I’ve written every tragedy possible in hopes of reminiscing on terror for a moment
, maybe just to give terror some split second credit, impassioned scream s punctuated
by a date or two. August 4 years ago as of now isn’t a time beyond a meeting, July 22nd
a year ago is the first step to a curtain being peeled back. Still as velvet as theatre would
demand, it’s imperfect in its cynical innocence, romance barely seemed like a weight,
a necessary good soon becoming a “necessary evil” when you had to yell piercing the glass cage,
inhumanity not so distant as August a year ago came. August 15th, 2019: hopeless adrenaline,
hours upon hours of misunderstanding, a marathon of what for a moment semed like something
with the magnitute of hopeless thrill left scars imprinted on good faith, moved on from puppeteering,
trauma as a marionette for what little credit I had left in the moment. Some nice assumptionss with
sweet bad blood, pathetic moralistic exercise in ensuring you can get back at someone, agitator with
puppydog eyes, yelping in tears with no authenticity, least I want all that anger to be fragile nonsense.
Vulnerability is a bitch, best in the game at entrapment, plain insecurity manifesting as arbitrary strengthening,
cover up all impact beyond locked eyes, staring dead at each other in hunger, a month later distance broken.
Still avoidant of everything else, but god only knows you have a reason to be how you are now. Summer skyline
so familiar, for once lacking in glaring hatred, maybe that’s just the wounds carved into your skull speaking..
I’m eternally content with anything so insignificant deprived of its judgmental glance, I’m no impassioned mystic
clinging onto fate for just this moment. I claim no knowledge of this moment, I am free of the liberty of spilled blood,
because in the end you need an artist’s license for brutality, how lauded can one be without an absence of regret?
I guess you can tell everything you want to tell to the fluttering shards of a broken mirror calling out for help, smiling
face in kaleidoscopic motion, I’m balancing the dynamics of crystalline prose pouring out lonesome in subsiding heat,
a wanderer in this world calling out for heartbeat driving every single motor chain of cogs and gears, it’s been a long time
since you’ve reached a reverie of scattered steps across pavements, rain puddles splashed, don’t care about reunion with childhood,
that was always lacking anyway, I’m building a big machine to visualize my map of fantasy engrossed in light leaks, ocean of
pure transgression, serpentine beast in the ocean, high tower of lwo fantasy high-tech marinated in cinematic obsession, visualizing
some arbitrary figure as the “other artist”: put ona favorite song, start building some associations, have them permanently stick with you
in your idleness, when surreal vulnerability becomes pleasant it’s a rug of fragile fur and a cabin in the woods, campfire songs and
burnt marshmallows, bespectacled view into quiet domestic life, I talk a lot of shit because no one else wants to make others hear it.
Pale sun in your throat, everything’s separated from you, lost far away, view of the sea, sometime distant, someplace distant, same sky
hared at opposite ends, a ray of light in tangential words, throw around some obtuse joke you both will laugh at for 5 seconds,
an infinity symbol, linguistic roots fo rheroism and justice, subtract some space in the syllables, shape it up for memorability, cut the
discernibility, sounds the same inthe end even if accent affects it ,linguistic alienation, caught offguar by something foreign uttering a single word,
“Spasibo!” mispronounced later when recording, couldn’t be bothered to correct the pronunciation, maybe it’s just stylized, maybe it’s just ignorance,
the basic words of thanks as the slice of out of context screentime, I’m not here ad I’m not there, it’s not that I view staying home alone for hours
at a time, wasting budget on quick food, getting fed with more, stomaching the exotica of a town much bigger, enough for the presence of a commodity
across the cruel sea, tidal wave crashing in perpetual rhythm, domino effect offsetting the philosophy of graduality, it’s all just totality, minimalism
lacks some punch after a while, death lingers but no longer on the mind, haven’t made ends meet in regards to tied up loose ends, it just hangs in there,
dusted off, rejection of a name you weren’t given by your own will, eventually complete forgetting, of who you were once supposed to be but weren’t,
spiteful farewell, show up to a duel eating cherries out of a hat, but your opponent doesn’t suggest you wait until you’re happy to die, because you’re
already armed to the teeth like a fucking animal reciting the cascading embarrassment of what’d seem like comfortably numbing boredom, indulgence
in the fruits of lack of self-awareness, soon realizing that it’s all a deathly barrage just for a second, and you could just look up at the sky and damn God,,
your request a wish growing in volume, a wish growing in meaning, a wish eternal. You can’t speak for much longer but my prowess that restricted itself
as a teenager to the fear of eclecticism never letting tit come to fruition, maybe with your personal anecdotes of abstraction and boxing matches with formatting on a
shitty laptop barely able to render a spiral, barely able to play back the guttural screams of feedback without overclocking, you could start feeling things.
You wrote a dedication, seemed sarcastic, maybe you had to warn me, tell me that it’s alright, no grudges held, you could’ve left my name in but I’d soon change it,
a confession of intent and then a confession of acceptance of possibility, swirls of blue entanglement and passion and that fierce sense of community, looked better
when you opened it and zoomed in I’m sure, no breathing room at initial glance, soon it’d lay out a geography of mascropic worlds in a browser tab, unintentional
yet probably wanting to borrow from your explosiveness, soon I’d be working as the scullptor of effigies for your far off dark worlds, now we joke about peasants
and the occult, and the enveloping of a chapel by flames, deathly screaming, captured in echoes, disruption of pastoral fantasy, and soon quiet terror, I could burn
a pipe organ, watch it exhale flames, but the majesty of something so uch bigger than life itself intimidates me, so much so than venomous ideas of a pale blue dot
themselves.. Nothing is much larger than your own vicinity, nothing is much larger than subjective awe, momentary in its catch of breath. Has a serenade grown
obsolete?
I’ll be waiting for you there.
Hidden away in some distant overgrowth path.
An epic poem lacking the hero’s journey.
Some crass joke to render love casual,
and the next year’s snow as a motif ofimpernance.