Tuesday, June 22, 2010

northcote3070

scamper back another four million light years


i wake with my head to the wall
my sleep drips slowly
like masked loneliness
everything is so dark and cold
im alive
i scamper across the floor on all fours
my clothes sagging
falling off me as i move
thinking of naked space
my room is large beyond comprehension
are they reporting on my thoughts?
as for today, i feel the mind cannot comprehend
space
and tomorrow i read about it in the newspapers
and so i lock my door
scamper back another four million light years
and watch my door anxiously
my door locked until every trend is dead
and until every artist is dead
until the competitive nature of living naturally is gone forever
i wait for the honest people
imaginary guide dogs sit obediently at my side
waiting for my command
we are not alone
they bring me food and water
they sing me songs
they want to take me places, and show me a good time and what it is
they ensure my safely and ease my guilt
and i don't know where to begin in explaining myself and this mess
the endless cycle of frustration
begins here
i wear my knife like a wedding ring
and i wear two of them
shaking violently in my weakness
boney pale hands
presenting my last resort and desperation
the dust on the carpet
hardened with last night's blood-spill
is my fault only
i've been waiting so long
i push the knife to my heart
just so that i can use it
i remember the streets
i remember how i used to walk them
no life for the living
no life for the dead
this was a place they came to
to enjoy themselves and have fun
to talk and become artists among artists
this is a fantasy world for those who want it
for those who are ignorant enough to value their lives
and seep some happiness from it
this is no place for the truth that lies only within me
i cannot live with it at this place
death is plastic and manufactured and far too fragile to play with
and now it lies broken in the corner in my room
in the corner of my eyes
to whom can i confess
that i have committed such a catastrophe
a priceless work of art never appreciated by a soul
cracked to pieces
burnt to ash
drowned in sleepless months
and months of drinking
drinking
wait now
the door moves now
after billions of years of dust and blood now
i brace myself for my final movements in this place
my mat where i spent my days in thought
now moving lost somewhere in the hungry memory fog
my pot and spoon, that i often used for food, now floating in the dark space behind my head
all i have now is my knife and my tremors
my fear and my life
and now the doors moves
hark now - my voice high and fast
god and the very same god that taught the lonesome flowers now growing from the dust and blood
and that tortured my mind in life
and the door moves now
hark now - again
the cold pain in my hand-bones
a blood cloud forms
the first movement belonging to time
i find my place and rise my knife to the door
my breath hangs in my cloud like a crucifix
my nose tingles with it's touch
and like a death-orgasm
i succumb
feeling a sinking warmth
syrup my soul
some sort of colour-spots bubble my vision
squinting through my cloud
i see the doorway and see that it is empty
years speed by in panic
my age grows before my eyes in the mirror-worlds
with knife, and cloud - i'm still alone
i move towards the door, an closer inch every millennium
my grey strands tangled in my grey beard
my moans, groans cracking deeper and deeper
there is nothing outside and i am ready now
i understand my death awaits
millimeters from my broken claws
my knife disintegrates
i take one final thought of my life
and die inside