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Are you dying to see this? Many aren't. They're holed up inside the core. We feed it secretly. It enters our consciousness through our morning bacon, eggs and coffee. It'll be true to itself, as it guards itself without regard for anything but its own devices. This has been going on for a very long time. Not many understand. Try as some of us do to explain, the words are lost on them like scientific reasoning on flat earthers. We create such wonderful idiocies and crown them with such fierce alacrity. We bow down to them. We pray to mud.
It comes. It goes. How common. The river flows. Eddies, like bubus appear. You adjust. The cancer spreads. A black plague of unrest sets in. Waves rock your beliefs. You thought you had a good strong stance. Not so. Is this a surprise? Getting a reliable cup of coffee in the zone will now be quite difficult. The unwanted eyes have sprouted everywhere. They're not to be blacked out. In service to the unseen they are very seen. That's what they want. Make you uneasy. Paranoid. What will come is anyone's guess. Too bad, they say. They say that alot.
I go up. I go down. Through no fault of my own of the idea of being held responsible for my own fate, I juggle all the elements I feel before me; I'm juggling myself. I spring off my hand, landing in my eye. Round and round, down to the palm, up to the eye, penciled in as the writer of my own story, but it's been written before. The words tumble out. I watch them fall, then a waterfall in Northern Minnesota. I was in the fall. I was the fall, the words, water, the stretching of my mind.
Wish I knew. Wish I could wish. Wishes only come lively when the darkness folds over the wishing well, when I see the coins glitter under the moon and the candied colored cloud they call the sandman has bad gas. He knows his thing. His thing is wishing. Wishes are devoured by his machine. You don't see his machine coming. The lights flicker as a clue, then the band comes on. The music dribbles its notes though your entrails like a samurai sword of rarest metal, sharp as a worm might wish chewing its way thru your pizza and soul.
I tried my best, but the best was trying too hard to be something it could never be, the backside of my dreams where the eternity edge was sharpening; no matter how much time was condensed or lost or elongated, it would come for me, as I've come for it, over and over without fail. The story I told was always told. It never changed. We would meet at the appointed time by the flip of the card into itself to see itself, like the back of my head as the bullet roared thru my head without touching a thing.
When I cut into you, I leave you alone to become yourself in a dead revival. Your squinted face melds mine, where ecstasy leaves me drooling an ocean. Blood insinuates my craving, a liquid joy of a mythical sort, clawed thru the fleshy framework of my predator instincts, so that which I love, I eat, for love digestible, lubricating the gears cabling uncountable eons to the moment of taste, to the moment of joining, sending messages to the bleeding skies, I'm alive, doing as I do, being who I am. Such as it is, I am, and will not deny.
Oh, they love this dance. It pringles the wits, scintillates the eyes to the prisms they afix to reason, dashing down all the rumble towns like red hour dance marathons. They're in the streets gobbling up the media sandwiches on breaks from exhaustions' wonderments. It's scrawled across the skies, “You're gonna die, gonna die. But stay on your masked feet! Let 'em see how tough you aren't.” Worry. Worry. Worry. You work the keys in the worry slots, and bingo, rapture off the charts. Let's see who can dig the deepest hole. Mine’s deeper than yours, bitches!!! Nyah, nyah, nyah.
What wanders the air? Cups of waving light mark the breeding. Showers of the mystery grab wits like lampreys in the mud crabbing crawdads. Stillness. Then movement. Jaws rip quiet off its mark, slugging in the dire to take its feed, climbing up the ground thru trembling legs, snatching. You can't see it, but it's there, isn't it, waiting for you, for anyone who's careless enough like the insouciant grasshopper fiddling, fiddling, diddling the time as if it's no time. “Come down the light and eat the darkness. It's free. Shall we make it a party? Yes, let’s. Your turn.”
Do I know why? The question seeps lengthwise into the cracks I cleverly placed in my foundation and goes unanswered. How could it be? To route that out would require massive redesign of an unseen entity's wits who's really in control. Come lightly in the fray one can hear a distant laughter. It rides the wind so easily most never question it. To the end the road I'm grounded on the need to this dire event looming; the laughter comes along. I don't devalue anyone, yet everyone is suspect. I watch. I listen. I wait. The laughter actually soothes me.
The servitude lasted as long as it could. Its term ran out before I could arrange a polite escape. I'm stuck. The walls are pretty. This house was designed well. Bugs of all sorts remain unseen. I prefer the roaches stay in the walls. Seeming very naive, I don't dare question this blindness. I don't want to. It helps me. The hand on the controls is steady. It doesn't seem to be nervous. It thinks I'm a happy puppet. It sees my blindness, accepts it as the state of my capability. I must keep to this role. One day, though....
Where is it? Good question. You can feel it moving through every kitchen. What's cooked goes out in a unique form now; no exceptions. It's almost funny, were it not for the fact a roundabout turnscrew of events is no doubt going to make this whole process redundant, obsolete. You worked to make it that way. Don't shrug and turn away as if this is all some big surprise, some big betrayal. It's ain't. Best to sit back and allow, let go. The righteousness you're so good at spouting is going to turn on you like a deranged viper. Enjoy.
I look at him squarely. There's no mistaking the face. I got the right guy. He knows I got him too. Now, comes the showdown that no one predicted. In a violent shift of air I see the space open to another kind of blaze. A shaft of darkness cuts the light, the kind of light one holds in their eye like a child might while twisting the haft of a kaleidoscope. In this moment I watch another visage take its place, a long peaceful lawn with a few trees perfectly manicured, and a tall man with a rake smiling.
You give the all. It cracks open. Secrets spill on a hungry sky full of mouths aching for the meat. I am lifted to this sky. I bought it with belief it would be good. With belief came the wealth of my shrunken heart starving for anything smacking of truth. Blood thick soul feeding rivers of light caroused me. I found the ministrations the very thing I sought as a child but never found in the pews I foundered, hunkered down in prayers to lies, leading me to a battleground dressed as a sandbox full of toys and smiling dolls.
There, and there. Can you see it? It comes from its hiding place only when it thinks it's alone, but it's never alone. Once you've seen it, even for a fraction of a second, you'll never let it alone. It's bonded to you, the very thing inside you that you forgot about, the thing that truly feeds you. At one point you lost it. You felt it leave, or you thought it left. Lies led you to this falsehood. You feel it. It's there. Somehow you'll convince it you're a friend, but are you? Or is this just another lie?
A terrible circumstance has led you to an awful realization. Many have come and gone on the basis of this, hunting for the very thing that's in your grasp, never really touching the truth, let alone getting anywhere near. But whose truth? What truth lives inside the maze of putative truths that's truly true? The game never ends, does it? It was set up as a decoy to lure many away from another decoy and yet another and another. The turrets are full of eyes. Inside this castle lives something that's watching everything. One day its eyes will touch yours.
The winding road bordered a lush woods. Smells of new growth were intoxicating. You cranked the roof down so you could take it all in as much as possible. No one else was on the road, either on foot or in a car. You'd been traveling a long time. Industrial cities and sprawling oilfields were gone now. Such a relief. Passing all of that was horribly depressing, but now, you knew they were gone forever. You'd survived the worst. It had cost you just about everything, except for one thing. You still held that close. You'd never let that go.
What does one do when the window closes, the door slams shut, ceiling lowers, all the tables and chairs seem ugly to you, when all the world shrinks off the edge of your disgust towards a close but distant place you cannot see or touch and crams itself into a knot labeled as home? The day is curling around its slow demise as evening dims its colors into black. You should know your place now. This shouldn't be uncomfortable. Round and round into the familiar and dreaded spiral, lower and lower. There's a feeling of completeness that comforts. Enjoy that.
Creeps about. Basin swirl. The lip splash draws the eye. Hands move quickly. They dress the splash, soak it up, drain it properly. Another man comes over to the counter. He wants service. You will provide the service. It's not uncustomary to divert the men's attention to the assistant sitting at the table across from the counter. He has a pleasant smile. The counter man takes his dish rag, wraps it around his wrist and moves the prepare the meal. A quick swipe is all it takes. A nice plate. Drawn over the sink, a little splash. Red swirl. Pretty.
It drew me out, bit me hard. The Tooth of the Sky sunk its adaptation of the earth into a piece of my eye and replaced the secular sight with cartoons of a badass deity who just didn't like modern art. I could've relented, but I went ahead and allowed the feasting. Little did the Tooth know what it was really biting into. Never told a soul this. No one would've believed me. I'm glad the way things turned out. The infection took root. I bore a scar but didn't pass. I'm watching with delight as the Tooth slowly dies.
Rally to the cause! Let the ignorant be awakened. Let the dumb be made sound of mind and voice. Let the world know how I know what the world is doing. It's true face is clearing. The storm is passing. Sky ain't blue no more. We learned. Now I want everyone to learn. The lies are bare. Shred them at will. Let the diseased animals sink their teeth into the naked flesh. Let them be satisfied, as it bleeds its black blood. No one will be refreshed. Stand back and watch the show; bound to be full of snazzy thrills.
Centered there. You can see me. I'm aside you, thru and thru a dialogue runs pure. The web of heads combine the electrical delights, and the talking is silent but effusive with materials of love that cannot be spoken otherwise. They are felt or not. We feel. Our conduits are a collective. Time has allowed the stitchery to complete. Threaded by way of time twisted accordingly as the means to insinuate the heart, we will not divide; we will remain, as such, communicating our love. This is the legacy we initiated when we met. There is no stopping it. Ever.
Day drips, each to another; the value diminishes steadily. One can only hope for a reversal, but of what? How many conduits of dismay are lengthening unreasonably? Which direction should I look for relief? The discontent feeds itself through fear, building upon itself, patch by patch, each infection worse than the last, so there's no point in looking for anything but what you have right in front of you. You yearn to see the whole, but if you did, regret might follow. Best to speculate, wish upon a star, but which star? There are so many. Go back to bed.
Good mental exercises, sprightly mentals crossing the line, a good thrusting, this good mental condition of thinking, like sprays of suns gone out but still seen, still shedding their inimitable particles into the void. That void is hungry, man. Tired of the blank minds parading their worthless goods. We seed it, feed it with our mental exercises, up, down, side, back, flipping the gears, reassembling the equipment, doing it again and again. A needy void, black hungry void, where nothing is everything, feeding on us, seeding us, this mental thing we have, this consciousness spawned from slime, crawling into eternity.
Sorrow for the beauty bending backwards, spine cracked on voluminous grins of mischief blown to sky worms bloated on vengeance' fat. “Eat me,” said the worm, “Eat me till you die! I've come for your spleen. I want its issues, all the pretty children lined up for slaughter, till a million heads are lopped. Let's have a basket full. Let's have a tanker full. Let it rip apart on the rocks off-shore your languid sense of being. I want you to feast on its heat, know where how once it lavished in beauty and grace, now you eat it.”
I looked for it thru the words; it fell between. Always between. Falling in, as I always do, the void is welcome. A soft insertion. I’m lost happily, but not so. I’m lying. I lie. I'm forced to lie. Words give me no choice. Falling, I feel free. I feel the space closing around me as I expand. There’s nothing I want more than to dissolve, to disappear, to forget myself. You see how more lies attach themselves to your widening embargo? Can't help it. It's amazing. We die to be alive, and that seems to be the only reality.
You sign your name to a word, seal it with voice, silence calls you out a rat, like you never knew, never had an idea it was gonna go down like that? Mind trips over the impulse to give out the goods, and fashion dictates the methodology. You find this out at the end of that voice, your name’s become very valuable to someone and worthless to everyone else; the moment you know is the moment it hits. The trip is the key. No commotion. Doesn't go down like in the movies. More like that poem says, in a whimper.
We must wait. There's no choice. The race goes on regardless. You can hear the motors churning, laboring to keep up with themselves. Hardly is there a moment to rest when thoughts blare, "Go, go, go, go, go!" Some say this gives solace, something to fill the void, when the race itself is a void. Layers of voids define a new kind of reality seeping into our consciousness. We have denied it, but now there's no more denial. That which kept the rabbits and gerbils in motion holds us in vigorous stasis. We asked for it. Now we got it.
Okay, put it in the hole that's widening. May take a bit to get it in; you just gotta work on it. Don't give up. Machine is ailing. Needs this nutrition. Never doubt the veracity of its hunger. You'd have to be a complete moron not to see it. Push it in. You're almost there. The machine’s slowly surging to life. Nothing short of a Holy Calling. Fulfill your office. Thinking has nothing to do with it. That obstructs. The flow must continue. Feel the eyes watching the machine's necessity. TV’s come a long way. You did it. Now disappear.
Can you walk through the door and face it? You spouted platitude after platitude. Now, you're about to walk through that door. I'm sure you thought about it quite a bit. Leading up to this was a long respite in privacy. No one advised you. You weren't about to listen to anyone. The circle closed. Those whom you trusted were squeezed out. The circle became you. Lots of ideas flowed through your head. Most of them were lofty and bogus and carried no credibility into any sort of future. Well, the time is now. You're there. face to face. Decide.
A point arrives. It has no dimension, but for you it's larger than earth itself. All those people who knew you are gone. Even the memories have vanished over time. In a way that's good. You won't have to carry any faux regret into the fray. The day is cold. Chilly winds blow, but you feel hot. Perspiration runs down your back. You stink of sweat. The point. Come what come may, change is afoot. What change? No one knows, but the necessity. You sink into reverie. No big deal. Maybe a flush of peaceful memories will make this easier.
Finally an end. It’s creeping up. I hear it, smell it, feel its innate hunger for completion. I don’t care; not worried. It’s good. The circle is closing. How many times has it closed? Can't say. The rigor is absolute. Nothing gets in its way. Though reality's face is chaos, the circle is clean. It'll have its way. I'm actually looking froward to it this time. I sense fear in others, a profound disease with how they cannot know when they had to know, always had to know, like everything was mapped out like s printed circuit board. Surprise, motherfuckers!
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