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I probably dreamt of some strange blue, red, green, purple colored elephant, that tramps around the stately garden untouched by the gritty hands that defile its coarse skin that weaves the path they walk... they fall upon the ground at his approach, and his evil cries will bounce around the kingdom, longitudinal waves, compressing and refracting upon the solid walls they construct. He then begins his slow descent. Sweet and gloriful. For the elephant never sleeps. He continues all day, never ceasing its slow progression to the sad procession that awaits each fallen man, at the end of every fallen day, there lies a cave that marks a grave to alleviation of the pain and systematic disposal that rots the dark roots that feed us.
The grey tiger that growls like fire will rise to the throne, the throne that complicates the terrible sorrows that they all face, all day and night, especially in the night, as it pierces the tarrish cloaks that slap the face, and blacken our eyes. Blindly, we stumble upon the upright king that offers red hot coal to eat, and that is when the ultimate happiness begins, in our own fires, the fires in our gut, that are like minute insects harvesting the pain; the pain harvested in the mind, the unlikely foe that reaps the benefit like a farmer reaps the corn that rises over his unholy soil that brings forth its fruit. We eat of it. Taken, raped, smothered in the goodness that overcomes gladness and the instant gratificationists take what they will and bury the rest in this unholy land, this unholy mausoleum full of the unwanted strands of the conscious, full of the objective things that have been left unwanted. Truly, I stand here now, under the ton of the debris that have accumulated over centuries. I have devoured what has been unwanted; I have taken what has been disowned.
Where my journey now leads me, in my mind it is unclear. But I find the dark passage to be somewhat welcoming to my presence, so I go on. Unfortunately, as this story finds no security in reality, or what will, and what will not, or whether the mind will be in a current state that can absorb the possibilities that grow upon the sullen grave above... I fell into the trap, and so it will pass, and I will enter the cave, the cave that marks the grave... and so it is, and so it shall be, another dark corridor that falls on my right, hidden by the mist. But I can viddy it now, it's so differentiated from the rest... I do not understand where it came from, but it falls now, yes, to my right.
I do not find consolance, nor do I find disruption; but I hope to find the upright king, whom I seek that will set me free. To properly assert judgment, my boss told me that Friday that I should take a break from work, just to relax myself. I refused to accept such an arbitrary comment, and rebuked him; angered was I. Although it was an intentionality, among the biting irony, I made myself the Master, I made my boss the Slave. And unto then, I left the office, his bloody nose reddening the floor about him, and reclused to my home, the small hole in the wall of the city that sheltered many; the infrastructure we rose from the ash. Complete in the gnawing hamsters in this mind, tearing flesh, bone, thought, from the sinews that kept me in order. What kept me together, what helped me move along.
I created the hole by using a .45 my brother kept in the closet upstairs that no one knew about... made the hole very neatly, no rough edges or too much dust, and the hole was big enough for comfortable living. I often wondered, on late, sleepless nights, if the wall ever felt pain. If it ever felt a searing burst of feeling upon its surface as the holes were created. If it ever cried out in pain. I chuckled at the thought. My veins pumped icewater.
I had to run out of the labyrinth that pulsed its will along my spine into my mind, into my heart. "Lost you must be, for ever and eternity." It's been too long, It's been too far, the ocean breeze that slaps along, that blackens the eyes, that are too dark already to be seen with the naked eye, the whorish eye that wastes and defiles the soul. I had tried to scoop it out, to clean my body and soul of the treachery that it committed, but to no avail. It stuck fast in the socket, reluctant to budge from its unholy throne. Now grown upon the vines, it is the lies that are entwined, though we have tried to drown them, they soon begin to swim across the vast ocean that is found in between the Two. Truth, and Falsehood. I sailed for some time, destroying those swimming entities that threatened to ruin my credibility, my Truth.
Upon shaking hands the spear was bore, and darkly it was formed, the truths soon came out to sea, my ship a darkly riding scepter, to rule them all, and to bind them all. The whirlpool sucked me into the light breeze of the lightning storm, the violence concealed, with bright light upon the world, and the ning of the light uprooting all vegetable, all plant, all biological matter with its high voltage attacks, splitting the brightness into its lovely wonder, its foreboding beauty. For it is the things that we shall never obtain that we wish to have the most... It was such a beautiful woman.
So beautiful, so perfect, that the light of the living God radiated from the gorgeous form, and so the beauty was wanted, and so it was ached for, and so it was lusted upon. Unfortunately now, they knew my trick, but so close was I to the upright king, so close was I to the truth they sing. Marched I did up to their doors, demanded entrance, but they never yielded. Sadly, I turned away. For there was no upright king, he was Inside, and so I fed myself the coals. Slowly, surely they burned down my throat to consume the inside. And the joy began. All the stone inside melted, all the diamond was shattered. And once I was revived, I knew that I was truly Alive.
Nothing, nowhere is safe anymore, the hunters hunt all the sun time and all the dark time, failing at nothing to pick up the strangled scent I trail behind. Away, run, faster I must go, before the wicked merchants find me down, they will distrust me, and put me away. In these nights that I am sleepless, I run with no hindrance, insomnia my only enemy, pursuing every step, evading every trap I set, moving behind me, with no thoughts of desisting. And soon, I shall go black again, and the fate I still must seek has nowhere to be seen, when nothing exists, nothing is, nothing will be, It is the presence of my fate, the presence of my life, the essence of my blood that pounds the life back into my sullen heart... weary I am to go on in this dark plot. Plot, much like a lot in the back, that has a small door in the floor. Open it, shall I? Unknown are the contents, Unknown is the fear, crawling snakes, biting frogs, those objective horrors yet undiscovered, yet undisturbed...
Hide will I under the throngs of cadavers, and await certain welcome to their melancholy group. Fly will I from the highest rooftop, to join them still. Run will I to await a new fate, for I fear there never will be another time to do another one like this...another tiger. It comes fiercely, I cannot run away, Jacob! He left me here to die, I could not perish like this, although there is a simulation of hope and sorrow combined in this suspension of a drink.
Crawled through the reeds to find a man that sells smoking carbines all lined up in the rack. Tools of Death he sells, guaranteed for at least a year...and I thought back to my brother's .45 up on the shelf...if it ever was moved...damn, I hit the ground walking, walking...to where?...finally I find a cot lying on the ground, some earth scattered on it's surface, scarring the hospital white sheets with musket-holes that fill its eager teeth. I lie down, but the eyes are unwilling.
They ache and scream for the unconsciousness to follow, to drown in the black, to fall with no hindrance, but they lock open, like the holes cut out of a bedsheet for a child on the Hollows Eve, a ghost, yes. A fallen ghost I have become, unfortunately the sheets are undone.
The cot is lowered down the valley, for me to wonder, for me to wander. I had to let go, she pulled away, and now she's gone, taken somewhere, elsewhere...
I couldn't hold on, couldn't stay. And now we are all disgruntled employees, ready to face the uppity boss.
He then spoke a solitary tear, as his words dipped down into the grimy soil, and he felt the ruthless toil of the slaves upon his words. As his words slithered into the roots, he felt the sigh that was sent up to the sky, even though his state was left with no choice.
I left them behind, no, I left them behind! No! I left them behind.... And now our Bell Curve becomes a large spike upon the dark corridor of statistics and blinds the modern man... grow upon your infantile borrowings, your infantile earnings, and make a beast of yourself, because the Coffee is never going to keep you awake through the pain that burns your mind.
Why have they fallen away? Like the seagulls that lose their prey? I am my own worst enemy, like the frivolous souls say, because we are all just floating spirits, guiding the path for the others that fall upon the rough, unfinished path that grows on the road that we rise to meet.
Shadowed, hooded, cloaked they come, undisturbed upon their sleep, and suck the life and money and soul from all the free.
We tripped on the journey to the true, the truth; because it burned away. Look at that, a light bulb just burned out...
Disgruntled upon the soothing bed, too dreary to wake upon the brightly lit morn. Break up, break out from underneath the soil, from underneath your boot, the one that pins you down on the broken somatic materials that surround you. Degenerate once the day is done.
"A bed? You call this a bed?"
"Why, yes, it is my own sir. Is something failing to be present?"
"No, no, it just doesn't feel like home."
Because our Jesus didn't come, because our Savior hasn't shown, get up on my large granulated stool to observe the inner workings of our ominous clock. Much similar to clockwork.
I was thrown down on my own street because it was that much better. Slave reduction didn't give them gratification either, so they threw in some extra tickets to see world famous deer.
The apartheid was put into effect shortly after we fled snoring drowsy gimblemobs...who hunted us down in the dark. HAHA so sedated.
There was a large boulder up on the edge of the road that falls on the lit up path that entwines an unwilling mountain. And there upon the high ridden mountain were found wise men three to come to give joy to he who was king, but they found no one, because the King had been put away.
Birds own such freedom, the navigating through air, yet they themselves have their oppressors. Dark marks upon my back. The rug seemed so interesting with its lifts and depressions. I was just a voice in the dark, calling.
Dropped out. Step down. Break out. Fall. Eat. Sleep. Destroy. March down halls. Open. Down. Bury. Defeat. Carry. Make. Take. Dark. Darkness overcomes. Dim. Hill. Cross. Opaque.
---
He just left us like that. No sentence was left from his lips. His demise left all in shock. The psychologist deduced that the retelling of his coma experience plunged him into a state of confusion, leading to his demise. What do I believe? I believe he was trying to tell us something. There was something additional to his text. His mind seemed there. His last word: Opaque. It leaves me to ponder my own opaqueness, and induces me to reconsider his last speech upon this earth. I sleep more uneasily tonight, and his words still consume the air I breathe.

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