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
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