Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of My Mental Empire - Part Twenty-Three

the ritual

for j

it sits in the corner like a staving and caged beast-child - snarling and hissing hell and it's demons at my feet each time i move, or walk about my room - i can smell it - it's as though somehow it has the ability to control it's own reek and uses it to taunt me - it's stench taints my thoughts and my memories, completely consuming everything i can come up with to distract me - it's pink eyes scream like the girl-child, sharing their eternal torment relentlessly - it's rags and shaggs are continually finding new and more putrid ways to stain themselves - fluids often seeping from the skin and oraphises in a death-breath slow motion - it sleeps at times, but never for long - and when it wakes it's in a sudden rage of thrashing convulsions, somersaulting itself in every direction until it realises it's places again, or simply runs out of energy - the cage, rusted sharp cuts and gashes the beast with each move it makes, and it shows no sign of pain - it shows no sign of pain, because it itself is pain - and then we just stare at each other, tempting one another to make a move - to strip and skin our souls, if there be any soul left to bare - though i win out – the beast couldn't help the itching - gagging in ecstatic relief as it clawd itself, peeling away it's soft rotten flesh-meat - soon there won't be anything left of my beast-child, but i know i'll be gone sooner still - i know

it's dusk, i can tell as i can hear the peak hour traffic choking the freeway outside my window - the car fumes slowly ghost their way into my room, and make a fine combination with the cheap watery beer i drain down my throat - the beast-child is rubbing it's anus against the rusty cage slowly, in some kind of ritualistic mutilation - i watch it from my chair, stroking my beard and breathing in the fumes up my nose nice and deep, balancing the head-spins with my cheap beer till it feels like my head is tightly wrapped in electrical-tape and my mind pulses like a lustful black-heart

after sometime, beyond dimention, the traffic outside eases and my pulsing head returns to drunk and madness – beast-child is feeding on some old spaghetti i puked in it's direction a few days ago - and it's shitting at the same time - a glistening lime-green ooze that makes no sound, but spasms the beast’s legs and torso that almost looks as though it were making love, if such a thing were possible from such a being - mid-shit there is a knock at the door and i only notice because of the beast-child's reaction - it being of liquid-shit and harks and hisses and summersaults all within the thrashing of a deathtime - it's black blood splats blue against the corner wall - the door knocks again and i blink my eyes trying to make sense of my surroundings - a bad-dream rusty sunday zoo-ground, sun-beaten and neglected by the grown-ups who have left us to commit painful sex-acts somewhere behind their laughter - i finish my beer and as i heave myself to stand up, i throw my bottle at the cage - it shatters and pieces of beer-glass prick and stick the beast as it squeals in a girlish-giggle - stumbling, i make my way to the door, but find the energy and ability to kick the cage with the side of my bare foot - if the beast drew blood, it would've been over one of the many other scratches and scabs and infestations - so i don't mind or care or notice

i respond by opening the door - there is a young man and girl-child standing outside my doorway - the sun and sunshine are unbearable, and with squinted invisible eyes and bared-teeth i greet them - they speak something and i wipe the sour sweat from my brow - they are the beautiful and my breathing blankets the sound of the beast-child's breathing and pulsations merely a meter behind me - they regret this, as the man hands me some kind of beer and introduces himself - the beer is cold in my hands and i laugh a little, ignoring the words he'd just spoken to me - silence looms a while before i rip one of the beers from the package and open it and douse it down my throat, dropping the rest of the beers as i guzzle - the beast-child hanks and honks in it's cage at the sound of the beers crashing at my feet - but i keep pulling back that one beer as the couple notice that something is not quite right, and turn and move back down the path, to their house next-door

and i return to my beast-child

Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of my Mental Empire - Part Twenty Two

he took the short-cut home
past the dodgy japanese take-away
across the street his old friends used to live in before they died
past the bank
before taking a turn down the alley-way
where that old shack festers still in the humidity of everyday
outside the bank stood a man in a dark blue suit
with slicked black hair
and slicked black sunglasses
he held a black leather folder against his hip
unable to see his eyes, he was sure the man was watching him walk by
you see, he wore sunglasses also, and so both men assumed
comfortable in their paranoia and suspicions
he caught a glimpse of himself in the tinted windows of the bank behind the man
his jeans looked good
his black tshirt looked cool and tight
his hair moved in the wind of each step
his sunglasses were darker
and with his beard he was unstoppable
he curled his lip the moment he walked past the folder-man
just slightly
just a touch
just enough to confirm his lifestyle against his

arriving home his room was cold and empty
brown dusty carpet - rarely seen sunlight
removing his sunglasses he replaced them with his perscription specs
in the lounge room his noticed a man in a dark blue suit sitting in the corner chair
with slicked black hair
and stylish black-rimmed glasses
he held a black leather folder in his lap
ignoring the folder man, he turned on some music
and pulled himself a beer
with a sigh he savoured his first sip
and lay back on the couch and stared at the ceiling
the music played
and eventually he finished his beer
until he got up and pull himself another one
soon the music finishes
the man in the suit remained silent but took some notes from time to time
upon noticing this, he picked up his own notebook
and begun to writing nonsense words
and nonsense poetry
and smoked them
blowing smoke towards the corner chair

at his thirtieth birthday party there were many people
the park was green and the sky was blue
the air was cool and moved a little
it was this birthday in which he first noticed
a considerable increase in the amount of children running around
his mother welcomed more people than he knew she knew
his father sat drinking with some people he'd never met before
at the picnic table behind the monkey bars
and see-saws
and the slide
sat a man wearing a dark blue suit
with slick black hair
and slick black sunglasses
he held a black leather folder in his lap
he ignored a ball that bounced out of the grasp of his niece
and continued to stare and study the birthday subject
soon it was cake time
and at this time they brought the cake out for him
they sung a song
and stodd around and smiled at him
hoping their presents were good enough for him
as be smiled back and bent down to blow out the candles
he cocked an eyebrow
and looked towards the man in the suit
and blew out his thirty candles
as his family and friend
clapped and cheered

at the football his son tapped him on the leg
and asked him who number eleven was
his leaned back in his seat and took a sip of his beer
his team was five points down with little time left
but he'd seen it all before
and felt at ease with the world
and the screaming crowd around him
well, they lost their shit
and his team won
his son jumped up and down and screamed with the crowd around him
engulfing him
knowing all well he would never be this happy again
he stood up
applauded and took his son to the bar to celebrate
standing at the bar was a man in a dark blue suit
with slicked black hair
and slicked black sunglasses
and rested a black leather folder on the bar
walking to the bar, he signalled for some attention
when he got it he ordered a double scotch on the rocks
and an apple juice for his son
because his son was sick of orange juice
both father and son slammed back their drinks and toasted their victorious team
though father, more experienced, slammed down his empty glass
slammed it down hard
and slammed it down so that it shattered
and shattered in hundreds of tiny pieces all over the bar and floor
without even looking at the man in the suit
both father and son walked out of the bar
and made their way home
to drink some warm homemade soup

at his funeral he lay in his coffin
inside he was smiling, happy and proud of his life
proud of his dark sense of humour
proud of his loved ones and how he treated them
proud of his life and how he used it
at the funeral his friends and family gathered all around him
and laughed and cried and played music and thought about him
both of which he could feel and enjoy from within death
his son gave a wonderful reading and everyone was so proud of him
standing in the doorway stood a strange figure
a man in a dark blue suit
with slicked black hair
and slicked black sunglasses
holding a black leather folder by his side
at the end of the reading the son looked up
looked up with an anger in his eyes that went past the gathered family and friends
and he saw the man in the suit
and his eyes pushed hard
and he silently made a pact
and keep this pact silent
clicking his pen shut
and sliding it into his suit pocket
the suited man turned and left the funeral
and he drifted towards a wonderful
blissful
fulfilling death