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.