Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of my Mental Empire - Part Thirty-Six

anonymous, he walks home after another forgettable and uneventful day - the sun hadn't set, but it being the deepest winter in years the sky had suddenly morphed from it's predictable dark grey to a sudden black and night - wet underfoot, he still took the short cut through the local park feeling safe in the knowledge his leather boots would keep his feet dry - the crunch and slush of the dirt path and gravel underfoot comforted him, along with the knowledge he had some soup ready to warm up once he arrived home - the blinding yellow, orange and red lights of wet-weather peak hour traffic were now nothing but smudges against the mist and fog from somewhere behind the trees.

the park was silent except for the drip drip dripping of the saturated trees and leaves, weeping with the day's rain and the night's mist - if there was anything, or anyone, lurking in the bushes and trees at surrounded him, he was oblivious - quietly thinking his way through his own internal world.

drifting around a bend in the path, he saw what looked like a large fallen branch lying across the path - it had been a couple of days since he'd walked the path, so there was no real concern or suspicion - a black lump around the curve - watching it as he approached, he thought he saw it move, but assumed it was his mind trying to scare him - he lived alone - and he saw it twitch, roll, and sit up

startled, he stopped - it was a young man dressed in black - a black leather jacket - from the corner of his eye he saw a possum bolting through the grass and clawing it's way up a large tree - the young man stood up, taking big breaths of air, and dug his hands into the leather jackets pockets - "what the fuck are you doing here, huh?" - the possum watched from above - "no, nothing, sorry, im just walking home"
"what the fuck, huh? what are you doing here?" he begun walking closer, his hands still deep in his pockets
"im just walking home, please"
"pay a toll or some shit, give us ya wallet"
"please, i don't have much money."
"give me ya wallet motherfucker"
he punched him in the stomach - the click of his ring connecting with a button on his jacket - falling to the ground and splashing into the flooded gravel path

moaning like mourning mother - gasping for air like the buried alive - vision of actuality exploded in slow motion - the young man kicked him in the chest, despite a feeble attempt to protect himself with his hands - the final blow defeated all instincts he had to defend himself and so he lay beaten on the wet ground - the young man padded his pants and jacket pockets until he found the wallet, brown worn out leather, fat with useless receipts and faded movie tickets - ripping it the young man stuffs it down his pants - "now i know where you live bitch" - and with a stinging slap in the face, he ran away, sloshing his way down the path - still gasping for breath, his cheek freckled with wet gravel, he opens his eyes, nice and wide, only to see the possum still clawing to the tree, looking down at him, staring at him - eyes wider - weak - his mind is thrashed with a lifetime of degrading and humiliating memories that he can't shake - painting his thoughts a sour red - he begins to cry - his tears stingily warm against his face - he rolls onto his back - lying flat across the gravel path like a fallen branch from the trees weeping with the day's rain and the night's mist

***

sniffles
folds the newspaper
one last cup of coffee
before the last time
before it's time to wake up
follow the leader
in sexy whips and chains
follow the leader
games children play
as the grown ups watch the ocean
turn around
up-side-down
a distant heartbeat
causing the waves
to crash and burn
louder at night
as we try and sleep
the same waves crashed
millions and millions
of years ago
the same heart beat
beats us to death

all the thoughts
behind a dinner party
behind the conversations
behind the hugs and kisses
rolled up and delivered
in a simple tablet
take once a day before a bottle of red wine
side-by-side effects
instant madness
inescapable thoughts
complete loss of mental and physical control
should not affect speech
painful truths
realisations
loss of love and affection
may experience sense of utter loneliness
participant may in fact drift through void for an eternity
taking more than one tablet a day
unknown

Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of my Mental Empire - Part Thirty-Five

he's the bushy man in a suburban pub - he's got no-one to drink with, so he smokes outside alone - the condom machine graffiti reads - packets hide, check inside - there are no women in sight, not on this side of the bar anyway - two weeks ago, someone's wife commits suicide - it's been raining so i find a seat by the open fire - my jumper is too hot, but im too cold without it - i see an old local man play pool against a young asain girl - he wins and so they play again - no-one enjoys themselves - it's a sunday so the beers are having no affect - there is an uneasiness that swirls warmly around the bar as we all know the young girl pouring beers behind the bar is young enough to be someone's daughter - i zone out as much as i can - horse-races are called through a prison of crackle and static on the dusty old radio belonging to the old man sitting next to me - his name is dusty - i don't think he's even listening to the call, just enjoying his beer by blankly staring deep into the bar-mat - before an even younger girl hands me the sandwich i ordered on a plate - it looks better than i expect - a retarded boy collects the empty glasses from my table and i order another - outside i see the rain and the trees down and drenched the empty car-park - a cacophony of wind rain creating natural random dances - we're waiting around to die, i think to myself - all too gutless to live, all too gutless to die

rain stained mail - typed letters typed by computers themselves informing everyone of just how much money they owe to a name - so much demand

i find some crystals - just enough to turn the oceans into jelly, volcano spewing lamb gravy, the chunks that somehow dodged the lava tumble into dust and powder - most deadly to the civilians - one plastic world, wobbling as one plastic world - everyone works together to make sure that wars don't begin due to an unexpected "unbalancing" - a still silent world bobbing about it's business, smoking and drinking alone, oblivious to the billions of fearful cancer-cells that hide and wait, hoping they will survive this era of existence

***

later i walk inside and smell dinner is cooking - who won the footy? - another week of finding money in the most absurd places dawns on me, being another sunday night - televisions left on, their light warm family entertainment nauseating me - i sit on the couch, struggling to shrug the need to re-read a certain book just because and ever since a close friend asked to borrow it - dim lounge room lights, they make me sleepy - another sunday beer does nothing - i lie down and stare at the walls and ceiling - to hell if i even knew it - hours of thought spawn from blank lounge room walls and dim-lounge room lights - sunday evening and their last minute beers

he arrives home later, and im asleep at this time, despite the fact i had no idea what the time was - look what i found - he is angling a large piece of glass through the loungeroom door - i focus through my sleepy-fuzz - what have you got? - it's large broken piece of glass - he's already cut his hand on it at least once as i can see the unmistakable violent red has dabbled itself over a quarter of the glass like the hand-print of a blood-soaked skeleton - i catch a glimpse of myself in the glass, before i realise it's not broken glass at all, but in fact a large a broken mirror

he places it in the corner in the room, not before spilling some more blood on the floorboards and walls - where did you find it? - we both look into the mirror, angled just so we can't see ourselves, but only each other - it's somehow been cracked and broken in the most perfect shape a broken mirror can be - even the blood seems to have streaked, dabbed and smudged all in the right places - it's edges, short sharp, long straight, curved and smooth, all in corners and places and directions that seem simply perfect and make perfect sense for a broken mirror - he stares into my eyes but i ignore them - his are filled with pride and achievement, im sure - mine, i can only assume, are filled with admiration of such a perfect result that was thrown to chance - i care not for the reflection, only for the beauty and divinity of the edges and curves and the blood of my friend - such perfection not meant for existence but only for twitching minds and a warped sense of time and space - a paradox to stain life as we knew it

it would make a perfect wedding present, if i was ever to get married - with the sense he was still staring at me through the reflection he was given, i ask if we know anyone who is getting married anytime soon - it's forgotten, and we both agree to nail it to the wall as is - half the dusty lounge-room wall now nothing but cracks, sharps, blood, and my vision of holiness

three years later and im engaged - living in her house, but living my life all the same - all the same, nothing has changed - and she's wonderful - i went to visit him maybe two weeks ago - he still has the mirror and still stares at my reflection whenever he gets the chance - i ask if he's ever thought of changing it, if he's ever wanted something different to stare at - he says he's never really thought of it before and that he didn't really care, and i believe him - we laugh at the fact that im actually engaged and he offers me the mirror as a wedding present - i decline but pat him on the back as a sign that i appreciate the offer - we share a couple of beers and promise to catch up again soon - we shake hands and i start my walk home in the mist and fog, red, orange and yellow of autumn - wiping the blood off my hands, i think myself as the luckiest man on earth, and carry on with my life