The trouble of course, with women these days is that you found yourself talking to the tops of their heads. Very often. As they perused the social media platforms their friends used. The face of the woman was aglow with the corpse light pale light easy blue from the screen. People drive vehicles doing it. What am I supposed to do? I had finished hanging the third perspex pane from the rafters in the attic. Etched on them were the seventy two names of God locked within geometric shapes. They were heavy. I could sit on the floor and see the relationships between each pane. A small Laser reflected through the clear perspex, mirrors bouncing the light through the panes in a cats cradle of tangles. When the smoke from the candles would reveal the thin red line.
They devour you as you walk pretending you don’t see
The lust from them and the love from me
She was hardly dressed for her dance through the perspex sheets and the Laser. Warming up stretching. The muscles on her body taut. Stressed. Hair tangled in the Laser. Solid Bitch astral trailblazer.
Hopefully the lack of language. The absence of any sound would make the evocation as honest as possible. You can’t lie through dance. It demands limits to work within. The dance is the oldest form of communication that existed.
The days change and men do suffer and die and you are left unchanged. You define everything there, as you dance. Your sweat falls upon the unpolished wooden boards, doing your thing. Veins I have that fill with disgust at your touch, this essence purely yours. Flow bitter mountain tears and grip the my heart tighter and call to errant Fathers. This day cast bones among the others and scrabble in the Hills above town.The laser catches a fingertip, a breast, her thigh as she dances. I pull my hood further over my face and watch the light illuminate the collection of letters on the perspex.
AS AKEM WKHFLA OS JFLA CKSJ ADKEM JDOSKJD EJNCW
The attic had become quiet. Only her feet scuffing the floor. Her breath in gasps and strained as she moved twisting and turning between the panes. Her foot squeaked, a high pitched sound.
He’s not sure what’s going on, he doesn’t have a grasp on the situation. The present is a confusing place even with the senses reality-dulled. He sat on the floor cross legged with the familiar pain coursing through him. The bleeps from the medical machinery, the stink of disinfectant, the groaning and the hasty steps squeak of tired feet in comfy shoes shivering from bed to bed to tend the ill. And one who was steadily losing his mind.
If she touches me I’ll puke. I don’t want her touching me any where. But she looks so good. Hungry she is. Not for sex. For Hex.
AKEILMNSOE. A sweep of her arm hitting the light at points of the geometry and of the middle sheet. Etched Sephirothi. Trees of life. The Foundation. Her sex centered on Binah receiving my energy ‘Chokma’.
I was in the Host of them and we waited in a great unbroken line, a mass of warriors. We held no fear, only jealousy. We held our shields tight and were ready but…how could we strike our own Father?, doubt in me…Their banners were muted and black and no wind blew them as I felt the press of better men either side of me. As ghosts they were and I raised my own sword and it was pale and ethereal.My feet hurt. I was hungry. From within the press of men rode HIM in his majesty. Such was his power that spread among us some wept aloud in joy to see HIM.
I spoke words to him and they formed in my mouth and fell from it, solid symbols of all colours, like vomit they fell between us into the Grey dust at our feet and writhed like worms until they melted into nothing. This is what words do in this place, maggot ridden lies, untruths and observations of nothingness, relative descriptions that dissipate like smoke.Only truth may be spoken and the man upon the horse held up his palm at the horrors in front of us.
The man spoke, and motioned with his hand at the yawning depths. “This thing, this Abyss is the place we make ourselves and is the curse of all Humans upon the Earth, it is the place for our hates and loves, our anger every emotion that will cross our face and heart will make this thing bigger, wider and deeper. Others have sought to cross it simply to see what is on the other side….this is the greatest mistake of the Philosophers of old. Their greatest treasure unbidden and lost… The Magic performed would cast thee into the depths at a moments notice for the arrow that shoots down the travelling bird is shot by thine own hand……it is ‘Monad’ and only you may build the bridge”
The Abyss makes me remember, and the memory burns me, I dip my forehead to the Sands and breath in a little dust. My Brothers sit palms upwards faces upturned to the sky. They are flawless Masters. I am proud of them, I love them, we are not guilty, I think. Just lost, and nobody to show us the way home at all. We seek a hand also, of forgiveness and guidance, we are tired of making this place.
She moved and fixed the eyes that looked. To seethe, leer and fuck. She opened her legs and from her Vulva. Lips slightly parted, she gave birth to the sacred words which fell onto the boards in front of me. As every golden letter fell into place she buckled and twisted in joy. Each letter a hot tongue. Each word a subtle lick.
He didn’t have any idea of how they had got them, how they had bought them, he didn’t remember working through any strange rituals.Twisting twigs into strange shapes. He instead remembered the man that came to him at that time, running away from something he had forgotten about, screaming at him in an incoherent rage his words tumbling and spilling making no sense, indeed at the end he just made animal sounds as the words stopped at the root of his tongue.