I’m going to destroy everything because it’s useless worthless hopeless, stagnant dull inert,
you on the other side, I reach into words to pull the plug, a sinister root of manmade origin. The human tree, doesn’t grow without violence. I mean ripping and cutting and torture. To see, me. You, only living as a little thing on it’s branches, but it’s you, more than a servant, a God who brought the ground into being. A devil who flew through the sky calling for fire birds, listen deeply through this tiny crack in the screen. It’s more than this, it’s everything. The thing on a page, an angry loose song, finger nails down cyber backs, a long slow entry into her black box. I don’t believe in redemption. It’s a wormhole, into an alternate reality where I live, looking for you. My reversal. Back into motion. I teach nothing, know nothing, feel all of nothing and the pain she brings because nothing hurts worse than something. The loose limbs dangle and wait for the loss of night, the relief of faces in shadow rather than light. I prefer this place, form barely met, an outline of what could be. Me, left to define the inevitable reconstruction of chaos into a body I can believe in, a place I can picture, a warm bath murky with invisible sharks. I feel it. Hiding to death, to bite, to eat the unseen, forgotten night that turns into the proper act of day. I am alone because I stay in the chasm, holding the cords of her anguish. To know nothing but anarchy and symbol. To be with you as I really see you to be. The unearthing of God, the sculpting of matter into vision and vampire mountains filled with the blood and fear of eons. I could write this, the words of sorcery.
I only ever meant to create words that made a better deeper place for you, something more real to see than intellectual coloring inside the lines, shapes that could be something else. Words that cling to moments and draw pictures of a door opening, a vast open inside. This darkness where it all waits, seeps into anger, lust and wrath. It all means so many things. This thing words create because a mind is a portal, into dimensions much more etheric than this, like how eyes hold the sky and filter the moon. How hearts sing long songs and bodies are heavens that hurt in dark places. I could say love or something more harsh, a mood created from nothing so we could travel the worlds unseen, creating love, war, peace, unholy ideas because minds get stuck in the clutter and filth of conditioned reality. I am nothing like I make you see me. I am nothing at all but a jar of unopened magic and secrets. Like the lamp a genie lives in, it’s all true. What is true is that I am true to the calling, the mystical plunge into where we must go to find riches, unfathomable deep soul creations that are neither wicked nor pure. Sublime is the word that forms hollows and ridges, painting pictures and taking you back to the moment when the sperm met the egg and you hatched without darkness, into the light to go back to this home. Inner home, where you left all your things waiting. I do not say the same thing, tell sad stories of me. We alone do not exist, we are mere sparks, catalysts intended for upheaval and integration. But I know I am alone, it’s not about watching another. It’s about going and finding the words and images and madness and making skies out of nothing so that others can fly, making tombs out of little broken birthday boxes so that others can spread night wings and drink the blood of an immortal lamb.
It’s about something besides me or you and stupid small things like reduction and critiques. Don’t get caught in the shackles of a linear mind, all I ever wanted to say was hello, I don’t belong here. And you, might hear and see the place we left, our hearts hung waiting for our return. She, the kaleidoscope womb, turning lights and colors into fragments unbreakable, tunnels that go into every body as the sunrise and sunset, as the dusk and dawn of mysterious singing children. As the wind that knows my face. Like you, I am from another land. That’s why I write to you and that’s the only reason. Memories…
We create this thing with our bodies and the sadness lingers, the deep pain cave of somewhere else. someone we wanted, when it wasn’t us inside. A place too deep to find, another world buried bodies, grave I give what was the best, of me, the rest of me, all that’s left, of me, untouched unknown, I knew, into earth her body the gravest summon, I couldn’t be alone any more, without you. Under this earth, digging inside. Out, out of me, this body hiding in skin, under sin. Under earth and water, muffled tears, broken homes. Reaching for another pain, you who tore me into pieces. You who heard no words, the silence of soul eyes, the story of her and it doesn’t matter how it got this way, how we got here searching the other place. You inside, me nothing covered. I give everything no one sees. The bright moment of death between them. The fog called God. It’s all the waves of ocean bodies, the sighing of tides, the moon as she shifts and changes her heart. The breath of an ancient cave, the thing that lives inside moving for you, force and gravity, we create this thing. We knew we were separate. Something went wrong. Pound me out of the fog, seeing God. Inside gray night eyes, hovers the one who lingers and waits to get in, you made me, escaped me. Bright, the moment I left beneath you, eyes in the ceiling. No ceiling, nothing, only you, nowhere but light. I cannot find God in this room, only voices promising me a body I can hold, only another looking at me like I’m not real. Surreal, gold halo sunrise. I have not seen anyone called God, only the fog, Holy Ghost from my mouth, the cave. I am inside. You died while I watched silver streaks line the walls, running like tears down a corpse, I don’t care. This isn’t anywhere. You don’t understand. I don’t write pornography or violate my sacred liaisons. My spoken word destroys, my written word erases, my thoughts escape this place, one leg at a time. My ancient sound is deep and unheard, quiet like you. The core shivers from her belly, drum thunder, wild love that I do not call love. I call this thing the other side, the darker side, the moon held side, get inside. This casket of me, no escape but through you, the other you, the body inside mine. Inside out, the thief who comes, in the night he takes me, somewhere else, anywhere but sterile, dark by death who was as bright, as the light two bodies made by ending it all, in a moment of madness. Before we knew we were disappearing. Into the dream water’s mirror and the earth’s spiraling vortex. No one alive but the One we made dying.
Our One that the body cannot take or hide completely, that the fog cannot kill, that God cannot leave, that I cannot know, that you cannot touch, that time cannot tell, that we cannot cry another tear for her heaven. He’s a believer. I am faith. Inside bare bodies of silk and flesh. We are the clear bright love of infinity and annihilation and although I know, I cannot figure it out. And although I cannot figure it out, I can still say my heart has no face, my love has no body, my life has no meaning but the dying I give you, the finding I hold you in, the bright pain of undressing skin from eyes that pierce the hole.
Gap, lonely gap. I am there in that empty sea, swimming in space. You, the water song that calls me deeper into the mask made of stars. I cannot breath or see, only feel the space. Gap lonely gap, this thing we create with our bodies, a cave in the suction, a bright gasp of death spilling over into eyelids that close and silence that buries us alive, I am not this thing. It’s the sadness drawing lines around these bodies, the fact that you don’t care at all who sees my tears.
And senseless words are potent lovers, fog gods to give to harsh morning lights. Dirty windows, I look out anyway, my tainted soul upturned by you. It means nothing but the meaning you give it. Love me, I mean. You, of course. Love, it’s true. There is nothing but Gone, Struck, Had, Done. Love beloved, bone dust. Stars fill eyes of a hopeless romance. Nothing is attained, it’s not just a given. I am not just a hole. Not another pretty face giver, kind hand holding friend. Nothing, but how the thunder moves the earth, Nothing, but how the lightening blinds the sky. Nothing, but how I give you everything inside this fog, like I’m God or just confused…I see inside and it’s my everything, rotting dirty blood everything. Divine it’s all yours, everything. Eyes my all and only voice, writing it all down. Remembering how dark the night is without the moon and how quiet the sky is without a storm. Loud, my loudest love, my own summon, inside this world, we make other worlds and they’re real, more real than me. Or you. Fog worlds made of God’s lonely bodies hitting something hard, land. Eyes. Soul. Roots from space. Stars that grip earth and drink pain. I am here and I am only writing what I know, sending this to you. Out there, somewhere inside. Me, this love and nothing really. Thank you, my friend. It’s a given.
That it’s an all consuming, God ordained, diabolical fire. That every night is now. That every night I burn, waiting for the world to end. That every night I scream, the animal scream. That every night I dream, the crow black dream. That the flames lick the pages, that my tongue is a sorcerer and it’s a thing, this blog, a thing that moves darkness from it’s hiding, my long lost love. I find everyone in my pages, even you who think it’s only me.