sibling

V: The True Freedom – Material [Lull]

IV: The True Freedom – Care [Lull]

Happiness resides not in possessions, and not in gold, happiness dwells in the soul.

– Democritus

 

I’ve already secured a vault in my mind,

To slowly clear out. Without her

Permission, of course, for she would only whine.

When she notices the absence,

Of the phonograph,

Or the bedside lamp,

Or the hairpins,

Or the doorhandles,

I’ll tell her. But not before. She deserves

her shred of glory now. To live in sunshine now.

Before the perishing explanation of peace I hope to

gift her passes my lips as I tell her

where her life has gone.

She’s higher than this now.

 

She can look around, sure, look around, sure,

For everything she hasn’t got. Or she could glance

at what she has.

O, glory one,

It’s standard. Purpose. Life. Driven. All of it,

Waylaid by the struggles of material. Cast it aside.

Or, stand aside as I do it for you. And cast off your

dress. Unhook your bra. Step out of your shoes.

Your stockings too. They’re what you don’t need.

You’re purer than this.

 

And I imagine her body. Celestial. Sweat of work glimmering

like stars on that pale figuresse, I caress the sweet silk of her

dress. Before disposing of it.

A tight pucker of a belly button. The centrepiece between the

curves of her waist, flowing down, opaque, to thighs, knees, calves,

And I would fall at her feet, as the whole world should, if I wasn’t

her brother. To pollute her with my touch is toxic, thought

or practice, as I feel her shoulder in my palm.

Her eyes remain open.

And she goes to speak. But I quieten her.

Everything you need to say has been heard. Before you even move

your tongue or your teeth, everyone hears you, everyone responds.

And I respond.

 

Bite your tongue! Do not ask me. Only listen. Would any goddess,

Living or dead, require anything you say you need? Would any goddess,

Need obsessions, possessions, fodder and filler? Would any goddess,

Oppose the stripping of these things?

To purify, to nourish and exploit,

You are free of all. Your needs are moot, your possessions are forgotten.

Memory is a concept, time is unprepared, will is heightened.

Nothing you need. You need nothing.

So don’t ask me why. Bite your tongue! And raise.

 

I glance at her again. Empty eyes and the contents of tears streaming from them.

I have wronged her. But care, I do not.

This is for the best. And raise.

I promise her, I swear to her.

My goddess sibling, I swear to you.

You are higher than this. You are a form greater than the solar

system. A curse lifted from the single spoken word of God.

You are the white of snow. I swear to you, even snow is less.

And raise.

Higher than this material Earth, where your

spirit will attach itself to the clouds. You are deserving.

Let them see you. Let your hair become darker than the night sky.

Let your eyes be the sun and moon, and your sweat be the stars.

Only have yourself. Everything else is polluting.

Tumble and sleep in the empty universe and fill it

with yourself. You are purer than nothing.

So raise yourself.

 

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II: The True Freedom – Time [Lull]

I: The True Freedom – Memory [Lull]

 

The innocent and the beautiful
Have no enemy but time…

-W. B. Yeats

 

Terrible! – a terrible loss. Oh, each

passing day weighs down my figure,

And each falling grain from one teardrop of

the Hourglass to the other,

And each waltzing shadow distorting itself

on the face of the Sundail,

And each shallow breath she sighs that

counts the seconds out of reach,

All count – count towards our pure endlessness.

We must dispose of time.

 

This modern strictness, a concept intangible,

Is no more than a mere and incurable sickness,

Which no man tries to fight. Raising the

scalpel high, you remove the defective tissue,

But you do not move the defective time. This

walking corpse, this living carcass, do they

all fool themselves this way? Pretending that time,

In its terrible glory, is on their side, an ally.

Oh, rue this day, time. You shall not lay your gnarled

hand on my sister’s shoulder.

 

I lay mine.

Her breath is under my palm, and a singular second of

serenity enters. A calmness. A stillness. But not

for long. I will go, I will destroy time. No matter how

much I want time to catch me, for my sister, that elegance

hidden beneath the gas mask and funnel of hair,

Her face must remain china. Remain porcelain.

 

So tempt me. So hurt it. So hurt time, self, hurt it.

As it hurt me, as I destroyed all memory. Memory of her

little girl figure is merely an imagination. What colour

were her shoes? Memory – gone. Time – ruin it.

I travel within to the farthest reaches of the sun,

Over continents and oceans, never stepping through the shade,

Time must not pass. If I keep forcing myself, if I keep moving,

If I never stop and carry my sister though, we will never

change, she will never change, I will never

change. And serene blissful pastimes will be lost in imagination

as our memories fade every after-second. Without time, without

time, no seconds will pass.

Every stolen night will stand still.

Every figure,

Frozen,

In their own serene blissfulness, and perhaps,

When I ruin the destroyer of temples,

And burn the catcher of life,

And trap the conceited seasons behind,

I can smile, and smile genuinely,

when I look, for an unwritten eternity,

into my sister’s eyes.

 

III: The True Freedom – Need [Lull]