The Inward Breath

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If you could actually see the scars, would that help you in resolving some issue of your own? Because I’ll take pictures of the fucking things if that will help someone.What if you could see what I saw? Not only mine, but the others?

Sages in FuckMagic contradict the notion “the Absolute” is ever diminished through orgasm. The form in Nature: of medicine in plants, or of knowledge to relieve pain, or of the teacher to give knowledge . . . are all functions of “the Absolute.” It’s a “salvage” “redemption” function, which is part of the whole.

But what was the point of the whole show? He didn’t know, he didn’t really care any more but the question still popped up several times during the day. Another one of those dodge days when all he did was move between hidey holes, often disturbing whole families huddled underneath the collapsed shopping center.

“Fuck off” they would harshly whisper.

What he did know was that things had changed, things had got curly, but if only he knew what the ‘things’ were, what the whole question was or just a part. As always the sink and the depth, the pratfalls and chaos loomed large in his mind and he knew and spoke to himself in his piss and dirt stained tracksuit. The secret of course, the history moved in him like syrup. But how does one speak of a subject that would addle the mind of ones sicker and more asleep than ever. Even the corpses of Birmingham didn’t offer any answers. Just lay there like stinking bags of rubbish. Dried out in the harsh sun and fingertips gnawed by animals, rats and pigeons.

The DKA, the FRD the EDL, the Acronym Battalions. The Africans had been replaced by the Belgians, and then the Chinese, less easy to get along with, they were apt to drag anybody they found in the streets behind their vehicles until they were dead or mewling near dead. The Americans he never saw, they kept themselves in the skies above using drones to smash whoever their enemy was that day. The Muslims paid tinned goods for a Drone if he managed to get hold of one. Good UN tins with juicy steak or pork. Guns they loved, if you managed to find one under a corpse in a cellar, they would pay again. But Chad had learned the lessons of carrying a weapon, it put you in opposition, it made you a combatant. A good target for a drone Missile, a little things shaped like a sex aid that would splatter you up a wall like splashed vomit. Maybe dragged to a lamp-post and hung with some Telephone wire while he did a dance in the air. He pulled his feet in some more and listened.

In his hands a photo, his eyes devoured it as he heard the fizz of a round cracking down the street. She was lovely, he never even knew her but it remained, a memory he thought. A better time when all he did was sit sometimes in the garden a smoke a spliff, watch the aeroplanes going places high above through the smogs. Sometimes he would go to sleep and the sun would burn his bare chest.

That morning of course, the head never went down but instead it looked up, at the wrong moment of course. As he fiddled with his keys and moved the strap of his bag and walked away from his bike a scream. Not a real scream but something that made the skin nearly fall from his back. A high pitched note that would set teeth edge to edge and grind them against one another. These sick sounds haunt him now but. It was a Fox or a Rat caught under a car surely, some animal caught under machinery slowly getting crushed and letting one pitiful scream out into the dank morning airs in the car park. The lights still shone, the lift doors to the lobby were still closed and he was alone. Again a scream. Close to him, there by the line of Black official cars used by the Government offices on the floor above where he shuffled through the day. Between the cars he saw a woman’s foot trying to gain purchase on the smooth concrete floor.

The heel pummelled the surface and slid back, scraped, did it again three or four times as his mind struggled for a moment to comprehend what was happening. Then his inactivity punctuated by a basic human need to help. She was in distress but what, he couldn’t or wouldn’t think but his adrenaline now pushed him, moved him to the place maybe five meters away. Closer he saw her leg, her skirt was pushed up. She was about forty years old, fit blonde career woman nicely dressed for work, Black suit, a small briefcase cast away by her side. He stopped, if was prudent to see if she was injured in some way, perhaps some freak had tried to rape her, or rob her perhaps. He wouldn’t be a suspect again, not for being in the wrong place at the wrongest time. He had learned that lesson. But his inactivity was burned by something else. What was going on? The lights seemed brighter and he knew somewhere someone was watching the security cameras and would see her in distress and him standing watching just feet away. Something was stopping him helping. He felt no need to help, no empathy or desire to placate and soothe this woman on the dusty concrete savagely writhing between the Blackness of the immaculate paintwork but in utter pain it seemed. No empathy, no desire to help.

He knelt on the floor and tried to ask, to question what was wrong. Her jaw seemed detached and she seemed to writhe into shapes that no Human body could replicate. This pain of hers strong and forceful but her face twisted into something inhuman. Her eyes like slits, her cheekbones stood out and stretched the skin. Her fingers beautifully manicured splintered on the floor as she scraped. She saw him. Her eyes widened and the spell was broken for a moment and she dug in hard and scrabbled away from him and got her back against the wall where the lights were not as bright and his hand held out to offer help curled up, his fingers retreating from lifting, and succouring aid until the tips were in the palm of his hand and he had made a fist of it. She hissed at him and he stood, walked back a pace. His mind rapidly analysing the scene, his body ready to flee. This woman was disturbed obviously but the inner Man inside his mind, the Cave dweller who looked upon dark corners for beasts made him ready.

She pulled apart her legs and ripped off her panties as she hissed and writhed. She cast them aside and held both her hands to the floor, it seemed like she would burst apart, she had a need to cast something out of herself. He saw this, he had seen someone give birth, on TV, some documentary he had chanced upon as he sat stoned flicking through the channels on the screen. She pushed, writhed and screamed again and between her legs as he watched aghast and afraid something slithered from her vagina and with small claws ran up her body and into her blouse dirty and dusty from her contact with the car park floor.

Did he see that? Scales, a small Lizard thing like an Armadillo? What? He took another step back and she screamed at him, directly with violence and hate she aimed her anger and pain at him and the sound affected him inside. Deep within he now knew she meant harm, she meant a knife in the ribs or blunt objects smashed over thin skulls, plastic bags over the face and held firm with tape, a sharp object pushed into soft eyes. He looked to the Lift to his right and saw that someone was coming. Her face again such hate but now her arms cradled this thing that had just slithered from her and sought shelter of its Mother. Here eyes now alien, bright Orange, like a cats…..he turned and ran from the Car park.

 

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