Surrealist gesture

And so this will be my decisive act. I choose and simultaneously the world will cover its ears to escape the sounds of my certainty. I’m spinning and sick all over, yet for the first time I feel whole. My only faith is in the absence of everything I thought mattered, everything I attempted to pacify myself with. Subtle, as if that sense of under-evolved pollution taints my tongue now. Before; holiness and pollution not yet differentiated, now; razor sharp lines my toes brilliantly bleed over. Once again I fumble with the grip of the gun, once again I am reminded of the ugliest language. If the problem is yes then the answer is no. From this point on, let it be clear, everything I’ve thought, written, or cared for has now been thrown away. One valiant and powerful motion that erases an entire life. Annuls an entire existence of convictions. Capture every image, fill every frame… I used to be so naïve. That’s when life will stick its knives into your back. You have been deceived.

All your little plans. Pulling everything now, in absolute desperation, out of my tired little bag of tricks. All style over substance. I demand a fresh and unfamiliar world. White and cold, and bright as snow.  A rousing disguise full of hope. Falling forever with every kiss, the silence of god above our screaming fists.  But inevitably everything will drop away just like it always does, exposing all of us for what we are. Our thoughts and our ethics; punctured and spilling away. I used to feel, I used to bleed… I used to be something other than what you can see.          (an inability to externalize) I used to think, I used to fear… that I was nothing and would always be.

 So what did I lose and what have I seen that’s changed everything? Here I am again… spinning, sick, vomit and death. Words torture me at every step, every time I fall they seem to be present. Every slight falter; semantic insanity. Words like ticks. Letters like leeches. Parasitical paragraphs…

Please, don’t talk to me about better things. I’ve exposed that lie as the lonely and afraid man’s attempt to hide. How did I get here and where will I go? Does it even matter? Does it even matter if it matters? DISTRACTIONS! Stop believing and I’ll stop too. I promise. I need a new disease to latch my fears onto, this one has run its course and I fear… I fear as I fumble with the grip of the gun. I fear the sounds of the ugliest language. I fear the smell, the taste, the temperature. The biology, the reality.

So stale, so obvious, so ridiculously authentic.

I fear… no, I won’t give you the satisfaction. 

Half starts stalled midway through,  works in progress… things to do.  ACTION IS NEEDED. The melodies of beauty which rattle through this defective head. I need all these little deaths; use them to build up to my own. ob(li)vious… the shadows hurt, the sky compliments my rage. I ran away but I cannot escape. I need to scrape away appearances and look at things as they truly are. My soul is a crippled little pile of junk. I want my lungs to fill up with snow.  Discipline: focused and razor sharp;

I want the world to bleed when

it brushes up against me.