before us tend to take the shapes of things we chose long be free of. But memory and manners of the heart have the strange tenancy to crawl out from under the rocks we placed beside the path to keep us from the woods. We can cut ourselve with false fantasies, we can tie our limbs to bar stools and break our will withoutany cause for alarm. But we must stay resolute, and hardened. We cannot give the passing shadows in our minds too much credence.

To quote James Maynard Keenan, "Change has come, keep your indignation, take the higher road, take it like man".

I am starting to understand the importance of he who holds the banner. when the field before you reeks of death and fear, the image of what you fight for, beating triumphantly against the wind must give hope to those who do not know if tomorrow's sunrise will grace them with its presence, for fate has made other plans for them.

I Might See You

Today I cut my finger on the edge of my diary. I stared at the drop of blood till it when a colour close to black. I took the tip of the blade you gave me and scraped a smile into it. As I curl up in into a warm blanket made of lost photographs, with faces I struggle to place these days, I begin the nightly bartering. I reach down and take an image at random and set it aflame and whisper to the chaotic shadows, “keep me safe this night”. An offering to something I cannot know, and fear that one day I just may. May this nigh keep if a bit further at bay, for last night I saw it had left a few claw marks on the bed post. If it gets any closer I may have to offer it the picture of you

HAHAHAHA

Now I know that I should not be laughing. Yes the skin around my back is getting tighter as new limbs try and find their horizon. I am not sad, but scared. I am not worried, but concerned. Excitement can wait, there is still so much to shed from my spine.  I have debts to pay, and no currency available to me anymore. Not every investment had produced the returns I had hoped they would. Pity. I was to some degree relying on them, hoping they would help me afford the face paints needed to mach my many garbs. A painted smile is a faint substitute for joy.

My Pet Singularity

I have always wanted a pet singularity. I would lead it by a quantum leash and if need be, clean up the dark matter it might leave in the yard.  I may have to discipline the little of if it tears up the fabric of my existence, unless I wanted it to do so for very specific reasons. I could take my singularity for warps on the beach, and bask in the solar flares. It may flux at passersby, but I am sure I will have the capacitors to deal with it. If anyone sees a wild singularity sniffing around black holes and marking its territory with radiation please give me a call, I would so like to give it a home. I have already started to build it a warm dimension for it to sleep in, right next to a convenient little time stream to drink from if it gets thirsty. It would be shy at first I am sure, but in after a while it will start to gravitate towards me. I am positronically certain that we will be happy together.  

I need not, but i do apologise

I wish I knew what to tell you. Sadly, in this moment the stories conflict and collide in my mind with a powerful malice that leaves me breathless and weak. I know my legs can hold the weight of my body, but I am certain that far more is being pulled down. Among the many things tied to my spine are my memories. Through them I could swim, but I would not leave their embrace unscathed. I still taste the blood that the wounds of my own nature have left in my mouth. Dripping I crawl against the parapet and shield my eyes from the bombarding rays of retrospection. With white knuckles I gnash my teeth in what looks from a distance like a smile, and sing an apologetic scream. When that cesspool gets spiced by the hopes and presuppositions of those that have carried the burden of loving me, then things start to become most unsettling. I do not for a moment doubt that those factors strengthen my deep relationship with violent poisons. If I am to lean against a sword, pointing towards my heart, I should at the very least sharpen it. Then, when I add the rumbling melodies of lost lover’s whispered assurances, a ball of razor blades feels the need to go exploring my chest. Weakly I struggle to submit to the unyielding voice that proclaims my deficiency. It cannot be correct about every incomplete aspect of my shell. If I had learnt to believe in the consistency of joy then I may not be standing at the gates with sharpened arms. But that is not who I am. In truth I simply hope I do not destroy you, for I have become rather good at it, in the way that can only be felt in retrospect.

My Beloathed Goddess

I suppose if you were sitting by the fire, stoking the coals intently with a branding iron, and were it to find my hide, it would not shy from the mark of a romantic. If anything, the means would match the manner. For you see, that accursed thing I have deified and dedicated my life to has sharpened each of its edges and found it fitting to leave them both wedged in my chest, only to twist it at its leisure. Love, of all the underpinning emotions my nature had to submit to, why did it have to be such a bitter and venomous drive. It clouds logic and crawls from one unattainable to the next. Yet still I am to prostrate myself piously before whatever and whomever it may land upon, whiles my free hand, when given the slightest opportunity, flings uncensored personal vile in the hopes that purity and honest validation may clean it and allow it safe passage home. A lifetime of tying myself to others, albeit they blind be to it, has left my heart a gapping maw, puckering its lips and sucking at the cold air in the hopes of latching onto something to sustain it. It does not pacify easily nor for long. So when this adolescent organ does eventually find nourishment, it covets it with every inch of itself, and grows strong and large when well fed. Though no feast can last forever, so when its sustenance ceases, it is now a creature designed by the acquired love of another. Were any to refill the void, its passion would pump through the veins another made. So to the cleaver I go, and clean it. Now only the scars remain. Though I am open and able to worship yet again, my dear lord, for I have paid my pound of flesh, my penance. I have sacrificed myself at the cold alter yet again. Yet I remain devout, as zealous as I am callous. My heart lies yearning and partially numb, as the coals cough and crack. But give it tinder, oh then it shall take up its station yet again, and rage with blind fury, only to lead to me to another melancholy.