Wednesday, January 25, 2012

page 101

sun god she jumps up at the last minute she is the last one to have the illness from familial ties the crazy lady is carried away by her investigation away from the shores of the Mississippi yet the mud is still on her shoes muscle skeletal system her comfort zone and marginal places she said that you were screwed into the heart of the city the inner city she prowled among the hopeless those with jagged dreams and fingers of concrete they were smoking buddy Epsom spreading him thin on a foot long hotdog murder camp queen and her sleeping bag she would get it all twisted with the roach clip at the end of the hall the crazy lady had dropped out of the world the world of middle-class vaginas men and women who have replaceable parts they are all exposed to the contagion all vestiges of normalcy have disappeared from the life she vacated existing for too long on the outside has a price she has discovered that Dr. Loophole has another solver of mysteries he has drilled holes into her head to be his feeling of doubt and self-hate as if she didn’t have enough of her own maybe she thinks that it will have some time a Ritalin effect on her sort of burn her out so much of her has dissolved already reminders of the disintegrating comfort a bottle of vodka a sea of alcohol she swims to forget the pain the self-inflicted gunshot wound the terror of her recurring nightmare confronting the non-reality of her existence she is not running from a crime no one is chasing her except herself she is chasing her tail going round and round (Rat) endless steps that left the crazy lady with the feeling of being lost she is lost in the city and within herself a metaphysical lost that would require a talking lion if this were a movie or a work of science fiction there are no metaphors to present a truth because there are no truths to reveal except maybe truth is a lie a splintering of self this is my Jungian shadow giving the shadow a voice I stopped listening long ago the other wanted to speak to you to talk to you to welcome you into the fold the crazy lady has become a part of the internet she has become the internet she is lost inside the box I will never find her she will be lost to me forever she is under surveillance we have cameras installed everywhere we will find her or will we every soul lost in his or her own particular hell not able to touch the world that exists outside of their bodies the crazy lady melts into the walls of the apartment the next renter comes in and hangs pictures from her nose she has become invisible she just stands there and watches she is waiting for something but what I don’t know she is just waiting she has a home but she has no place no existence no identity no one talks to her no one asks her any questions even if they did she couldn’t speak she has no voice her nature of existence is characterized as unstable the rules of order do not follow she is outside the system she tries to remember how things used to be before she disappeared but she can’t it is impossible for her to go back to her previous life that life is gone she has become unable to map the totality of her existence she is filling up her red notebook with the words that once was her existence the words flow through her touching her soul they leave small scratches on her heart tiny little droplets of blood pour out of her with each beat of her broken heart she is thinking that this must be the beginning she has crossed the threshold into the cosmic realm Dagger was found hanged in the countryside he had

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