A Strange Pact

                                                             A Strange Pact (1)

In between the tracks of this uncertainty each of our breaths tapped the twisted and twined path of the degenerate pock-marked men, each in turn looking us up and down with a blank stream of disgust, the highs and the lows of every emotion alternating, pronouncing, and sympathising with a lust hitherto unknown in the eyes of the shapely  profiled  idiot caravan, I hated the summertime once upon a time, all the disasters in my life happened when the sun was shining, I dreaded the summer, relationships broke, friendships always ended, misery beamed down from the sun on solar rays, safer in the winter no one looking at you in the winter-a thousand year old image-a story inherited age by age, a life filled with more misery than happiness, perspective lines on a canvass a preparation for what ?dead images no longer mean anything, a creation for no one, a brush mark for the idiots became the phrase which I kept hearing, overbearing attitudes with no apparent motive, a confusion of the senses infiltrating the prospekts and bazaars of old time Moscow a livid plaintive reliance of nothingness. A seething member of the aristocracy lipidly reminding you of what you once possessed and although you know this anyway you nod along as though in awe and wonder at there wisdom when in fact your looking outwardly at reflections of your face in there eyes at the dumb idiot expression on your dribbling face: Without severely questioning it they accepted your explanation and you walk away with each and every eye burning scalding brand marks on your skull, and so a separation begins, of your honesty and your sanity, each parting and going there separate ways ,and if you turned around to look for a mirror or window you would swear that you could see them separating and disappearing from view, so totally convinced of this fact are you that you incur the possibility of capture and questioning because for that moment you absolutely have to see it happen and if you don’t you will expire from the sheer discomfort that’s happening on your scalp, but somehow the feeling passes and you keep walking, but you scratch the top of your head  just in case, just in case. I move slowly along the pavement in a desperate bid to evade my life. Realising suddenly, that I feel very first person narrative, an instantaneous sense of control, so long without feeling or true expression I can propound my own sense of idiocy, I walked towards to what seemed to be a bench, it’s shape was the same certainly, but when I moved towards it, it began to become blurry.hazy.ethereal, was I misinterpreting it?. Was I misinterpreting everything?

I singled out the broken glass, it was near the old woman’s foot who  seemed to be prolonging some kind of private agony, she was grasping a younger mans arm, her sons possibly, although he could also have been her lover,certainly a strange pact.  I walked over to them both, each of them becoming aware of my presence, and although my pretence at wanting to look at the glass was in some ways correct, I think mainly I just wanted to listen to there peculiar language, there reasons and they’re positional sense. She had an odd angular face, like a broken triangle where the points have failed to fuse into a correct angle, misshapen and mangled, at the distance of ten feet she stared at me and I stood still averting my eyes from her and staring at the broken bottle on the ground, when I glanced up again she looking distressed, and her partner, for wont of a better word, was now glaring at me, his face was an amalgam of disparate shapes and congealed meat, it seemed to have no discernable edges, a massive planet like structure which  grew independently  of his body,  attached, gently, to his neck, and I was fascinated by them both, I now stood stock still, next to a bench, the pretence of me looking at the glass on the floor now dispensed with, they new I was looking at them and for some reason I couldn’t identify they invited my scrutiny, they continued somewhat restrainedly , holding a private conversation which everyone could hear but chose not to, and I continued to stand there, as the rain started to beat down out of a clear blue sky, the sun burning holes in my clothes and for some reason I didn’t understand It was raining ridiculously hard onto us all, and I advanced closer to them, circling them like hunted animals, and now they’re words becoming clear, and then suddenly  I could hear nothing, they’re voices trailing off as the volume in there chords became light and silent, blossoms  in the path of a raging tornado……

No. 1, No 2

1 This dark meaning

A distillation of ideas became the only reason we existed, nothingness came hand in hand with listlessness and a pathetic urge to examine the interior of ourselves-with mirrors and polemic reflective dirges-without this armour plated guard we began to stretch our own version of reality to resemble a thin translucent glaze of idiocy, the dead eyed beginnings of the day, a slashed start the cold formaldehyde and shrieks of simple hatred, of mice in sealed boxes and cats with sloughed skins. She denied the charges put to me by the imperious interrogators as they plundered on with hope and experience. The dreams of dust roads and glistening spectrums of light tormented me without mercy like the spiral arm of a rotating blade, a mass of used partitions slicing the skin around the ankles and somehow willing separations in the mind, of which the mind can sometimes furnish without anticipatory devices .I understood where I was in the mornings;

                      An ache of acceptance guided me through chasms and terrains made from carpets and bones, with a proposition of light and predatory experience I glanced to the left where the nail gun lay silent now, with a plastic sheen that delusion causes, leaving me with palpitations uncontrollable and limbs parched and dry,  by musket and cannon my life seemed beyond movement . I have observed myself at times demanding the past, crouching and steaming and defying the night in desperate attempts to control the future, tip toeing with consequence and forced laughter I grabbed the air, the atoms in the one metre square available to me caused the betrayal of a thousand year old civilisation theory. Awake, and with instant furies and anger built from clay and ionised atoms, as consciousness returned I understood I was in a strange place, an echoing vault with huge bread like boulders blocking all exits, like a very vertical cave opening into a gorge of no proportions faced me, inside I delved further into the nameless cavern, omitting strange noises like a crying fish, wet and bubbly I walked on, a feeling as if I was being stabbed by cardboard chunks that had been disguised as stones to deceive the useless bible thumpers who followed me with zeal and fire, they gave no rest to  my calls for the subliminal messages, nothing worked in succession anymore, the bones of the past laid a path to my future, displacement in the sedimentary stones moving on the beaches, a Richter forgiveness from the landmass, a plastersine scene of destruction too real for me .

2 Knife

Razor-like idiocy first thing in the morning, wishing for blindness and aural death-integers of simplicity followed me almost suddenly, a surprising amount of flesh accumulated suddenly underneath bed, I’d like to rip myself apart to prove to you how I work. Standing on the edge of a mental precipice, and the choices seemed to overwhelm me, each colour invading my sequence, I started to externalize every thought, the actions of others no longer had any meaning to me, indeed the forms and shapes around me started to lose all definition, by will alone I was able to disconnect from reality, the forms that had haunted my every second began to resemble a Rothko wilderness, I became aware of time as a shape, a benign floating fog hovering and penetrating, fucking the life from the world. Interaction with the modulus of life seemed irrelevant and pointless, I was still aware of my own mass and the mass of others – when asked or interrogated about this I claimed idiocy and walked away. I began to stare hopelessly at garage doors and to caress the sides of buildings, I interred myself underneath cars and chewed on small stones all in a way to distract myself. But I was very sure a madness was setting in, a delicious form of inevitable insanity, everywhere I turned I saw magpies following me, their dead infant shrieks a soundtrack, added at no one’s request, a hollow and unusual decision had to be made. In my dreams I felt haunted by time, a feeling which disgusted and intrigued me, I needed to feel precise, razor edged, if I was to carry on unscathed, but the malaise and appeal externalizing everything became too much, and of course I succumbed, purposely exiting reality I sat down knowing I could halt this process, that I still had a modicum of control, until I unfocussed my eyes  and reality floated away, and with it all my guilt and excess, figures from the past stood tall, but with each second reality floated away, and like a dog on a raft in a lake, I drifted away, pushing away momentary panic and imaginary soundscapes, the precision needed for silence began, a precision that came with frost, ice shattered a thousand times but still intact, useless hands smashing down upon the reflective surface of high priests and my insipid definition, with this final widening of my frontiers and my narrowing of reality, the images within recoiled at my unsurprising shape, the light stretched into lines, angles within angles, oblique feelings of failure invading the walls which surrounded me, confronted beyond my experience I was still left with the horrible largesse of my physical shape, a desperate need for me to shake off this formless shell, I pulled at the concrete from within this now flat and arid mind scape, there was a lack of clarity or containment, these new surroundings were still settling like sediments on a prehistoric lake, the bones of a thousand mistakes laying themselves down, the foundations of acid baths and bleach bled analytical formations. with my face pressing on the ground, digging into the soil-like material I at once felt strange crystalissed cracks appearing, fault lines of memory, a corruption in youth, a realisation that the drag of reality was pulling me back, halfway through a doorway, denied acceptance, semi coherence, aware of physicality once more, forced backwards through a closed window, my arms and my legs in reality suddenly there, mocking me, length-wise.