of nudity and sky

November 20, 2013

1.

Of nudity and sky, his tired eyes have begun to glisten some. In the distance he sees what he believes, with an ache, to be another living-thing. “Why me?” remnants of a sun-baked earth-worm, slow goes his own sense of direction, honesty and trust. “Confidence, as a weakness!” an innate grimace leaves his face permanently ill-at-ease, displeasure is clear enough to see. “Responsibility!” being of a species that constantly needs to feed itself has become tiresome. “Naturally!” his eyes roll back as his head tilts upward. “How in the hell?” stagnant like the friendship between a boy and a girl, his progress so far to conjurer-up the necessary self-respect one would think coincides with the belief of some higher truth, as of yet, goes nowhere. “Little by little.” in haphazard steps, he moves where he assumes he will eventually end-up. “Dead!” he crawls into an unemotional ball, though an unenthusiastic, unborn infant, visualizing nothing at all: no hunger, no pain, “No beauty to exchange.” Closer and closer, “The form of a tree.” picked entirely clean, for the exception of a single red-delicious. “Was it hung especially by me?” delusions come readily, this arrogance that he should still live annoys him terribly. Bright green leaves, a thick brown truck, “There must be a heart beating inside, no doubt.” the sight of actual color has inspired his sentimental side. “How in the fuck!” weak and trembling, he’d not the proper coordination or strength to off-set genuine affection, with an out-stretched hand he seeks help. “Thank you!” tears have finally come, how disgusting how sad, he descends to the ground an absent-tee, a human, an alien creature who’s born inherently missing any recognizable purpose to be much of anything. “Am i confused as well?” upset, he sought rest.

A black grasp held tightly, “The light, the details…” he’d acquired a strong fondness for inanimate moments like this, “have gone away nicely.” Breathing steadily, he accepted that he lived. “But to die quietly!” a whisper in the dark, he’d only some idea, why this brought so much comfort to say aloud just now. Shivering, he relapses back in time, mimicking presently both the shape and continuance of an unactualized person. “Fed on insight and love!” cosmic particle, ugly dust, he day-dreams purposely without validity, simply, he considered factualism insane. “Was i crazy to have relied on death so much?” plain talk he respected tremendously, however, he was as vulnerable as any other imaginative thing to invention. “Falsehood. Deception.” perhaps he’d overstated the benefits the state of constant starvation had. “A wish-bone, an open wound.” prone to infection, he’s careful not to suppose more than what’s needed to merely keep the current motion moving ahead. “It’s damn embarrassing letting yourself get carried away.” regrets were easy, he recollects one of many unachieved victories, having awoken once not only not dead, but hot and sweaty. “I do believe i cried then as well.” remembrance, like happenstance, reminds him he’d wished he’d stayed virtuous instead. “I’m at-least 3 centuries too old.” wrinkles line his forehead, hairs of an unkempt beard have turned from black to red to now an unhygienic, off-white yellow. “Duration?” his eyes reopen, evening had once again arrived, unspoken, an uneventful change he’d lost complete control of somehow. “I simply can’t recognize time as a friend any longer.” these atmospheric intervals between day and night seemed adamant to leave him stranded, alone, in-doubt without a single hope that the next interlude would be any different at all. “Cursed actuality!” water, air, “Movement…motion.” reaction happens, tidal-waves, memories, shame weighted heavily upon him. “Life…” the unanticipated things, “Man!…i seriously fucked-up someplace.” He’d not a clue left to behold, “How was i suppose know disaster would reign?” his head shakes, he couldn’t recall the last he bathed.

“Was this my exact likeness?” confusion, fatigue, flickering lights high above him appear to be interacting, he’s sits not at all certain of what they might actually be saying. “Laughing at me, perhaps…maybe.” guesses and incomprehension, why was misunderstanding now his more immediate, and most efficient way to reason? “I’m emaciated from within.” thinning hair and skin, he’d been loosing track of how and when things had originally turned from bleak to bewilderment. “But why am i not surprised i feel like shit?” deeply bruised, an unfastened tailbone, he wonders at what point suicide had become his favored abstract design. “Have i a depiction set aside in my own mind?” an imitation, a replica, which was to portray truth, which a lie? “Fucking more questions!” mysteries were arriving at twice the speed of light, sound too was troubling. “Buzz! buzz!” flies, flies, “More fucking flies.” three presently rest atop his cheek, forehead and ear. “Was it my intoxicating smell?” with a quick wave, they’re escorted away, temporally relieved, he questions why they must exist at all. “Of course the honey-bee lives as well!” this vast display, both fascinates and frightens him. “Must i always sweat when i feel something?” he’s discovered, with every emotion he has so far felt, perspiration stings a-bit. “I must motivate myself for a soak.” dirt and ash, he knew early on how better off his outlook was when washed clean. “Rivers and streams.” he thinks back thirty odd years ago, at which he sat submerged, the continuous flow of crisp clear water relieving whatever he’d chosen to let go. “Freedom!” a moment here, a moment there, why the hell wasn’t the most precious feeling made to feel everlasting? “How quick believing melts away.” if independence dissipates as easy as fresh snow, then buried and cover in dirt, to him, was the optimal place for innocence to lay still. “Yet i see growth.” flowers and plants, the very tree he leans against, what change, as of now, had occurred in him? “Fuck! i’m irritable.” exhaustion and hunger, in the unsought distant-future he sees the coherent glow of tomorrow.

An hour passes, 13 nonillion concerns have coerced against him, unstable, crazed, and utterly absent of patience, he remains incapable of recognizing the exact order in-which this nonsense should be arranged. “Am i not insane for having made the brain?” his own capacity full, obscenities, like hypocrisy, duplicity, ripen and leak, new creations, the very art of fabrication is made. “I fear an infinite universe was a mistake.” he’s not entirely sure whether or not to stand, although he did favor circulation over indecision. “One can’t put off living forever, i guess.” motivation, he sorts through enthusiasm as a buzzard does upon a bloated corpse. “It’s nutrients we’re after.” a memory, a glimpse, the red-delicious still sat dangling only an arms-length away. “Sweet. Delectable.” within his mind’s eye, tragically, he could already see this precious moment passing, the satisfaction too, was close to completely being over. “God damn-it!” prematurely, the strength in his knees give-out, the fire in his stomach rises to just below his enlivened heart. “Have i not learned anything?” disappointment was wasted energy, the world in-a-nutshell, he knew, was undeniably hunger, and survival was not a spiritual journey, but instead a definite hunt. “Realistically speaking…” his eyes squint finding the horizon taking shape, “how am i not dead?” Glisten and fog, dawn comes baring both beauty and confusion; stimulated blades of grass move as though growing was simply an inevitable action all life naturally did. “Must the sun except so much effort in return?” 30 thousand moments just like this one now behind him, and still, it’s his annoyance that’s first to greet this morning. “From dusk to dawn…” he figures there’s not a single intermission in-between a motion and a pause, he’d any actual satisfaction for, “where has my exact memory gone?”

2.

After 3 hundred feet, he’s pleased enough, short of will and strength, his first few bites are taken with an unexpected belief both active and alive. “Chew, or else you’ll choke.” bits of fruit and spittle, he’s delighted by the reaction his tongue and taste-buds still have to eating something sweet. “I’m relieved!” bitterness was without question an attainable disease, at hand, and very much inside him, perhaps now a cure was within reach, but first he must swallow. “Truthfully, i doubt my stomach will agree to any of this.” a mild case of indigestion sets in, cramps, he’s begun to sweat again. “Breath-in! Breath-out!” patience, luckily, consoles him, anger and a short-temper, usually by now, have taken over. “Is it possible i’ve matured some?” smiling, he stares out upon a fully grown wilderness currently in perfect balance. “Personally, i regret ever having set foot.” controversial thoughts, shit, blood and cum, he cringes at the idea that he was foolish enough to have left personal effects of himself so carelessly behind. “Youth!” unlike extinction, possessed a very natural way of convincing a man that he held great potential, a rarity even. “Huh!” he contemplates openly, having already forgiven himself that he’d forgotten which direction he’d been going. “I had had a strong inclination once to see the ocean.” a vast sea of trees, out-fitted presently in a seasonal change, looked to be closest way there. “Yes! i get the impression that that mountain range appears much further.” his tired bones and joints wanted nothing to do with higher elevations, dizzy already, he concludes perhaps a nap was the best remedy for someone left astray. “Waking-up!” he struggles, confronted with a predicted resistance, that indubitably his mind and body will adequately produce. “Oh boy!” ahead of himself, his future feels inconclusive, though stuck in an illuminated tunnel, he scrutinizes his own shadow for helpful clues. “My sandals! they’re wore to pieces.” it’s no wonder, he happily concludes, his stroll, to seemingly nowhere, has been so uncomfortable. “Oh! that’s a luvlee specimen of bird.” soaring, he’s immediately envious, why he hadn’t given himself wings was beyond him. “Of course my confidence would of grown.” his odd sense of godliness, was worrisome, he often fretted of being forgotten. “In time.” again whether he’d a single and dependable friend was in question.

“Boredom!” the fucking most powerful entity he’d so far come across, enveloped him. “Pity and sorrow.” self-condolence, sympathy and forbearance, sorry it see-it go, it felt as if his previous interest to go someplace where lost. “For goodness sake!” into orange skies, his curiosity buckles at the sight of yet another eventide, it’s purplish hue is enlivened enough allowing his black pupils to reflect back aspects of both red and blue. “Disguises!” truth, with life’s continuous pursuit to alter it’s color, he’d no other choice but to stand aside and let the world pretend as it wished, with blood-shot eyes. “The shape of things to come.” relaxation, tension, with the approach of total darkness again, he feels a greater need to rediscover warmth, swaying a-bit, he’s anxious as live-fire to once more have balance at his side. “Have i not fallen enough?” as hilarity depicted it, he’s well aware that he’ll trip the very instant he thought about setting off into the night, obstacles that this hour were strategically placed everywhere. “Off course the embarrassment certainly felt more during broad-day-light.” paranoid at being seen an idiot, he’s disheartened at the prospect of the sun rising afresh, over and over, reiteratively altering his weathered ego. “I’m listening.” overly suspicious, on occasion, he’ll interpret a sudden gust of wind as a telepathic-act, what exactly was communicating he wasn’t positively sure. “A cool breeze certainly can stimulate things.” shivers, chills, friction could always surprise him, watery and excited, his sanguine tears naturally catch the resolute transmission between light and reflection. “What reason had i to question the need for conversation?” an untold number, it saddened him, having discovered a long long time ago that the universe hadn’t once considered whether or not he thought the concept of expansion should or shouldn’t happen. “I imagine there’s consequences to silence as well.”

“Peace and happiness!” like a fictitious cloud ever protecting him, by now, he’d come to realize he was a fool, beliefs, such as angels, clearly seen when his eyes were closed, frustrated both the heart and soul, he’s truly sorry for having such affection for those creatures who happily defy the weight of gravity. “Yes.” the tragedy that is hope, in the dark his hands appear to blend-in, they’re wrung in private, he’d a peculiar concern he wished keep secret. “What do dreams mean to me, anyway?” visions of famine and war, heart-ache, discrepancy, he wonders why things were made so easily to break, when,where, specifically, did life turn self-destructive? “Och! Fucking blood-sucker!” a swarm of biting-flies seem just curious enough to teach him, furious, he makes an attempt to allude them, and trips. “To crawl?” flat and face down, he’s distraught as to why desperation was the most readily state life wished his vulnerable mind to stay, as if shackled by something worst than gravitation, he’d little strength left to pull himself up again. “So it’s finally come…My death!” a flash in the sky, he smiles wide as the rumble of thunder vibrates the earth beneath him, the first few raindrops he feels felt personal. “I’ve quite the journey ahead of me, i bet.” flood-waters steadily fill-in the space around him, though lifted and carried by significance itself, he simply no longer cared about the possible meaning than might of been of him being there. “I’m just lucky i guess.” to escape, to vanish, to dissolve or evaporate, comfortably floating away, he’s all too eager now to participate, he’d walk atop the water if he could with an out-stretched hand, preaching how things will eventually work-out. “I’m moving rather quickly now!” the pace, it’s true, was picking-up, the sheer force of shit-tons of water in open-space was a sum neither him nor another could anticipate, or comprehend. “Is this anger…or devotion i’m feeling?” this rush he was currently associated with, had become distressing. “I shouldn’t, probably not, swallow so much.” he was, he knew, sinking.

“Fuuuck!” coming to, he immediately knows nothing that he’d hoped had come true, dawn was back nipping at his time-worn, and tender body parts, the crisp air, the moisture, a chuckle is heard, he’s finds it funny how he once called this paradise. “The circular design, i really thought was nice.” seasons were pretty, he never disputed that, but this constant fluctuation was growing tedious, from better to worst, he wasn’t at all sure feeling anything wasn’t just pointless. “I awaken only to become tried.” eating, drinking, this never-ending pursuit to stay alive, breathing-in, deeply, he thinks again about flowers and plants, the friend that remains a tree, how peaceful it must be to simply standstill and allow the settled roots beneath you to act accordingly to what was thought should naturally be happening. “Where am i…exactly?” staring upward, he witnesses a descending leaf heading straight towards him, brushing his cheek, he feels inspired to stand-up and hug something, however, a lingering soreness prevents this, never-the-less, a meaningful relationship had occurred. “No wonder virginity was so powerful.” to touch, or to be touched by something pure, it felt like centuries since the last he’d given time to think of softness, his youth, off course, was mentally full of both admiration and kindness. “To love?” to articulate precisely, there were those, voices in his head, who spoke beautifully, wise-tongues, was how he’d recognized them as, yet, this muscular thing of expression, wasn’t so easy for so many others to see. “Licking another’s ass-crack.” curiosity was a bug, explicitly he had seen it’s affect on the feeble and the weak, but the powerful, how fragile a man can become when his thoughts of being king are taken and replaced by an emotion he’d lost total control of. “I’ve no victories left anyway.” he smiles, contemplating a reason not to get-up.

3.

Though caged in black streaks, he allows caution to guide him, these jagged designs, as if open cracks, cover the ground giving his mind the impression that the world was finally crumbling to pieces. Hopeful, he’s speechless, soft whispers and birds are heard as a light breeze passes quietly through the virile color and umbra. This wishful collapse is humorous, however foolish, the future he knows has already passed, like a butterfly beyond it’s prime, he’s close to accepting that beauty is so often nothing more than a means to survive. Himself still breathing, a potent surprise injects a hearty reason to react, sneezing, he finds the world has momentarily turned, spinning, in an instant, from light to dark, stars, appropriately, fall. “Am i yearning?” he ached, all over actually, but to aspire, he knew, took an elevated degree of focus, hunger, desire, to pursue was too great a struggle. “Perhaps if i tip-toe, i’ll get someplace faster.” laughter, the brightness of the day had returned, his mind’s eye immediately plays tricks, adding or subtracting, he lives for only a brief moment, as a turtle dying for the last time. “The last of my kind.” must he be lonesome, while being totally alone, his facial expression said never, to share, to invest, the one self he longed to create wasn’t, for pieces were very delicate to correctly place, altogether complete. “Well fuck!” red drops on yellow leaves, his nose had begun to bleed, pinched it stops, somewhat satisfied, he looks upward and finds dark slashes in blue sky, brilliance spills-out in-between the slits. “I’m puzzled!” in regards to magic, penetration is often too sweet, his balance, in reference to having see something thought poetic, teeters, song-like, soft whispers distantly call-out. “Praises!” periodically, far-off devotion and esteem, tributes, recognition, voices in the billions give thanks, applauding his creation. “Blame!” by night-fall, however, criticism will fill the heavens with gold and silver, wishes to gleam, to shine, were inevitable.

“Shhh!” there were plenty of whores to comfort, a maddening amount really, but the more and more he attempts to comprehend the exchange of killing for a living, the less and less he feels the pressure squeeze. “Disaster was a natural thing.” tidal-waves, made from both water and metal, instinctively crash, thunder, collision, lightning takes less than a second to flash, the clash of two swords violently being swung, he ponders whether it made any difference in-which a creature was murdered. “I don’t believe i thought this through at all.” he had not set a-side any energy, what-so-ever, for miracles, truth be told, until now, he didn’t even acknowledge a reason for them. “What was there to bargain for anyway?” the question of trade seemed everlasting, treasure, as far as he could tell brought only an enormous sense of complication, women, pleasure, this earthly experience was, despite how personal, short-lived. “Oh no!” once more he’s pestered by an obnoxious sense of obligation to think, to tinker, to doodle, fuck knows why he felt he needed a description to describe the immortal worlds of heaven and hell. “I do believe i’ll leave it up to the dead to decide their fate.” they were already going someplace, from how it appeared to him, ever night new light was developing everywhere, animal in shape, these latest destinations were, in-a-fashion, a way of bringing youth back to life. “Was it my intention to recycle?” he found it difficult giving himself credit anymore, other than having yet another place to hide, he truthfully had never actually visualized a structure of such detail, in-fact, his sole purpose, originally, was merely to quench an unyielding thirst he had. “Huh oh!” h-2-o, the consequences of pure liquid, saliva and tears, contently he kneels to sip from a collected puddle. “Who the fuck are you?” he knew, feeling a-bit under-the-weather, it was humor he was after, chemicals, he’d not thought to classify just yet, console him.

An exhaled breath in water, having submerged his face he waits though mediating, tiny bubbles cling suggesting he’d returned to an adolescent boy, a memorable time when adventure was the only maturity sought, blood and sweat, spreading his seed without a care in the world. “Oops!” staring into a total depth of about an inch, his past and future felt scarce of attention, he’d done so much with so little understanding. “I sense a little pressure.” thoughts of suffocating quickly surpass his own curiosity for drowning, giving-in, he simply let’s gravity push himself over. “What sort of joke is this?” all kidding aside, clear-night-skies were proved to be distinguishable by a moon which looked full enough to touch, as if somehow by chance, it’s benumbed temperament had been finally licked by some enkindled wish to independently glow. “I’m feeling rather feverish now.” commonly inflicted with unknown sicknesses, he lays perfectly still, believing that surrendering was not only the quickest but the healthiest fix to help sustain one’s relentless desire to stay well. “Freaks!” in untallied increments he drifts towards sleep, deformities habitually mark this transition from ignorance to memory, it’s not particularly an ethereal time, gaseous or exquisite, as if through constant static, aerial pigments alter in stringent hues, consequently affecting both the value and chroma to the true-color of his mind’s eye. “Ah! an exemplary display.” the power to create, having yelled aloud in pain once he’d found out, came completely absent of the ability to change that very same thing, life was little more than a waiting game, neither acceptance nor pain ever seemed quite adequate enough to change the plain-truth that he wasn’t at all the deity he’d been made to believe. “My god!” an almighty fraud, his body tingles from poor circulation, chills too riddle him with tribulation.

Through-out the night-air cries linger within the ear, from what specific century he longer cared so much, yet, instead, his feelings did sustain an inordinate concern for who especially were in such extreme pain, motherly like, his affection for innocence was great. “How strange!” for fun, distractions and pursuits, a lush expansion without tenderness, he witnesses, ideally for the last time, the evasion of the sun’s jovial face upon his light-sensitive skeletal frame and thinning disposition. “Welcome, ghosts!” wolves and small children, he’d a continuous fixation where ever a sense of full potential might lay, animals of every sort held this unique talent to gather strength, but why, why did idiocy evolve so readily in only one? “I think my hands have become transparent.” visibly aglow, purple veins on pale skin, for years he’s been patiently waiting for this one-day he would spontaneously-explode, as though proving, life does in-fact blossom from the death of something. “I feel the clarity spreading.” a cocoon, moving, enters his mind, a hollow-shell opening, the butterfly had taken shape, but first, how obvious it seemed to him now, the caterpillar must die. “Yet another unknown design!” of all things, the soul, the enormity of his ignorance had finally reached a pinnacle size in-which presently it looked to of filled the sky, upwards and beyond, fuck again only knew what the universe was doing. “What difference would crying make anyway?” not a moment too soon, he hears the daily colloquy between birds, whistles, chirps, he recognized, or rather hypothesized, that they knew secrets they weren’t telling, his kind, from observations made, would never be privy to such magic. “Unnatural selection.” mutations, like phantoms so bored they can’t materialized properly, overly occupy his dreams, walking upright, forever idle and frustrated.

Conquering, give or take, his one-hundred and third step, he stops, pissed and flushed through, he’s deliberated for past 90 paces that the sun was out to get him, if memory served, no previous day had ever stretched it’s self out this long. Through the trees he sees nothing but more trucks, branches, sticks, a thinning foliage is the sole relief that in-fact something was actually changing. Beneath his feet life was traversing through all stages of decay, fresh and crumbing, leaves shaped in various sized hearts fade in color, it seemed in death any reason or need to blush was taken. “Oh my!” his bowels hadn’t harassed him in days, but now, a full retaliation, an urgent surge was pushing through him at, what felt like, twice the sum of gravity times hell. “Woe!” disrobed, his squats, hot air and despair, the relief is as wondrous as one’s own wish of dying peacefully in their sleep coming true. “That will no doubt cost me something.” comfort for hydration, trade was gospel after-all, naked and half-dead, he leaves his withered garment hanging from a tree and stumbles towards what looked to be a flourishing stream. “I!” a fantasy, finally, had arrived, he lays flat, hands behind the head, his stench and inherit concern of being watched are washed away, the thought of becoming clean makes him think that perhaps this day, just might, be different. “It’s not the same.” enlightenment and satisfaction, he’s quick to realize that pain, like disappointment, is often more gratifying to the spirit than pleasure, or a good-time, engrossed further, he takes moment to immerse his finger-tips in the earth underneath him. “A sensation i think!” connection isn’t at all a concept he knew very well, solitude and confinement, the distance between himself and friendship had grown huge, disbelief, if he had to guess, in his own imagine was the culprit. “Boo-who!” giddy from refreshment, he laughs aloud.

Having no other choice but to allow the sun to dry him, he entrusts that his evaporation into the air, will somehow, in the near future, help dissolve his irritability in breathing, conceptually intertwining, little by little, modesty with heart. “What have i to be nervous about?” he saw nothing left for him to fail at, but still there’s sweat, genocide, rape, the blue coloring in the sky encouraged his eyes to reflect-back and share an enrooted sadness, a passing mood like an unmovable cloud, had stuck. “It’s no wonder why the flies were back.” as if fresh syrup tapped from a raw turd, their infatuation of the perspiration on his skin, is worrisome, swatting without any forethought before hand, he pulls something. “There’s no wisdom in placing so much importance in one single area.” desperately stretching, he’s winded quickly, red-spots and sharp flashes, the dizziness he felt wasn’t quite as exciting as passing completely out was, never-the-less, a strong sense that he was indubitably falling takes him by surprise. “Was there any benefit, really, in standing up-right?” crawling now upon his hands and knees, he attempts to foster an educated-guess, dwindling strength and depleted character, he’d little options left, deduction, speculation, his first assumption wasn’t just that evolution was a result of poor health, but also of ill-fated, luckless humor. “I probably shouldn’t kid myself any further.” a queer and eccentric figure, his aging personality spooks him a-little, rumor had it, that in reality the oddities of the world didn’t stand a chance, assassination it seemed, was how the populace, deciding what’s best, chose to cure this rare and precious disease. “Sticks and stones.” his own joints and bones feel inflamed, the smell, a hypothesized scent, of burning flesh spurs him to find a spot of shade, a cooler place to shelter his melting and bubbling center-point, the boundary too, meat and marrow, fuck it had gotten hot. “Home at last!” tucked-in, curled-up, again like a misunderstood infant he lays utterly still, afraid that any movement will give rise to either thought or emotion, once more confusing him that yes perhaps he were actually alive.

Predators and play-things, “To be preyed upon!” the insults inflicted by his own mind was, having invested both energy and time, so far the worst hardship life had given him to bare, to scratch and claw, this catastrophe of personal-identity is, if any one thing, misery. “Unity!” suppose poking holes was the problem, individual wants, needs, discrimination, like a rainy-day, looked to claim the infinite array of delicacies and flaws that each and all, inanely, radiated from. “Ignorance!” he’s certain that there is no bliss to behold, dead ahead, in amber semblance, he could see where wishful thoughts always led, miscues and slips of the tongue, the stupidity he was use-to was as fruitful as a pebble or stone. “Broken homes.” life, from how he’s observed it, thrived in crevices, jagged and unsmooth, harsh, non-picturesque, righteousness possessed an uncanny aptitude to sprout in an environment utterly diminished of either allegiance or promise. “Evil is so often so clean!” privileged, rich, pampered and comfortable, his stomach turns, sickened by what’s been coined magnificent and grand, castles-in-the-sky, the paradise he was supposed to of pledged warranted tears. “Abusive!” he was a stranger so what did they care, laughter, an open casket shows the portrait of an ancient face, beard and long hair depicts a phobia for growth, hidden crumbs glorify what a fool he’d become. “Had i no other quality but fear?” notorious for being backed by an unrivaled power, he found it ridiculous at how so many lacked the simplest attributes, even minute intelligence, breeding wasn’t just a lapse of thirty seconds, he knew not, where the fuck was the common-sense? “This has all gotten a-little too serious.” straining to find a distraction someplace, his eyes come upon a trail of ants, lost and focused within their own existence, he found very easy to be envious of them.

With assistance he stands, stability, the reliable kind, which the tree-truck offers steadily, illuminates the possibility that through touch a man will assuredly be changed, never again similar, like two sources of flowing power that, under further inspection, shows one is in complete dependence of the other; still he questions that growth has actually altered anything. “I’ve finally lost track as to what it is i’m here to do.” constant thoughts, philosophies and doubts, the totality that is thinking aloud was killing him oh too slowly, he wished only to scream out one last time, in-hopes death was listening, simultaneously concluding the function of breath and the act of performing. Discouraged by what’s most probable, he resists this urge to shout, introspectively sickened, a vow of silence seems to be the most tangible, physical and plain, option for him now. In time, if not already, he’d be stricken ill with repetition, redundant and preachy, descriptions, dreams, the rhythm to his thoughts isn’t as smooth as it once was, healthy and sound, harmony, youth, where had all the luvlee music gone? Though soft, constant static hasn’t much pleasure to it, neither does the dim ringing he’s heard for past decade and half, dying he concludes, was and is maddening; subsequently, racket plagues the mind with exaggerated noise: crickets and other bugs, as though a conspirator in tip-toe, it seems he’d spun around yet again. Trembling as if coherent, the heavens sit once more depicted aglow with life, to him utter embellishment, littered with anachronistic pulses of dead-stars, pinkish hues and pretty swirls, he’s mesmerized how easily beauty can coerce a man into believing the fallacy that everything is alive and well; breathing-in breathing-out, chaos, life’s terrible little secret, was never quite what a rational mind ever wished to dream about. Dead-weight, arrogance, his knees begin giving him trouble, it’s weakness, not pain, that agitates him first. Down he goes, slow, sliding earthbound, the roughness of the tree painfully scrapes away hair and flesh like an abominable mix of shit blown by the strongest gust of air. He laughs, realizing that suffering isn’t so permanent after-all, in-fact, his eyes tear-up, joyous and sincere, a tremendous rush escorted by a soft brilliance fills his mind with ease, half-seconds pass away far less quickly, seated still, a kindness, a cool pacific breeze, the numbness is lifted, was this death that awaits him now?

5.

“Fucking-A!” yet another promise broken, the delay is bothersome, an expansion, a collaboration between space and him-self was perceived imminent by now, his consciousness was suppose to open, was it not? “Wide!” touched by untamed light, insight, where the fuck was the profound wisdom he’d long assumed would greet him, remaining in total darkness he wonders what possible mistake he’d made. Gasping for air that’s no longer transparent, but instead hypothetically pitch-black, he concludes that a slight intermission is probably best. He remains though submerged at a fathom’s depth, crisp as if fictitious, he senses exhilaration all around him. Weary, worn and depleted, his imagination sought only rest however, further experience, like brittle or frozen bone, would cinch any preordained held wish to shatter completely. Having learned that with every speck, discarded or left, he’d inevitably discover yet another regret to ponder over, and over and over, and so he doesn’t move a fucking inch. Recollecting a time once when his eyes were forcibly closed shut, his mind, theoretically, familiarizes itself, acclamation, he knew took patience; shit-tons, sometimes. Smiling, simultaneously something rubs-up against him, it’s friction clearly, but of what emotional sort he’s not sure; like sociable currents, they appear to possess nothing more than simple curiosity. Absent of desire or need, he’s astounded by their complete lack of any hidden agenda, in life, “Holy fuck!” everything was after something. It’s motion he recognizes now, it as well feels afresh, alive, active, he’s never before felt true encouragement like this. Unlike hungry, he doesn’t interpret a single demand to compromise, compulsion or urgency, all self extremities are gone; a sense of unity has enveloped him. Elevated to a greater speed, his mind begins to envision minute glimpses of light, white at first, now red and blue streaks flash closely by; the warmth is so far incomprehensible. It’s closest resemblance is with a dream he had had only once as a young-man: black hair, green eyes and tender flesh, the sheer sight of her made his entire body shake, touch had never actually crossed his mind, but with an out-stretched hand she’d made it clear what was to happen next.

Dazed, confused, immature and lost, 30 odd years in a downward spiral, he’d only wished to feel something again, oblivious and bored, why his own mind sought to destroy him, that was such a confusing time then. Obsession his only friend, he traversed the globe ingesting every flower pedal and stem, hallucination or dream, invention after invention, before long the length of any emotion shrank, belief too, as well as love, all seemed simultaneously to shrink, his mind supposed that to merely taste, to sample, was far less a waste. More and more breathless, he found he’d so little strength, depression, boredom, his sole relief was that half-second just prior to falling asleep, the tiny fragment of space in-between reality and life; patience, he could feel there, “Someplace!” Riddles and mysteries, he knew when he’d drifted to far, like blood-red daisies, his head would be an amass of beauty too bright to interpret correctly; to guess, for him, was an injustice not particularly flattering. By then, he’d come to understand only one thing, “What a complete fool i am!” Insecurity was a constant reminder that he hadn’t at all lived-up to the potential absurdly prophesied by an array of reoccurring dreams; if memory served, his greatest fear was being held responsible for being all knowing and all powerful. Cold-sweats, a head-ache he couldn’t shake, the details had grown to such numbers that he soon realized that he’d need an escape of some kind, deep-breaths, 10 years in mediation, his mind was given the freedom to comprehend a future: a great welcome took shape, “In death a man will find no reason to cry.” Neither joy nor pain, for a short time he found relaxation in sitting back, eyes open or closed, pretending to be dead, carefree, empty, his most imaginative thought was simplicity, but eventually he stopped, frightened by the fuck-ups of previous intentions.

As if washed ashore, he feels the suction and pull of animate water, whether black, brown or white, his instincts also gather that he was being examined by something pure, perhaps even scrubbed clean, sand-like and tiny, there seems an infinite number at work. Unlike circulation, his heart felt utterly free and absent of either shame or guilt, there’s absolutely no manipulation present, strangely enough, he recognized the possibility that he’d actually no physical body left. With nothing to see nor touch, the probability appears certain, a mere spirit, made simply to soar, rise, fall, but never again forced to crash upon earth, what a tremendous feeling to move without restraints: gravity, hope, ah that bastard-weight was gone. Comprehending the exfoliation process done, he does little more than envision himself laying totally still, his breaths are imperceptible sparks, subtle, small, momentary fires that help enlighten the cosmic flight in-which he currently perceives he’s willingly participating in. Wonderment, awe, all astonishment, he’s some growing concern at how easy still, a mind without a brain, can so quickly pretend things are going so well; communication’s important, he mustn’t drift too long. Beneath his dissipated feet, he hadn’t a single fucking use for white-puffy clouds obscuring the view, a throne laced with diamonds and plated with gold, maybe even a virgin or two, no, stupidity is too easy, instead, let him walk atop a frozen giant lake distinguished with enormous circular holes, where pain exhilarates and pleasure’s laughable, each dependence, never-the-less, is short-lived and brief; truth, it seems, comes only after a man has frozen completely. Duration, the sickness, has fascinated him for as long as he can remember, with confusion being so everlasting and happiness too easily forgotten, his mind has trouble understanding exactly why and when time decides to shorten or lengthen it’s width. Retardation, from how he’d describe it, whether alive or dead is a permanent condition, why his mind thought it needed to withhold reason now was disheartening; trust, like heaven, is not just any simple everyday creation.

Split-seconds take on form, though fresh, there misshapen, tear-drop pearls, it’s an emotion surprise to see beauty and light beside him once more, through every flicker the spectrum of color grew larger: green, yellow, orange, sympathetic frequencies, with accompanying wavelengths, reawaken and repair his narcoleptic mind. Epiphanies in an invisible sky, deep deep down inside, the workings of something beating renew old and worn-out view-points, raw eyes, original sight, goodness gracious, what lay ahead was a virginal experience. Communication was key, “Intercourse, yes.” a complication occurs, he hesitates recollecting a world gone insane, “Carnal knowledge! it’s an incredibly tricky thing to have control of.” Free-will, what a terrible terrible shame, he takes full and total responsibility, the stupidity in-which he’d achieved had become no doubt infectious, spreading for countless centuries, arrogance, wealth, still what a complete fucking disappointment humanity was. Beauty, strength, he contemplates the complexity of one, and the simplicity of the other, wondering how he could of made such a horrible blunder, twice. No matter how long or often, he’d regret the creation of man-kind, he knew full well that it was only his influence that made them what they were, fucking hell and wonder, from-out a guilty conscious a new paradise would bloom, where a soul could blossom without the hindrance of synthesis, the cluster fucking of energy. “Fuck! i need to settle down.” listening back, he thought maybe he was emphasizing just a little too much, he mustn’t lose sight of the delicacy when speaking with genuine affection. Soft cries and heavy laughter, there were already things alive within the infinite frontier before him, absent of anatomy, he appreciated it’d take time for him to recognize and identify with them. Having been a stranger his entire life, he finds the role a natural one, none-the-less, a fear he’ll come across as unapologetic, even condescending, he’d an alien tongue that was so readily misconstrued; propaganda being the most profitable and abundant entity.

“My only son!” how he could never figure, with an unfathomable amount of life in the sky, the belief he’d conceived just a single child, would forever be, literally, the utmost conversed lie throughout history. Betrayed and then crucified, all after an immaculate conception, still today he can’t seem to recall exactly why he would allow this to happen, sin, women and children, men had already long confused breeding with power. Copper, gold, silver, further more the tale grew funnier, riches in untold amounts were raised for his generosity, great castles rose-up and house those who claimed they kept in touch daily, the biggest fools of all, however, were those who accepted that as fact. The shine the sparkle, as far as he could calculate, religion was the uttermost marketable hallucinogenic idea ever developed; holy-men, then and there, placed new meaning to the concept of whore. Looking way way back, he’d tried many times, but so far he’s been incapable of identifying that very first idiot, most likely the chimpanzee was the original apostle who mistook thunder and lightning as an otherworldly deity; it’s truly no wonder why man is so fixated by fire, “It burns, and cleanses!” Destruction, creation, the almighty circle of jerk-offs, once man became officially backed by a godly form the boredom of being mortal passed, he’d total control, man had discovered destiny. How quickly the ashes piled-up, excitement and frenzy, zealots sprang-up like weeds and bred as if in contest with rats or roaches, the death of man’s spirit, if he’d to guess, happen simultaneously with the invention of him; he and his twin, “Ah yes! the devil.” Two for the price of one, soon the benefits doubled, good and evil, “Ingenious, really.” man had now both a heaven and a hell. “For fuck sake!” pray to him, or else, never in his life had he wished for the biggest asteroid more, yet his mind had already conceived it, even suicide wouldn’t of made a difference by then; earth, he knew, would eventually collapse making humans extinct, however, the memory ‘for good’ wasn’t there, “That’s worrisome!”

Water-marks and scars, suddenly he’s become very thirsty, the next 30 seconds elapse slow as if time were once more encircled by thickened air, salty, rhythmic, a memory, the subtlety of being dead changes a tiny bit. “Sea!” a forgotten pigment about his skin, birthmarks, an irregularity, having no visible coloring left he considers perhaps he’d returned whole to liquid form: tepid and dull, was a little steam too much to ask for? “Passionless or passion-free!” being only slightly heated through, he could only contrive a lukewarm sense of jealousy, like a filament of hair or thin strand, the connection between the self and him was gradually weakening; a last single vibrant note is gently plucked from-off this emaciated string, though musically indistinguishable, he’s still touched by it’s sentimental attempt to achieve sound. “Farewell!” a complete death meant nothing to remember, from oceans to snowflakes, he’s a strong need to discover aqua pura again, “A purity, drinkable!” The keepsakes of breath, simply, didn’t satisfy everything. Without a care in the universe, he drifts as he did on earth, irresponsible and unsure, with the one certainty that he’d little to live for. “I sense trouble coming!” dark matter and perplexity, it looked as though a black-hole had opened-up someplace, somewhere very close even; an obvious tug was happening rather quick. “Insecurity i know well, but fuck!” the presence held with tremendous strength, a mere second in all his reluctance is taken, a substitute emotion, presently, wasn’t. “But this isn’t numbness i’m feeling!” frankly, it’s sheer speed he currently felt, awakened and clear, he moves at right around the agility of light; emblazon, space became an intoxicating site. With extended friction comes extensive heat, to his make-believed core, an extravagant amount of energy was being burned-up, exhaustion isn’t his concern, however, “Evaporation!” total dematerialization seemed an apparent problem; fizzles, pops, all things stop abruptly.

Wide-eyed and surprised, the very holes from which he stares out, were themselves active galaxies, entrances if you will, a way into a place that was more than just one-self, but many, like circling buzzards high above something rotting. Left perhaps to decompose privately, all the fun had been drained out of him, yet, a radiance, soft and aglow, flickers, giving his fingertips an odd appearance. As though color were now meaningless, their attraction is achieved through warmth, his temperature having naturally dropped to zero, slowly, steadily, climbs-up, “I’d almost forgotten how compassion felt!” Soon both arms are visible, transparent still, he hadn’t a single issue with being clear, arteries and veins, the circulatory system was just now starting to take shape. “Seeing was believing!” an initial breath escapes, mysterious and misty, immediately he recognizes the first sign of possible life. “But my heart doesn’t at all feel broken!” the confusion spikes higher, his eyes find another pair looking down upon him: otherworldly, green with enlarged pupils, their beauty is, truthfully, frightening. Silence fills the inner-space between them, the outer-space beyond that looked animate with conversation: shooting-stars, a passing comet, wilderness had returned afresh and huge.

“Hello.” her hand is extended.

“So i’m on my back, then?” as does his.

“Yes.” her strength is magnificent.

“I’ve found direction difficult to grasp here.” upward he went, her eyes were coming closer.

“All direction circles, so there’s nothing achieved in knowing.” she smiles.

“I can appreciate that.” he smiles back.

“God, is it?”

“Yes!”

“You mustn’t take-it so personal, God as matter-of-fact, is the most common name in death.”

“Have i any responsibility to claim?”

“There’s always the natural shame that comes with creating life.”

“Are you a god, as well?”

“I’m the nature of all things, call me Mother if you wish.”

“I’m certain i had a dream about you once.”

“Something you never got over.”

“It made an impression, yes.”

“Clothing is a precaution i’ve made.”

“I noticed, pity.”

“Nudity has a substantial influence.”

“Even in death?”

“Especially.”

“Why?”

“There’s no inhibitions left. When the body dies, the mind opens, all the restrictions are gone.”

“Chaos!”

“For awhile. Control may take several light-years to grapple hold of.”

“Light-years?”

“In death, maturity is only achieved through the distance one is willing to travel.”

“Distance?”

“Whether backwards or forwards, as i mentioned before, we must all continue to circle.”

“With no end in sight?”

“An end is as certain as a beginning, i’m afraid.”

“Is rest not an option?”

“Ildeness, once understood, is a worthy achievement.”

“I’ve little patience left for more riddles.”

“Then it’s pointless for you to listen.”

“Have you no direct answers to give?”

“Nothing is achieved in knowing, do you truly not remember?”

“There must be more to death than questions.”

“Yes! Truth is a personal experience.”

“What’s been accomplished here, i wonder?”

“Perhaps in another light-year, you’ll know.”

for the complete ebook click here

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: