Monday, March 19, 2012

chapter nine - postmodernist apostate


Leo kills for the fun of it and I am not like you, I will not live beneath the water.  I will not hide from the sunshine I won’t play that game with you anymore I will not hold my breath leo is reintroducing himself he says that you have known each other before a long time ago before the war he said that you once danced together to the music of a water borne illness those were the days a parallel lines the town fathers aligned the streets a narrow packed backlog I think Nanuk of the north was catching on the cratered body with stitched scars Nanuk of the north feels across the horizon and builds his tower of premature billboards he is dotting the body of Miss Palm with holistic magic he pulls the bone out of her abdomen there is a small amount of seal blood he dangles the bone above her skin Miss Palm has outshined buttons they are undone and her breasts are pushing the silence she has a river rose tattooed and rubbed Nanuk of the north speaks to her like the holy ghost he is using his inflicted patina as a means instead of an end Miss Palm is a slippery slope and Nanuk of the north knows this he has been taught by his elders to be mindful of injustice no matter how he describes the Cyrillic Nanuk of the north is an inventor of new words and thus he creates new worlds he is making a new world for Miss Palm it exists next to a river outside of town there are tall houses for seventeen people Nanuk of the north is able to make the open shut past the lips to stay alive Miss Palm is reflective and singing to the strips of light she can drain thirty days of elbows while smoking a cherry bomb cigarette she is not worried about the side effects of the belief in the trinity the mirror and face in silhouetted sky dragging her concentric halos they are in a box labeled atrocities with bent head apprehension she opens her heart to translucent alchemy Miss Palm is more than a fictional character she is more than two dimensional space she has seen what the universe pours out at the end of the party all the beer cans with cigarette butts in them making the dead alive again it was a skeleton waltz that she danced unlike any other she whirled around the floor and Nanuk of the north clapped his hands to the music her legs would dangle over the edge

I am afraid that if I tried to tell you only one thing that I wouldn’t be able to fully express my message there are so many things that I want to express I want to share with you how it feels inside my heart the pain I feel for being so alone and misunderstood for so many years I am always on the outside looking in not really feeling a part of that which revolves around me I am trying to reach out to you to share a real human connection the subliminal wires connect our minds the ghosts are pulling the levers we have learned to turn off the mind control machine we have become disconnected from the hive the material rubs against her thighs Is this noise or some kind of distortion or is it another message that is trying to get through? The babbling ghosts have multiple personalities and many different messages. They try to get through to me. I think we met in another life we lived together down by the sea during the day we collected seashells to sell to the tourists and at night we played in a rock and roll band our connection to each other was synthetic and universal we were naked and dirty not a moral dirty that suggests something wrong but a dirty that comes from nature from living life close to the ground feeling the earth move and loving the life that we were given we were happy to be together and with each other we were complete your laugh always could fix everything your smile could melt my hardest days with you I am not alone we share something that is beyond this physical existence it is like we have been together many times things such as gender and beauty and relationship do not matter we have revolved around each other’s lives many times the names keep changing but the relationship stays the same the connection stays the same

your mother had a home in paradise to feel beloved on this earth remorse with the desolate these desolate veins used to pump blood they used to pump life now there is only fragments of a broken dream somewhere we lost each other now I will have to wait for the next life to find you again sometimes there are no second chances jane puffed nervously on her cigarette a limited human being who knew her limits she was comfortable with them she is a force of creation and destruction once again we are confronted by movement it was not movement for the sake of movement it was purposeful it led to a new beginning a new sunrise it was movement that was taking us to our place in the sun she would sing me a lullaby and play with my long hair as we watched the clouds play in the sky we could not formulate the future although we would convince ourselves that we could we ignored the true indicators and put our hopes on strength and beauty and blind ambition blind ugly animalistic force id it couldn’t be schmoozed then we would force it break its neck break its back pummel and pound and bite and scratch we wouldn’t stop until we saw red we were bulls trapped in the ring and we would kill everyone to get out to remove the hidden places of our being choked with the naked sunshine groaning to bring forth the life in nature to see the lamb rise into the sky the orgasm of the universe the asteroid crashed into your planet causing your world to spin out of control to create a new life that you previously didn’t know you were a new creature with a new star chart dripping with apostles and their exposed wounds

no longer the recipient of a singular life many births and deaths to shape her into the queen that she was suddenly life breaks forth out of her you are not the object that you surround yourself with you are not the words that you speak you are your actions you are the things you do what you do is influenced by the decisions you make what you do is influenced by your philosophy by the way you see the world by what you consider to be right and wrongs what you think influences your actions you can spend all your life thinking and if you do nothing you are nothing you can spend your whole life talking and if you do nothing you are nothing the point is to do something to act upon the world around you this heart only pushes blood from organ to organ there is no feeling inside it we invent the feelings with our monkey minds our desire to return to the primal to kill or be killed for something more than a dollar our blood feeds the dust makes our energies move forward into other creatures and things we become dispersed there is no need to argue with the laws of nature the world will move as it always does until it melts into nothing that is your significance nothing you came from nothing and will return to nothing and the universe will forget you lay down upon your deathbed and see yourself dying watch as they lower your body into the grave see yourself decomposing feeding the worms and the flowers until nothing of your body remains watch your spirit leave your dead body and rise through the seven worlds until your spirit joins the multitude river of nothing you lose your individual personality and become unified with the whole once again removed from the human condition pain and fear do not exist here you do not exist here there is only the one and you are the one your heart has been eaten by the worms and all of your secrets are gone there is no reason for secrets there is no reason for desire you are complete in the fullness of the one

she is following a story it is because of the story the human drama that appeals to her the moon and the sun Tibet and the hopi Indians the underworld we will live someday on the higher worlds being reunited with our soul mates in birth we descend and in death we ascend  we are living in Camelot it is time to take a ride we loved the commitment we loved the attitude interested in the experiment it was classical your fall I sent them in before I graduated but my transcripts got lost in the mail shit I got lost in the mail can we trust our senses she has another program in her mind the many things we can’t worry about I have two of them right there and the other one should be coming in waiting for your numbers to come in they should be in by the end of next week Tonya is on her hands and knees puking up the devil the winter solstice is all over the floor the devil has done his damage soon Horus will arise and hugo will be drinking in the bar buying rounds for everyone he pulls out his dick and pisses on the floor asleep and awake as the music plays was it real or imaginary you can never get away from the reputation that you have spent so long to build all the pictures in the room why did I put them on the wall where did I get them they get fascinated with the pictures

trouble finds Tonya wherever she goes her fuck me interactions with the opposite sex she is flat counting the wolves as they eat her sheep hugo binds the snake around his pole the devil is singing in her ear about his penetrating the world as it chokes on his cock tears running down its cheeks her hands are tied behind her back struggling with insanity a dignity that once existed she knew it was all bullshit anyway this world does nothing but fuck you over life feeds on life the devil tells her that this is necessary that the darkness needs its time and place and that everyone has to give him his due she couldn’t remember which was hugo and which was the devil they seemed to blend into one another they talked to each other in a language only they knew she thanked them both for having her she could feel the words catch in her throat it was the mischief she was born for she was born under the influence of Saturn and she had harnessed this sadness into something that one could call a life she left the devil and hugo arguing over the bill still tasting the devil in the back of her throat tonya is tired of living in some else’s shoes living out past lives to pay off the burden of her karma the sins she pays for are her father’s and not her own she wonders if someday she will have a child a son or a daughter who will also have to pay off her karmic debt she tells herself over and over again I am not her I am not my mother I can overcome this burden I can carry my cross confronting her demons real and imaginary she knows that the demons she has created are the worst kind she has inherited this need to torture herself to bring pain upon self for her past wrongs to burn and cut and bang herself against the wall to peer over the edge and consider the fall her mother was so good at living in guilt she would feed it and let it grow beyond all reasonable proportions tonya couldn’t remember what it was that her mother had to be guilty of it was one of those life routines that people fall into they beat themselves up for some imagined wrong was it love that bound tonya to this pain was it love that made her swallow a bottle of pills and slit her wrists was it love that had her constantly looking for the way out life for tonya was not something to be lived but something to escape from to run from to flee from for tonya life and death were so intimately entwined what was it about today that made me remember tonya was it my mind or my memories that led me down this path or was it my heart was it a lost desire to make a real and lasting connection with another human who was hurting like I

tonya was pride and beauty in the face of danger I remember her standing against the storm facing the onslaught of fury laughing in the devil’s face as if she was saying is that all you got you aint so fucking bad she never said she enjoyed the rapes who enjoys getting the shit kicked out of them the split lip the broken ribs the cuts to her ankles and wrists the bruises that cover nearly every square inch of her body there is a politics between man and woman that never sees the outside world how we eat the flesh of the weak and make lies to burn in the fireplace they don’t want to see your life up close they prefer to you at a safe distance they are will to pay for the performance but that want to be lied to they don’t want to feel any real emotions they want the façade to stay glued together to keep them from seeing the raw they pretend that the blood is imaginary or something from a movie plot it was a trick to fool us they say that was not real that was a performance we paid for a performance and that is what it was there is nothing real to be seen here no one was hurt in entertaining us we didn’t see you drag the dead out the back and throw them into the trunk of your car this is all make believe fun and  games here have another drink and let us laugh this awkwardness away there is no need to get hysterical I’m sure that woman was an actress did you notice how she asked her lover to give her some more to beat her like an animal no one does that in real life it is absurd it has to be absurd don’t you think so I mean who would think of such a thing to do such a thing it has to be joke a laugh tell me it is a joke that it was only acting superior acting

she defines my soul these little words they say some much more she defines me she has grown on me like a high school girl as I watch her working at MCDonalds I am making a sketch of her mapping out her dimensions her face has this look of purity and I know that that is a disguise whispering sweet nothings into her pink ears multiple piercings I ask her if she believes in god if she would like to find her way to heaven on her way home from school some day she treated it as an interview I told her everything would be fine I was standing there meekly holding my tray of dead beef and genetically processed potatoes the smell of dead meat was on her cornered by the perfumed death she said that she had it coming that it was her right as an American to do her part for the war she would call if she knew about tonya how she begged me for that rhinoceros tattoo she knew that I had been drinking she could smell the whiskey she saw the devil on my forearm the actress said that she was so sweet just a little girl with dreams of boys in the backseats of cars she said that I couldn’t touch her but the cards said differently the deck was always stacked as high as fuck a prophecy stuck in her throat she wanted to fly

nibbled but still identifiable injected toes they know the way to Flatbush warm little globs of fat they could pass back then as repentant whimsy you liked it with whipped cream I’m not sure if it was with real cream or the oily kind she would practice saying the names of the saints if you can see them then they can see you once they see you then you will never be the same it took a bathtub filled with water and an electrical cord graced my lips just like a meal I’m sitting here in the dark trying to remember the last word you said addict me I think turn the switch maybe I looked up your poems on the internet and only found five they were all about your past lovers none of them were about me you used to see yourself in all of my writings where do you see yourself now I have donated all of my verbs to local charities I don’t think they wanted them but they took them anyway they must be used to sad hearts with nothing left to give to be held in the hollowed out cavity in my chest I can get my whole arm in there I am a miracle of science I should be quiet now I wonder if they are counting my keystrokes if they seem too many will they send Agent Smith to interrogate me will he comment on the stink of humanity will the veins in my forehead stick out

will harpo arrive with a helicopter to bust me out pulling the bars of my jail cell tearing down the walls harpo doesn’t say much but he is a man of action harpo can pick locks so we didn’t need to leave the sliding glass door unlocked the little school girl is thinking about love indifference and chicken tacos I stopped trying to understand her mind a long time ago she looked lonely sitting in her big office pretending to be working I stopped pretending a long time ago but she is new here and she hasn’t figured out how things work here harpo is wearing a tie with a duck on it when he walks by my office he quacks tonya is cooking beets into a broth she can hear the devouring hugo and I are standing in the hot lunch line I pull harpo out of my pocket he has a smile like a traveling republican I almost want to believe in him he has the girth of artificial conditions artificial Christmas trees with that fake white snow harpo has his red suit on and is sticking his thumb into the big pot of the soup of the day this makes hugo laugh and the little school girl nervous I tell her not to worry that harpo doesn’t have any manners his mother was too busy fighting in Iraq to teach him any

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