fudgetusk
01-08-2018, 09:26 AM
Writing On The Back Of My Hand
There's a black and purple arm protruding from the hole in the wall. It has a syringe sticking into it. The plunger is almost fully down and there is just half an inch of green fluid in the chamber.
"Morally dubious," I say.
The arm begins to make a noise like a balloon deflating. It begins to sag and flop until it is dangling from the mouth of the hole like a long glove. The syringe is now full of green ooze.
"Dubiously moral,"I declare.
The wall begins to shift at an angle away from me, flashing white and yellow. There is tinckly music playing somewhere. Something invisible moves past me. I recall a life that I had meant to erase. It all occurred in the shadow of a wind tossed, yellow tower with red windows that sent off squares of blinding light as it rocked.
"Why did I ever want to erase you?" I wonder.
Why Did I Ever Want To Erase You?
Delia is dancing with John. The music is complicated and machine-like. The walls of the room are covered in thick black, plastic conduit tubes. The room smells of the erasers I used to collect as a child. Perfumes that do not occur in nature. I wonder if I am real enough to take part in the dance. They do not even know I am there. Maybe I'm not. Thoughts are realer than music. Why shouldn't Delia and John move to the sound of my ideas? I try to influence their movements. I manage to get John to make a series of strange kicks out of step with the music. I feel a fool. There is the sound of loud voices. A door has opened and shadows are entering the room like beans being spilled from a can. They have come for me?
It is winter outside. They must not expel me into the wasteland. I would have to enfold myself within a cocoon and sleep for ever. Never to change. The black lightning bolts of the trees will decorate my oblivion. The snowy earth will make passes at me in my slumber, not taking no for an answer. Travellers will come and light fires from the dropped branches. They will seek to waken me and take me with them. I do not wish to join those freakshows.
I Do Not Wish To Join Those Freakshows
There was a time when I was king. I ate food that had been prepared by angels. Angels from a holy abyss. My bed was stuffed with angel feathers that brought me archaic dreams from a time before God. When I wasn't dreaming I was attending to my duties as the monarch. These duties involved listening to music from new bands. I had final say in their eager careers. I made princes and princesses of those who pleased me. Those who failed to crack my heart fled to their bedrooms to sharpen their talents. I was a good king really. The king of sound and despair.
Then the Spinster was born. Eyes like stars. Mouth like a bear trap. Arms as long as any room in my castle. Claws like flints. She caused the residents of the castle to flee for the mountains. My angels flew away to the dark islands off the coast of the Green Sea. I only slipped through her arms by tickling her with an angel feather. And I was no longer a king, but a travelling dreamer. Sleeping in bird's nests alongside warm eggs. Eating mushrooms that grew on stones. But I was happy. More happier than I had ever been. Because now I knew I was waiting for a new purpose.
There's a black and purple arm protruding from the hole in the wall. It has a syringe sticking into it. The plunger is almost fully down and there is just half an inch of green fluid in the chamber.
"Morally dubious," I say.
The arm begins to make a noise like a balloon deflating. It begins to sag and flop until it is dangling from the mouth of the hole like a long glove. The syringe is now full of green ooze.
"Dubiously moral,"I declare.
The wall begins to shift at an angle away from me, flashing white and yellow. There is tinckly music playing somewhere. Something invisible moves past me. I recall a life that I had meant to erase. It all occurred in the shadow of a wind tossed, yellow tower with red windows that sent off squares of blinding light as it rocked.
"Why did I ever want to erase you?" I wonder.
Why Did I Ever Want To Erase You?
Delia is dancing with John. The music is complicated and machine-like. The walls of the room are covered in thick black, plastic conduit tubes. The room smells of the erasers I used to collect as a child. Perfumes that do not occur in nature. I wonder if I am real enough to take part in the dance. They do not even know I am there. Maybe I'm not. Thoughts are realer than music. Why shouldn't Delia and John move to the sound of my ideas? I try to influence their movements. I manage to get John to make a series of strange kicks out of step with the music. I feel a fool. There is the sound of loud voices. A door has opened and shadows are entering the room like beans being spilled from a can. They have come for me?
It is winter outside. They must not expel me into the wasteland. I would have to enfold myself within a cocoon and sleep for ever. Never to change. The black lightning bolts of the trees will decorate my oblivion. The snowy earth will make passes at me in my slumber, not taking no for an answer. Travellers will come and light fires from the dropped branches. They will seek to waken me and take me with them. I do not wish to join those freakshows.
I Do Not Wish To Join Those Freakshows
There was a time when I was king. I ate food that had been prepared by angels. Angels from a holy abyss. My bed was stuffed with angel feathers that brought me archaic dreams from a time before God. When I wasn't dreaming I was attending to my duties as the monarch. These duties involved listening to music from new bands. I had final say in their eager careers. I made princes and princesses of those who pleased me. Those who failed to crack my heart fled to their bedrooms to sharpen their talents. I was a good king really. The king of sound and despair.
Then the Spinster was born. Eyes like stars. Mouth like a bear trap. Arms as long as any room in my castle. Claws like flints. She caused the residents of the castle to flee for the mountains. My angels flew away to the dark islands off the coast of the Green Sea. I only slipped through her arms by tickling her with an angel feather. And I was no longer a king, but a travelling dreamer. Sleeping in bird's nests alongside warm eggs. Eating mushrooms that grew on stones. But I was happy. More happier than I had ever been. Because now I knew I was waiting for a new purpose.