Month: February 2017

I’m Allowed To Be

IF
And I repeat, IF
I’ve been to the depths, I can
judge for myself the highs
and the lowest
darkest
hidden realities and turnaround cul-de-sacs of endless light for myself.
I am not a blind bat in the darkness, I have two eyes that work less-than-perfectly,
And
even if I’m not the most
well
if I’ll look behind and see someone –
And I saw them once before –
recognition of them is minimal by my eye. So
I’ll probably overlook some more vital infor
mation, maybe the importance. Of it all.
But-

Either way.
I am not a blind bat in the darkness, I have two eyes that work less-than-perfectly,
And
even if I’m not the most
watchful – perhaps? – I can still
notice enough to make up my mind.
I can still see enough down here in the depth to cover myself completely.
I will learn all even if I want to know none of it.
I will watch and listen and try to smile despite the writhing I feel inside myself.

Imagine a projector screen with
me in front of it
ebbing black pixels. Ebbing. Pushing, throbbing, pulsating. Any of the words that might de
scribe the action of the screen behind me – and my shadow,
Not obstructing anything,
Yet, but
then from the corners
fuchsia spikes. Because I know
genuinely
that pain and pleasure are one and the same.
Despite the opposite realities of each one.
Fuchsia spikes closing in
and I merely stand
and watch
and listen
and learn.
While the screen attacks me from behind and I close my eyes as the screen shines
pink into them, all into them, behind them and through them.
But they don’t kill me.

My shadow, down here, blocks them. My back is defended. And, if I
turn to face the screen,
My front will be defended also.

Do you see yet?
I don’t
I don’t
I don’t

need

anything. Not your eyes, not your skin not your
words in my ears, not your arteries, not
your praises, not anything. I just need myself.
To be,
To learn,
To grow.

I am deeper than you think. Every silence is wrought with
pain and all I want is someone to shine a torch in
to the dark and look after me.
But I am turning my back on that. Rely on no one, no one
will shine as well as I do.
I know where I hurt.
I know where to put the bandages.
I know where the edges are.
How they fall.
How they blunt every issue I have.
And how,
With a single moment,
I can ignore them all and heal myself.
I am deeper

so much deeper

than you think.

And wiser, I am wiser than you think. Find my number and remove all the numbers and replace them with letters, I will
Tell you the colours of them,
One
by
one. Because
I know more. I know so much more. I know myself and
I know everyone else. There is a reason for what I’ve
been called. And what people see me as,
And that I can be taken,
So easily,
As a fool. Because I am a fool.

Despite my wisdom.

I am a
fool. And even
if I think I am
strong, even
if
I think I can
lift something
either
Physical
or
Mental
I am most times wrong.

So.

IF. You think I’m happy,
I’m most not.
IF. You think I’m easy,
I’m most not.

BUT. I am deeper than
you might care to think about.
BUT. I am wiser than
you might care to think about.

That’s the issue.
Read me.
Ignore me.
Face me.
Block me.
Stab me.
Say things you know will hurt me.
I am more than that if I can turn my back,
Shine my own light onto the places that hurt,
Because I know that even if…
Even IF
I’m sad, I’m allowed to be.
I’m happy, I’m allowed to be.
I’m furious, I’m allowed to be.
I’m ill, I’m allowed to be.
I’m scarring, I’m allowed to be.
I’m different, I’m allowed to be.
I’m naked, I’m allowed to be.
I’m cast, I’m allowed to be.
I’m…

I’m allowed to be.

Always.

Always allowed to be.

Skullplay

Could I

collect up the

remnants of

perhaps

a few scattered

and empty shells

of animal

existance and

by sheer and

frightnening luck

have some rope or string

either will do

nearby?

But why

but why

you’d like to know?

Here’s why.

I would

with the string,

attach each skull I discover

on my short treks out

into the

cold

and

frosty winterness

maybe a hare’s skull

complete with teeth

or a crow’s beak

with plucked feather

still stuck to the carrion?

into a long

and stony

bony

rope.

With each interval of

admittedly rotting

bone, it would feel marvelous

absolutely

to have them concealed for a time

not too long

just enough so don’t become…

uncomfortable

up inside myself.

Each skull

scratching away with its

rotting canine teeth or

even

a beak?

at my colon. But don’t

make too much

fuss. After all

they’ll be tugged out after a little while.

To bring me to ecstasy.

As if at pistol-point.

And I’ll shriek my way through hell and back.

With the blood and the leaking.

And the bodily cursing.

As my eyes water.

As my lungs contract.

As my stomach turns over.

And I pull them out.

Each skull

readily

ruined but

completely

fulfilled in its

their

job.

And next time

when I’m more

aware

of my ablutions

I’ll keep the child-skulls.

I’ll keep them.

Clean.

Gather more rope.

And enjoy myself

once more

just entirely once more

despite the blood

they have less teeth

again.

Badge-Men

I’ll raise that single sleeve again, soaked in the
taste and stink of my whiskey and gin,
And stagger out into the copses of
honeysuckle and rosebushes
To vomit.

Never stray too far from the track though, no
matter how far from sober I may feel I
am. Because, armed with bronze and brass
badge in hand, my favourite party-crasher
will find my misfortune in all its glory.

Tell him nothing, give him only head-
shakes and lies. Because,
If after tonight, I was sent back where I just
emerged from, I’d have more to fear than just that
bronze and brass he holds up.

You must listen to me. Because
with that small item sitting in his palm,
He is all-powerful. May it say his
name or his number, it does not matter. His
badge is plain death for us, straight and true.

Where should we run to, to drink next?
Hush-hush tavern or head-shake house of
sins? I’ll add an extra to your drink tonight, just
to see how you are. Just to make sure I can
push you to the badge-man and run.

I am not a loyal companion when raised
up behind the bar. Because, like any good
enemy would, I’d consider myself before I’d
ever think of you. But don’t worry.
We’re friends now.

Laid down as your eyes begin to turn
fuzzy, I ask the nearest playgirl to help me
lift you. I’ll play the role of your concerned
and anxious best friend. Too tied up in my
own worry to wonder if my arms will break.

Her strength is a minor addition and I push you
at the feet of the awaiting badge-man who,
As I said he would,
Lifts from his pocket his accursed bronze
and brass. So I push and run. Push and run.

In due time, I’ll receive a call from you when
I’m out of breath and out of money,
Curled up in some copse somewhere as
I struggle not to let my unconsciousness
become flat and miserable death.

The true me has appeared. I would not
blame you for being scared. I told you the
very first time we met. Rub your back
I never did, lift you free of the fence I
never did. So maybe it was there all along.

Bloody me and bloody trust, I hear
your voice from down the line already. I am
no longer struck by ethanol, that passed a
while ago. So I lie on my side with hardly
the strength to keep your voice in my ear.

Field after field they search for me. The
scary badge-men and accomplices. To think that
the people I sacrificed you to to save myself from
would be the ones I wish I could cry for
as I lie in my own vomit. Dying.

 

 

Thanks, Levi.

Epistle 1

Simple little discontented heart,

I desire a meeting with you. Not a long one, mind, just a few minutes. A quiet nod on a street corner, a stranger-turned-acquaintance, talking it up with the other. Feel free to study my palms as you do so, to try and read between each crease. But meet with you I must.

 

To attempt a meeting place would be slanderous and unrealistic. So let us just… arrive together. Every Next Time and Last Time, the coincidence will be where we make our location. Be it on that aforementioned street corner or perhaps in the middle of the busy street. I will shake your gloved hand with my own gloved hand, and we shall walk, you lighting a pipe and me struggling to keep the biting cold off my wet lips.

As for the time, let us make that in similar with the place – coincidence. No longer will we have to worry and stress about seeing each other, let us just have it… happen. Six with the dawn, as you head out to fetch your morning paper and I am there walking on my slow way to work. I can spare the minutes I need with you. A few minutes late will be worth my words, a few minutes to let the ink dry on the paper for you. We can spare the time. Or maybe we’ll meet late at night, I outside shaking the dust off an old coat, you, in the middle of a procession of friends walking down my street. I’ll step out and call your name, don the coat, lock my door and perhaps join you. My words can be said in front of all others.

 

But, as I mentioned, let us not make assumptions as to Whens or Wheres. Or even Hows or Whys. Leave all I’ve said to imagination and don’t expect anything. After all, you may walk past my house and notice that I am home. But if you do, don’t knock.

 

Walk on. See to your business. Just as I see to mine inside, you will see to yours wherever it may be. Through the sleet, I might see your retreating back as you refrained from knocking on my door, as I come to it to let the cat out for the evening. But you’re on your way. I’ll not call you now.

 

These are my requests. So, if I was to leave my meeting and words up to chance, why, you must be begging me to tell you, am I sending you a letter to request your presence? Well, simply; it is a politeness. A gesture, an opportunity to call you friend. An open hand for you to take when the time comes.

 

But come looking for me and I will not say anything.

 

Nor will I say anything if we meet planned. At some social gathering we know we’re both invited to. Or a wedding of my best friend and your cousin. We will not speak regarding this issue then. Not until we bump into each other at the weekly market where you purchase your poppy seed bread and I sample the delights of oils.

I’m sure by now you have agreed to our lack of plan. However, if you have any issues, I will not hear them unless these conditions are met, by which time I will have expressed my news to you. I’m afraid there is no way to dodge this meeting. But I promise you, you do not want to.

 

Yours,

Hieronymus