Do you Exist?
Why don't I go there? Yes, nobody stays there long enough, as if she cared, maybe she sill thinks about the things I said, the words she said to me were so banal and yet in my memory they glow bright like embers in the darkness of a cave, my mind is a bit like a cave, and I really don't mind the fact that really nobody cares about the afternoons because the mornings and the sunsets are so…
I met myself, as it were, in the darkness of the morning, on the terrace by the garden, by the sea, by the clouds on the edges, as i was walking up the stairs, he passed by me like my shadow, but mirrored in every way, warm in substance, he told me in a vague, broken manner, that he cared about my health, for my health was his sickness, and my breath suffocated him. Who was I, if he was dying as I…
Eyelash, stuck to the end of my finger, holding my future back, as if the ground, held back the sky, from burying itself, in the sky, before I send, it off to the aether, I look at the keratin, made by my eyes, and hope it can see, what may come, better than I.
Deep water, cold in its stillness, and the dark promises it holds, left to my devices, I look into the depths, for days, almost like a blanket, made with wool, from the sheep of the sea, sheared by the waves, I see a mirror that only exists, If I look at it, I remember not my name, nor the name of my children, If I had any children, and why I might remember them, somewhere in the water, I do, and…
There are many strange things here, I have found nothing like me, as I wander these plains, deep into the night, the absence of light, consoles me, and scares me, I ask what I believe to me my mother, who sings into my ear, throught the wind, who I am and why i walk, and she tells me to, keep walking. I go towards a horizon, that keeps shifting, as my footsteps leave marks on the dust, that I walk…
I learnt that Hunger, was a sin, from my grandmother. And so I starved. For years, I would eat nothing but the air, and live off of water, tasting the time, as it streamed past my tongue, keeping my Hunger alive, feeding the flame, with an absence, of firewood, a lack of tinder, as if the gods had willed, me to be, empty forever, but never not empty, I had to feel The Hunger, or it would die, and…
Your childhood memories, whether positive or negative have a different sheen in your mind. They have an ambiguity your later ones do not, a hard to define dreaminess. In this way your childhood memories are a personal mythos, stories you tell yourself that have been through so many iterations that they barely resemble the real life happenings, stories that haunt your person, whether or not you get…
The garden of my mind, made up of scrounged shadows, watered by time, and anticipation, where I used to go to sit, alone, amongt the trees woven from thoughts, and sit on benches of dreams, I used to pick the grass, and tear it apart slowly, getting the scent of life and rot, Now the garden made of shadows, lies parched, a place I do not go, I do not see the beauty, I sit on the floor, husks of…
Tell me what you used to do, far from the river, deep in the woods while we talked, sitting on a rotting log, near the river we first met, in the snowstorm of the past, now settled, melting, as if the future brings with it, a spring of unknown origin, when I used to tell you my stories, you told me of, my mistakes, and re-wrote my life, to fit the tale you wanted to tell, but I felt the moon…
When I was young, A story told itself to me, unravelling like the mind, of an old man, at the feet, of my childish bed, and weaving itself, into my mind, like a cancer. A mind once told its body that, it knew best, and proved it by becoming the body. The body, shocked by the hubris, soon became the mind, and the light around them, began to ask why they fought, and soon was consumed by the mind.…