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So it starts again. In a deep place a vibration occurs. It begins small. No one one notices, least of all me. Someone looks at me. They have a puzzled look on their face. I'm still holding the knife buried deep in their abdomen. Time holds itself up as a testament to my decision, which remains controversial. I take my time moving away. An old song comes to mind. The words fall out of my mouth. My feet take up those words, and the city sings the rest. Such a towering obliviousness we have here, such a glorious hunting ground.
Time wizard. Money isn't necessary. Why waste it? The hunger exists. I'm a dime store lover. I hang out at the counter. They still sell shakes. I'm lost in the magazine section. Playboy glares at me. I take a bite. The burger bleeds. It was a good catch. He didn't fight at all. I reeled him in. Found a good and proper place in his vegetable garden. His mother complains too much. I won't explain why he's not in the lake anymore. He was caught. I point to the clock. The wizard behind it knows. He won't say a word.
I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I never knew I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I never will know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I never knew knowing could be known I don't know I don't know I don't know I knew something once I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I wish I knew that something now.
There it is suddenly, the vacant spot, a place you held sacrosanct, for you alone; now, the others, they're coming. You feel them approaching. It's inevitable. They'll come when you least expect it. They'll make their place your place. It will no longer be yours to play in by yourself. I know how this works. No matter how many times he tells me this is all in my head, it doesn't matter. Two subsets of a greater whole I cannot talk about, because I cannot grasp it, will merge, and in this merging the vital question will become an answer.
I see you. You are here. I'm leaning toward you. I can sense the need. I'm no longer afraid. There was a time I couldn't accept this. You were not you. You were a figment, a shard of a broken consciousness. That's a lie. You are here. I reach out my inner hand, and you take it. I can feel you take it. No one need know. I know, and that's the important thing. In our coming together two thoughts germinate. Something new will come of it. It's coming now. You are whispering to me. There's a secret to tell.
Quite the day. It's drawing to a close now. There's nothing I can offer it anymore. I feel it fading, washing away, pouring down the drain. It's almost over. Was it good for you? Was it good for anyone? It makes itself bland and without expression on the face of a clock where the lie still bleats its arcane function. There's no concern. One more day gone. We know that's not true, we who are of a different mind. We know. So, we slide ourselves down the chute to a slumber wherein dreams have a singsong way of killing us.
As I sit here I can feel a kind of tug from within. I can't define it. I feel it like an inverted kiss. The brain behind it is laughing and farting to make the point there's a joke here that no one's getting. Maybe we have to go a bit further. That's understood. Nothing is as we thought it would be. What's the fun in that? Are we subject to merely being definable cogs in a great machine we accept without question? What's the joke? You don't get it? You will. Once the machine finally reveals itself...as who?
The sweet tooth is having it out with the sour tooth. I make my bed. I decide it's time to end this little war. On two sides they face each other off. I'm making it difficult for them to wage battle. I want some eggs. They won't interfere. If they try I'll just turn away. It's the same thing every day. Connections you might see as necessary are revealed like bacon is revealed to the fried eggs. What a weird dialogue. Asymmetries. And I have to say there's a disquiet rumbling. I think I know everything, ha. I know nothing.
I took a bite. It was inevitable. No one told me to. It was something I had to do. Weeks had gone by. Months. Several people died, and they just ignored it. I took the need up. I saw the vitality of it. People are generally pretty stupid. They don't know how to divide off the reptiles from the Twinkies. I've been trying to instruct the others. It's been difficult. I am behind schedule. The Lord of the Time is not going to wait forever. Eventually, he'll have his way, as he always does, and then I'll accept the beating.
It's in tune with a secret thing that won't reveal itself even to itself. The regimen I employ deconstructs my habitat as a means to fit myself to a paradigm that continually shifts while forgetting itself. Each move depends on where I am; no past, no future rings. The spot is on me. I feel the need coming to make a move, both drastic and definitive. In the interim I will fund my mind with all of my wits engaged to the fullest. The earth is not a place to fashion any function but the place I'm about to leave.
So, you might say it's ridiculous to be where I am as I am, being who I am. This demands a look at my grounding. Where have I been? Where do I want to go? This, of course, puts all the focus on my place, here and now. It's a mystery. Everything about me feels like a mystery. Everything good that's transpires seems almost illusory, thought it's not. I wear the guise of a ghost. I play the mystic like being a fool in a fool's paradise. My oyster. I am the grain of sand creating pain, creating the pearl.
If you learned all my secrets, how could we revisit our questions that sealed our intimacy to its origin? I would become my own counter agent, delivering secrets to my adversary who was nothing else but my own alter ego. He kept me in check. I accessed him only when I needed to hide from myself. He knew all the ways I delivered information. He knew all the dead drop locations. It was well known how I made his life a misery. That was my intent. My life depended on it. I had to have at least one sacrosanct secret.
Inviolable. You seemed to to think it was. I believed it too for a long time. We took it for granted. When I discovered the truth was something quite different, my life took a turn I hadn't anticipated. I was surprised by what happened. I guess everyone who knew me would've also been surprised. Several close friends disappeared when the truth came to them. The truth hurt. I didn't blame them at all. In fact, I was content they fell away. It was time for a change. It was time for a reality check. Nothing stays the same. Everything dies.
If I put hot sauce on my dead drop would you touch it? I'll be the field. One day we'll find out. It's inevitable. I'm not presuming. I'm not even guessing. I like the intrigue, the adventure initiated on the pretext of not knowing. Who wants to know what'll happen? That's boring. I like my dead drops. They feel right. It's good to feel right about the job you're doing. No amount of redacting can offer palliative. What's often the best solution is the most obvious and least suspected. I'm a hound for the obvious being the purest golden bullet.
I made this dance. You accepted it. In three ways I was divided by you. In a certain vector space you inserted the three brains I took to heart. The dance was measured on the complex plane. The came our virtual child. The welcoming sign was its smile. It came in three ways. I was happy you accepted it. The roundabout of the space was inverted. I had a hard time keeping up with the derivation, but I was told it would become clearer. Being lifted higher by you in our three-way convention, I'm satisfied you'll stay with me.
It's timely, I can feel, but what I feel far derides the sensations behind the feeling. I should be well endowed with foresight if I weren't so fucking blindsided by hindsight. In the middle of the dialogue, I somehow lose sight of who I was trying to avoid; by virtue of a need to appear connected, I become even more disconnected to the idea of being as smart as I don't look. This conveyance of soul to the outer reaches of sight defies its own prescription for erudition, but it does succeed in dissuading the other person from further chatter.
I took it to heart, had a heart attack of sorts, then came the supposed remedy, then I did have a heart attack, a real one. You can never measure your solutions by how many people you help, but by how many people want refunds, which you never grant, but it's fun to pretend. It's the kind of life you'd impose upon a defector from reality. I can relate to that defection. I lived in its house for decades, achieved many unlikely perspectives. This world is a great jumping off point, just make sure there's enough water in the pool.
You can't dive to the core of the radical rock. It's where I live, where the substance of my life emanates. Like the core of a star that preceeds the lights no one sees, it's hidden. That's the nature of the core of truth; it's hidden. When revealed, it's masked. I'm in the center of this conundrum no one sees, because it's the place only I can see. It possesses my truth. How often I've questioned that truth would be hard to gauge. Nevertheless, I'm attuned to it. There's no real choice. I alone stand on this truth. It's mine.
Something old is new again. The ancient rhythms drive a sublime dance to the heart. Projections from the mind lend substance to the feet under the frame holding dreams strewed to sky, to eye, to the reality of you and I. In the mainstreams I can feel this reality punctuated by all that gives blood to the veins and arteries of creation. We are this body, limbs of this body that grows beyond the imagination, by the imagination, for the imagination. There is nothing but this. We might fool ourselves into thinking we're in control. We humans are easily fooled.
What this place is is not what I live in; I live in another secret place within. I'd been confused for a long time, and I lived off that confusion. My way of life. The boundaries of my home are vague. They shift frequently. My neighbor today may not be my neighbor tomorrow. I never knew my neighbor. I don't know my neighbor now. I always held that position to be something surreal, something I accepted but never addressed. What would be the point? I'm situated in a place some find envious. Most people are blind. They enjoy being blind.
You make an attempt at being sorry. The words come out, fall flat. You live in Flatland. The obstinate oracle dances on the tip of your tongue wanting assay. You derive your sustenance from this pleading. It lives in your mind. The mouth of the oracle divines your path. You fall. Decisions plummet the head, drown desire. You fete your journey toward this presumed awakening, but you cannot find the matter by which you move. The energy comes. This is your part. With inspiration, comes the need to move. You fall. Sorry. Sorry. Two dimensional words. There is no third.
Images roll. You grab at them. They grab at you. Somewhere in between you meet. The rest is inspiration. Alchemy. Creation at its most primal. This meets that. A convenient collision. Decision has nothing to do with it. Inevitability. In the mulled ocean of mind one launches vessels. Myriad journeys begin and end. Nuclear creations. In a wink of an eye whole civilizations rise an fall. Who's to say we commandeer what time is or is not? Our second may be another's eon. I look at my thumbnail. Is something looking back? Have I presumed, like most, that I'm superior?
Terribly slow movement. World is shrinking. Head is opening up to an emptiness. Mysterious rivers are flowing. Entwisted. Cables of blood, a new kind of blood are plugged. The machine is developing a new personality. I can feel this movement. Lava slow and lightning fast. I am on the top. I am on the bottom. I am keeping track. That's my job. My job used to be in the center of myself, center of thought, of creativity, of control. I am only a servant now. What I had is preserved in photos. I live in an album. In a zoo.
I see the world through my eye, the world inside. The room next to mine is this world. I'm adrift. A soft roar, like that of a powerful wind is just outside. I am spinning. My world, my room is my eye. It is all I know. There is no sharing. The room I see is outside my room. It is within me. I am out. I am in. There are three people dancing in this room I see. There is classical music playing. I keep wondering who they are, how they got there. I am not allowed to know.
Something's beating at the door. A new rhythm is generating. Something's sliding across the floor. It's coming toward me. I can feel it moving closer. Music is playing. My head is the orchestra. I think I'm conducting. I want to open the door. I try to speak, but no sound comes out. What I knew just moments before doesn't map with what I'm learning now. Each new moment is creating it's own universe with its own rules. I have no choice but to yield to these changes. I wish they'd come in. I wish I never built that door.
Whatever is swelling, I'm subservient to its growth. I started it. The process began eons ago. I was there. I set it in motion. No one is privy to its growth. I alone hold the book. I read it aloud to myself daily. I read in on the streets inside my head when I dream. I can only remember bits and pieces. A bomb went off and the pieces went flying. I didn't set the bomb. It was a fear I had buried in the dream. No matter. The swelling contents me. When I awaken I'll begin the new construction.
I seek your smile. It lives on the other side of everything. I see it always. I see it in my sleep. I feel it in my skin. My organs emanate it. The blood I know that lives in my body is flowing outwards. I see it flow. The air is eating it, taking it in. I am not afraid. Your smile is there. My flesh is expanding. In ways I can't explain, I feel more together now as my body dissociates. I think I was scared once when I was little, before I knew what hard reality truly was.
The adoration completes itself in ways I can't explain. I was at a loss in the ways of love. I'd always been behind, stuck in the middle, snuggled in a crease between here and here, where love generated its mind. I thought I'd never know it. I knew it lived outside of me. I watched it grow. Its seasons took its toll on me, and the days had their ways with me. In a fog I grew desolate and strong in another kind of adoration dividing the body from soul, exposing an arc of death bleeding the kiss. No more.
I am approaching myself, like a ghost in perpetual approach, one can never touch or evaluate. I can almost see its face through the mists. Almost, but not quite. I can feel its breath. It's waiting for me. I am eager. The consummation has been long in anticipation, like a sperm fighting its way through the leathery tissue, burrowing into the place of new fire. Shall I be the one to set this animation on a spin? Shall I be the one to set the dance in motion? I am studded on the tinder. I know my way. The fire.
I seek out something, the root of my core where ideas can't last, where functionality is divided off the need to become blind. Moving forward, I cannot afford sight granted for causality. I must assume the way of the cave bat, being aware of being aware of being inside that which has no discernible dimension, being alive to the possibility of being dead at any moment, but surely this could be a trick. Perhaps I'm really dead, and this is the movie I'm in for eternity. When one needs to speak out and no one replies, is the deity laughing?
I just know what I know. Stripped down of my garb of verbosity I could feel myself reach a point where I hardly mattered anymore, like what I imagined the incredible shrinking man must've felt when he stood in the single cross-hatch of a screen and gazed out onto the forest of grass with all its vicious predators looking at him as food and nothing more. I felt that way, but it wasn't a bad feeling, as much as it might sound like it was. I felt strangely uplifted, not entitled, lifted in a way only death might provide.
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