I will begin again. I have to. You can point at an empty stain, looming against a wall, placeholder to a memory and know what belongs there and someone might take note of how noticeable it is but then dismiss it all the same, but like the specter, the obvious ominous ghost sitting sleeve ready and tugging, you cannot be free of it. And so I cannot be free of it. Yes, truly, I will begin again.
But not quite yet. Right now, there is an ocean to sift through and I do so steady and uneven. For now, as in sputtering of water, I care to present the following piece. I was inspired once, often really, but pertaining to this, once in particular. A painting. Every so often I reverse engineer inspiration, crafting a story to an image that began as a story from someone else and in words maybe I illude a new image for the reader, like vintage AI programs operated with pliers for lack of a channel dial. What am I even saying at this point?
Enjoy:
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NO!! Booms the voice from my lungs, but just as disembodied as the visions that batter my senses(my eyes they flood; my skin grated by the touch; the smell prying into my nose to laugh at my brain), sputtering a cowardice I’m quite familiar with, nude and huddled in the back of my mind, but shielded by this absurd-bravado, this hefted, hulking, husk of hubris, fighting back against them, in my favor; my words champion my fears!
NO!! It shatters, the boiling of the clouds, and I find in heaven, for once upon my weary mind and time, that prayers and Gods treasure ropes to tie us to them, and to one another. Kingdoms on the web, that holds proper prosperity and providence, on inverted mountains that hover over head, and one could walk right up to touch their finger gently to the peak, and know the full weight of their faith.
NO!! Every other chime that seemed to match the etching of my voyage on the skin of my feet(weaving deep into the flesh forever more), has met only my maniacal disbelief and sorrow, awaiting the dawn, and the tomorrow that such horizons promise, and yet they never came, and those spoken bells rung only in my thoughts, and burned reverberations in my lungs, and shook the tears from my very eyes, and I had not the courage-wait! The clarity to condemn myself, and if grace is merciful, I chatter pleasantly in the cold for it’s favor.
NO!! It was the outcast of my surprise, the dispersion of my death, and the inhale of my dying breath once more that met the court of divinity, and I shudder in the bone, and I pluck the arrows from the quiver of my lips to dart my eyes from every one that nears me, and I at last, perceive clarity, and I at last, taste true the world beyond the sand and salt that dried me to a corpse, and it asks in me, that death, if I still desire it’s opened hand.
NO!! Stark raving sanity as the jagged sparks of Zeus impale my mind, and I recall how they embarked upon the sojourn, one that never ends, where the beginning was transcribed into the books, which we duly burned in blasphemy, and carved into the symbols which we snapped back into twigs and tossed aside as depraved, and spoke into anothers ear in whispers, ripping stitches through the mouth as heretical silence learned it’s place.
NO!! Tore through the masses, huddled on cobbled corpses, chirping at last as hungry baby birdlings, feasting on those ashes, drunk on twigs and laughing all the words, so as the bodies piled high and burst into the sky, I shed all my tether and tithings and walk away, and here I am, and here you are, and here we meet and I am at a loss for all but one word.
And as it slowly tumbles down the wetness of my tongue, reaching the cliffs of my lips and softly falls away in a whisper, All my palaces begin to crumble, and all my queens decree the exile of chaste, and all my lords preach as pariah, and all my kings horses reel back, and the armies of heaven begin to crash down.
So ends the Journey.
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The overuse isn’t lost on me. At this point in history, the topic is akin to batman reboots with how many different takes and approaches there have been, every artist offering their own rendition, likely at some point you’ll find an inspired perfume, marketed with chic madness. Even still…
