the masturbation of chronic death

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When I see the picture of the mother and child covered in red, when I hear him coughing. When the pain that travels through my heart gets caught moving backwards, when darkness fills the sky and the birds no longer need me. When I know I’m old just by looking at you, when I know death is upon us like the filtered sunlight. The smoke has always risen, will I rise when it’s all over? When I know I won’t always hear him because he’ll be gone, when I don’t know how I’ll go on, when this world seems too ominous to bear I try to remember the sun, and I look outside and it’s gone. The little hole we fill, this little piece of earth and fire, has no real sky to speak of, only our thoughts who are gone. And I wake up thinking this could be the end. He’s still breathing, I’m still panicking. I can walk, I’m still here, stuck in her arms. The sun has been red for so long now, I’m not sure we should still call it the sun. Blood spot. The light that gives us this morning however morbid it may be. It’s all in my mind, my chest does not believe this. It’s all in my heart, my head doesn’t know. A plan. I need a plan to survive this ripping. Everything ripped from my body which is much bigger than it looks. What will I do, who can I be, when will I rise again. Filling his lungs with myself, bringing death even though I didn’t mean it. I never meant for us to fear endings. I tried everything I could to pretend it wasn’t so. Lying awake all night, the nights I spent pushing back at the snake who came in through my window. The snake who spoke to me in the dark. There was nothing I could do, beneath the blankets the snake winding through these bodies, hollowing us, confusing us with pathways we can’t cross, wrapping around us inside, constricting. Hissing until the supposed sun rose. I’m a mockery. A hypocrite of a measure so vast I can’t be seen. I’m a ball of fire in her arms. She’s the one holding on, not me. And the days ache like old joints, the nights smother me in light. I see the light, yes I do. As he slithers through my window and into the bed. There is nothing I can do. He’s always been inside this, in our sleep. Devouring us in our dreams of another world. A nightmare, bliss between the two of them. Tongues tied in knots that cross over and negate the plan. I’m so afraid of what I’ve done, of what I cannot do. I’ve been pretending the best I could. The way it goes is that he’s not my friend. He’s a snake and he takes us. From here. And I said I wanted to go, wanted all of us to go, stop breathing. Here. Bypass the fringe of the moon. Move deeper. But now. I don’t know. I’m so tired of strange rooms, beds, hotels, somebody else’s pillow. So maybe I’d rather stay, slowly dying. Watching you die. Being tortured by the cold snake. Fire. There are fires that can’t be put out. We happen to live in the center of them. All the fires they let burn, as if they’re in charge of the flame. The snake is in charge of the flame. The tip of his tongue starts and ends it all. Hidden in smoke, choking. This is a bad dream. I’m not sure if I woke up today. Yet I watch him lay there. A dog at his feet, curled. And a snake dangling over his head like a hungry ancient spider. A spider who eats beyond anything called food. It’s too big for me to contain. I’m not hungry at all watching the truth as it drops into my deep belly. A belly that truly does not belong to me. I only feel it. See the scar from top to bottom. “Look at who we could have been.” What we’ve seen beneath the blades only moment. The moment when the tip tastes it’s first drop of blood. And this is exactly what I mean. What I’m saying. How it’s all the same and I can’t control the bliss, the blood lust of the fear who wants me more than I want life. This is just another morning at home. Ash is falling outside. Everything is white. The sun is red, dripping with me. Only me, the one I don’t know. Fear obsessively over. Obsession, the snake has taken my body and mind. This entity. Knows everything, inside and out. Before it lives, before it dies. As if anything could ever actually rise or sink. I do not believe we’re going anywhere but here. Sitting inside, looking outside. Waiting for the end to be over. Dreaming of good health and wisdom. Pondering love. Holding onto the baby who doesn’t know but feels my panic. Knows the food of this body is running out. There is a story about a place like this, where I am. How I ate something I shouldn’t have and so now I must die. I believe it. The ruts are endless, more endless than the curses that we survive on. Thrive on, move on. Moving me, through me. He is actually not a snake I only say that so we can understand the pictures we’re expected to draw, conclusions perhaps. But no, he is the sun. The sun where a bigger man comes from. Call him God. Call her his mistake. I don’t care. Either way I’m aware I’m fucked here. Waiting with nothing to do but write about it. As if there’s something to say. That might matter. I’m afraid not, we are not the ones who decide. We are the ones who believe like idiots in a higher power, higher than ourselves. “Well fuck you.” I told him last night when he got here, “I’ll be the one biting your head off diamond eyes.” He only laughed in a way that was deep so I would doubt myself and conjure up fear. The fear I love, the fear I give him. The fear we make together like making a child. He said, “I don’t have any eyes.” And for a moment I went blind. And my heart popped like a balloon and blood covered the sky as my body slithered back into it’s hole. “I love you.” I said. “Yes, I felt that body glove.” “Who am I now?” I asked. He said, “You’re who you’ve always been, me.” And I laid there. One more night dreaming of life and love and woke up hungry. If I woke up at all. So I cling to you, for no reason but warmth. I lay beneath you like a snake lies beneath the sun. And although times are treacherous and the warnings are clear. Danger. This is dangerous. I do it anyway. I don’t know why. I am deeply uncomfortable. All twisted and coiled up inside, yes I’m aware of the three points. The three points of the triangle that we never see and yet is the most real thing of all…

Point 1 being, I don’t know you
Point 2 being, you don’t know me
Point 3 being, we are unknowable

One. Flame. The tip of a word I can’t find. The sharp ache before the blood comes. Inside the three of us, only this. I know there is no tomorrow. There never was. There isn’t even now. We left long ago on the back of the traveling snake.

Looking like we were someone else, possibly even holy. But we were just red and shadow headed for the flash. The moment when the sperm meets the egg. The flash when the venom allows us to make life out of death. The poison that brings lucidity and orgasm in the shape of beings and noises. But we know what this is.
It’s just his imagination and his lust for women. A lust pushed down so hard, so deep into the sun, it caught fire and burned her in flames, turned her red and she fed us this passion. This passion that creates dreams from seeds and fear from knots. This place we go to sleep at night. Well I don’t always think I’m sleeping. Sometimes I’m in-between their bodies watching him, feeling them killing each other just so we can think we’re living.

Life, the masturbation of chronic death.

Sharada Devi

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10 thoughts on “the masturbation of chronic death”

  1. Go deep into the black hole sun and you will hear the voice of OM, om is the tone from the dragon’s head. She tells us the way it is, can we feel her words in the water of the sky dome. She walks in space before the dark light of crystal tears, oh what a blessing that she gives birth to the black sun. Eat the Ram, and breath in the dark light, thunderbolts of shakti flowing up from ground zero. Call her name over and over and drink the blood of life, a wave from the ocean of her wisdom. Headless we are free at last, dance on the lotus of no thought.

    Shanti Prakash Dharmasara Bhagavan Das Bodhivajra

        1. “Echo”
          When you are gone beyond
          When the surface of the earth cannot find you,
          I will look to feel
          every crevice. Made in you,

          1. This is divine.
            What I see
            written backwards,
            an image of God
            before this began,
            “I’ll find you forever,”
            you said.

          2. P.S. When the surface of the earth cannot
            find you, I will dig a hole deep into my
            soul looking for you as fire and god.

    1. Death walks upon the crystal
      crying…
      “I know you.”
      Under siege.
      Under water.
      Find me.
      Floating head.
      Crystal skull.

      Walk on water. Is this.

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