The Cops were everywhere. He saw them behind him and in front.Sideways, within him, above and below, the stink of them everywhere. The Movie blared stupid cartoons now and she laughed and her breasts rose beautifully in the motion as she took in smoke filled breaths of Cop air they had exhaled.The scene folded in on itself like an origami bird, it was unraveling. The photons bounced across the audience and he grabbed her breast and cried out as the air left his lungs. He touched her.
She stood quickly and grabbed his hand, they ran to the end of the aisle and the Cops knew straight away. She giggled as they stayed stuck in their seats, confused, her magic strong, she took the immense perfection of the illusion and swept it to one side. He saw her power and wanted her to delve within him and show him. He wanted her so bad, so smitten was he that he allowed himself to smile as they jostled among the legs of the Movie watchers and the immobile Cops. Her Magic, her Geometry of the Eigen smashed the senses and drew the soundtrack of the film to high speeds, then low as a snake the sound waves throbbing overtly sexual. They must run to the place defined for them, an alley, a place to die. They ran.
Her dry hand in the cloying heat of the Cinema clung to him as her hair spread out from the scrap of Ribbon that had held it. It fell and splashed across her breasts one of which was now free. Her nipple was erect and charged with that erotic fervour that need to feel and believe.The air cold now, but wet air. The last gasp of course, the loose thread of oxygen.The liars breath. The crying of the Demiurge in its lust weeps.
“ The Exit, we can get through there” she gasped as they ran in front of the screen their shadows making strange monsters over the gawking Bugs Bunny with a noticeable erection as he watched the small creatures below flee.The people in the audience now mannequins mouths open screaming silent refrains, abuse, words of hurt and pain.
The Exit sign glowed a dim red from a sick light bulb. She smashed it open as he stumbled a little. The light was not bright outside but twilight. A deep Blue like an Ocean depth. He felt as if he were in an ocean and the very air around him clung to him, slowing him. Her grasp became harder and she blew him a kiss as she flew through the open door.
‘Don’t forget! The KLF died for you!’ she cried out as she wept and laughed.
An Alley, litter filled full of crap and discarded things kicked away, left behind and lost by the inhabitants of the town. Her red dress looked Purple in the night. He stumbled over the sill of the door. Fell to his knees in the dust outside and his hands moved in the dirt without fully understanding why. He drew the Sigils taught to him by the strange man that had appeared at times through his life. He drew furiously the dust rising he had loosed her hand. He looked up, she was turning the corner to the alley, gone, she had left him.Money, notes high denomination cash fluttered down the alley on the wind, some of it was on fire.
The Sigil completed he raised both filthy hands to the sky full of stars and wailed at last. That pain that had filled him now released and lost to the blackness between the pin pricks of light above. He stood and saw the shadows of them, there very presence sucked the light from that place at the side of the cinema. He wished to rip open his shirt and bare his breast to the heavens and say “Enough of this”. But the memory of the times he had done this smashed upon him like a wave and then the memory gone and he blinked.Justified and ancient he let his hands fall and it was cold again.On the power of the sigil the burning notes rose into the air twisting helter skelter to the stars above.
At the end of the alley the store, the great Pyramid they had erected upon the top now a great Black shape that pulled the sky around it into itself. Thus the Eigen feeds upon itself. They had revolvers, they fired. These men in their polished shoes and white shirts that strained under the pressure of their fat guts. He grabbed for his own weapon as he did two rounds narrowly missed him. The first across his face and he felt the sting of its speed. The second across his left side and that pain now he understood fully. No guns for Petalengro, left behind in the Hotel room, he was defenceless but understood for a second he always was, there was little he could do but give in, a sacrifice at last. No tears for Petalengro, no line of mourners and no procession of weeping women. But answers of course and knowledge a simple reason to catch him falling and to rest within him. The lights were dimmer here in bars across the alley among the shuffling feet of those with blood lust and fear. He knew at last the ease in which we may shake off the illusions of others that impinge upon our own knowledge.What a comedy.
He saw the fields and farms of the countryside between the shallow darkness of the alleys lights, bare bulbs that lit a little the pantomime within. Lost for a second there but never again. A fat Cop almost fell as he fired close to Petalengro who simply stood. The round hit his hip and ricocheted through his internal organs lodging close to his heart. He fell to his knees. Disbelief somewhat, he had shot many men and never wondered about the feel of it, what the pain would be like. His left leg felt strange disconnected and a little blood rose in his mouth and he let it fall out over his clean white shirt. Somebody is holding him and the darkness is a little brighter now. But between the legs of those that came to help him she was there, her shoes of course, the black patent heels. Sea spangled ain’t ya? I bet the light catches you just right. As you type. As the buckles bite, fingers in your mouth, eyes that don’t look that don’t have any right to fight. And we lack the courage for everything. I just lay my rough hand on your ass and the movement outside takes my eyes away for a minute.The blood fills his mouth and he chokes.
These grand illusions build up like rust eventually, seizing up the parts we need to function fully in the ‘world’ that is, the place that only exists in the space in our heads. We sigilise and pontificate the fashionable dogmas. We manipulate to denigrate and assume the positions of power.The KLF Cruiser pulls up behind the crowd, the music is blaring and shattering between the cinema and the hardware store. The alley a slit cunt place of death, of pale hands scrabbling on sheets. The stiffness as the life ebbed and the hands of angels sought to grab ethereal scraps of his being. 3am. Eternal.
She lay back and played with herself idly with her legs spread in the sheets as we discussed the bitter treats. I didn’t even know who she was or why, just the nano black wings she spread to fly. The little finger rested on a needful lip. The need to shatter the thousand yard stare and trip. The angel fettered tight and grip. The eventual slip, the fingers wet and slick. Typing in the fire lights and damp mists.
Eigen states and the brakes we slam on. The systems we build for hot shiny bodies. And 23 thoughts for arms held tight maybe 23 gasps and the gag to bite. 5 digits for the flights we take. 3 screams for the thoughts we dream. 42 loves and heights we reach. Move back onto it for the bitter moves we teach. 11 verses for the night time curses, when the bruises start to ache. The cocaine fire and the morning liar is 23 and 2. The sick verses for me and you. We taste and lie under cursed charms. Fucking portrayed in pencil marks. And you choke as they do ashamed at what they make you do. But through the stinging eyes as your mascara runs. Bear a thought or two for the curse Verser. Sit and wonder for a minute and stare at the rising suns together. Hold hands tight to give him strength for a few words he utters was love he meant. For 28 lives to torment and your buttons were undone again. The way he shut off your air the way the twin suns awful glare did shatter and bleed through the window as you shook. Our lives held under strap, rope and hook.
I felt better, I had eaten a little more each day and had managed to reach the toilet now with little pain although I ached for her, and another, and another. I saw them all so beautiful, they had captured me left me bereft as they played their games with my heart and me with theirs.
I picked up my mobile phone which somebody had left by my side. I could connect and did so. Within that electronic art a few pictures of her she had sent me. Lost she was of course and in me saw an anchor she may use to tie her own direction less life, her confusion smoothed under a hand that lied, a hand that cursed everything it touched. I knew I was alone now and always was and that thought gave him comfort and some ease.
Now I could sit for some time at the chair by my bed as an infection coursed its way through me. I could feel it. I felt cold and yet the sweat made my bed clothes stick to me skin. When the Doctors spoke to me their words floated and drifted as my head felt like it was expanding and then contracting. The evening meal was Fish and Mashed Potato, I tried to eat some and vomited on myself again as fresh bolts of pain ripped through my insides. I am lost as you are. We die and are forgotten in the end and nobody has asked me to make myself a sacrifice. I remember the cold rails of the Bridge in my hands and the way it sucked the life from me on that cold winter day. The pain of our remembrance a deeper thing than the spike of illness or the tender touch of grief. Let me help you to your feet a little and step away from the bed that pains you so much. I left them of course, left them twisting tissues in their hands as they wove my lies into strands of self belief and eventually even the greatest monuments fall into dust as my terrible stories.
Thus is my deliverance as last revealed. I sit upright and swing my feet over the side of the bed. I feel OK, the temperature I have so high, now I see things but feel fitter than ever. Almost ready for a long walk amongst the Trees and fields outside. I was sure it was the end of February and the cold damp weather of that period. It was cold yesterday as I watched people outside the windows dressed in thick coats, with rosy cheeks hurrying somewhere. I am in need to be gone now. I tried my best of course, the walls always a fingertip too high, the solid bolt too tight to loosen. The threads woven into a smooth tight rope unreal and never to be cut open.It’s 3 am and it’s fucking eternal and Bill Drummond stands by the side of the bed whipping the demons away with bunches of Daffodils.
The tubes hurt me again and I reach down to pull them away and the needles tear the skin in my wrist and drip blood onto the white sheets. I am sad for my blood I feel I have wasted it. The machines split the air with their madness of lights and alarms. I go to the window and I see it is a sliding door and outside there is a path lit by the Moon in the Day. Either side are plants that fill their eternal lives with the light from everywhere. I laugh and I am about to walk through but. I feel the cold in my hands from the rail again and the utter helplessness of me cannot help but remember again the time I nearly threw myself away as an old thing. The traffic below me fast and lethal, the blow would come fast and the release would be my bitter end.
I still loved her although she was gone away to do things that she loved to do. The things we never speak of that splinter the day into its parts, driving the nails deep into our hearts. What do you do now sweet Princess? What things occupy your time? I hold the door frame in a deathly grip as the machines scream.
Would you forgive me if I asked? I am torn now, into two but on the wall I draw, with my blood the blessed arc. The Gold that is never seen and would it tempt you, this magic? I think not and nothing hurts worse than being shot darling. The cold of those days is a memory now but the hot flesh is not, it still inhabits my insides and fears the dark silence. I know what I did was wrong and I am sorry. I have no leaden thoughts to bring, just subtle songs to sing, and I can hear the Sea from the window. I see you. Sitting on the Harbour wondering where it all went wrong. The Birds above croak their hates and fears to those that shuffle and never clear their minds enough to see.
I repeat the lies of the Eigen, whatever it is. The crime of it that I wasted my time holding this worthless script within my hand and loved a woman that would never love me. Wasted years that would have been better spent high on a mountain alone in the silence waiting to hear what our God would have me know. For there are two Gods. One would chatter insane thoughts and show me senseless things that were made by a hand that had no little thought behind it. That hand would build cities of sand that would wither under any lucid thought and would crumble under the gaze of him that holds no Court, no jail and no punishment.
Untouched I am, forgotten except by my Brothers who wait for me now, to journey and discover the joy he left us to gather as fruits or shells. Brother? Bill? Jim?
I walk through the window of the Hospital, down dark corridors with strange things written upon the doors. At every turn there are hands that grab at my Hospital gown and the tubes that still dangle from my arms and neck like useless wired things. I try to run but cannot as the floor itself makes my steps as walking through thick mud. It pulls at me but I must go. The pain of my life acts as a fuel. The hate has gone but the pain for a moment remains like an echo of the drilled ripped flesh that I had suffered for too long. I walk harder, I walk as a man released and discard the useless flesh that stinks and rots. The false is gone, the truth cast aside and what remains is…a path. I open a set of double doors that swing away into nothing and at my feet, dust. It clings to them and I am unsure why. I am dead but not released yet. The Earth still tugs at me, still remembers me and will not let go without one last bolt of Azure pain.
The Path is a filthy mess, there are discarded things here and the air stinks. My hands are sticky with my blood but below me, just ahead a man kneels upon the dust and dark things surround him, shadows, things that should never be. The man has a Moustache and is dressed in a white shirt open at the neck, Black trousers and shoes. But there! Past the shadows. It is her, in the flesh, a Red dress. She is running away and I shout to her and she laughs and turns the corner, gone. My feet are warm in his blood, there is a lot and I feel for him, a love, something and I kneel with him. He looks at me and we laugh although the Demons that surround us are dark things, we don’t fear them.Bill? Jim? Jura? How could we?
He has blood upon his lower lip and I take the corner of my gown and gently wipe it away from his lip and chin, gently, softly. The wind blows down the alleyway and the clothes of those assembled are thrown violently around and they shield their eyes from the dust. I don’t fear any more. The Bridge cold lies distant now and the thoughts of that day when I would cast myself onto the traffic below have gone away. ‘Let us be’, I ask the Demons and they point to a Great Black Pyramid behind them. ‘Not yet’, they shake their heads.They say it’s justified but fuck man we never know it. We are ignorant and i’m in the back of the KLF Cruiser and there’s nothing left in the back but bones.
I kneel and I cradle him, his spirit had almost gone and he was but a hair from the loneliness that would come, to be trapped as me in the violent circle of disease and the wish to be dead and forgotten. But, I sense within him something lost and so my hand cups his shoulder and he holds my other hand and looks upon my own bloodied scars and the shining staples that fit the flesh back together.The pain of it. What love do you offer us Father? Have we not felt enough of this pain and horror. Would you suffer another healing hand that would offer nothing but sweat soaked pain to bear for another minute, another hour, another senseless song to sing?
‘I forgot my Guns’, he said and slowly shook his head and smiled, as did I. Did it matter any more? Any of the past that tumbles away from us? The flesh we touched and the lives we ruined. You want this? These two Souls on knees before you? What punishment you have given us. We shared her and now we share our deaths together our Spirits locked and the strangers knock the door and we giggle and hide so they cannot see us, we must wait, a moment.The lyrical Prphet just can’t stop it and I laugh.
Something in the Prison has changed again, thus we adapt our escapes and the Prison revolves and locks you back in through another bolt another padlock. Something has changed as I can feel it. It feels as though somebody is pulling my veins out through the skin.
The Guards I hear weeping for some strange reason and I lift myself to my feet. The Cell door is unlocked and I look out onto the walkway which is deserted. I step out and the steel mesh floor is cold on my feet. Above me the walkway is lit by tubes and bare light bulbs. I hear another voice down the corridor, eight cells down. A live voice not a Ghost.
I thought the Prison was only three or four storeys high, I was mistaken as I look over the edge I see it carries on down into the Earth, deep into the Earth. Down there far below is a mist of what looks like foundry smoke, a hive of foul things down there scurry like Mice. At the end of my Corridor a huge Black door, high Carbon Steel.
I lean back against my own door, weak and disorientated for a second. I don’t wish to leave the cell, I have a horror, a fear of walking away from it. Even though it captures me, I still regard it as safe. Isn’t this my Prison? The tortures here are mine and I must take some comfort from that idea. This is mine. I don’t want to leave it but…
At 3am they sit around the talking pit which is a bowl hollowed in the ground and they sit around it like crows on a telephone line. All the doors are locked and we sleep but they talk of strange things. How to make us love them, and the place they come from and the people who used to love them and we are supposed to weep for them yet they know no nerve. They are Antipathy thieves, the Storm troopers of sad. The Bastard squads and the Iron Masters who sing. “No release for us!!” they shout with their gibbering Reptile tongues. There are no treasure maps and no songs. Your pain is our answered prayer and yet I can still weep for them. and a few others. Their prayer is my way out.But even the prayers have no sense at all.
I see her. At the huge steel door at the end of the Walkway. She leans against the railing and talks, in that way she does. When her mind operates faster than her mouth can work and…she laughs. I miss her terribly. That love we shared, she was so perfect, and I was so terrible a thing. In her head the simple tasks that allow her to exist and in mine a barrage of darkness to bind and keep hidden. She having worked out the tactics and the hidden groove to make her life sublime. In her life shattered promises were never kept dear, in life we vomit our own choices into the streets. She kept hers so well.
She sits now at home and perhaps for a moment, I wish, she would think for a minute of me. My longing aches, a sorrow, a denial of love so strong I would cast myself away forever, to hide. Those eyes as lenses that would fling me into the stars, to burn, to tease the strength and offer the pain we crave. Her delicateness, her passion, her needs drive me violent again. I would tear this place to its Bedrock. To cut and splice its bitter reality, I would delve the very bones of it to protect her.
As I take a quick look at her I see her eyes again which whirl and swoop straight into my heart. A little twitch of pain in it, real pain, twists the muscle into a spasm. Hurt, lost hurt and lost loves we have. Those eyes shine, my Superstar Princess. Your skin so soft your madness so well hidden from everybody but me. You would never know when we were close I protected you from them. Every day was a struggle to keep you hidden and safe. The Gold Crucifix at your neck would traverse the delights of your breasts as you rode me in passionate nights of filth. As we ate ourselves from within.
In the lights from outside, through the blinds at the window, great Orange slashes across your flesh and the Cross glistened like your sweat. Each time it shook with every thrust I would shelter from it like a Christian Demon. Every gasp you made as we fucked, every cry of pain as you were tied, every heartless remark they gave you hurt me. You are wearing your Red dress, your heels high and impractical, your lips are vivid red, your body deep and hungry.You are Red and you are dead.Here there is everything and fucking nothing and the memories are wet tissue.
The colours were meant to show the way outside, away from the Iron, the Black cold Iron. Look upon me!Torn cloth and bitten flesh as I suffer this place for what lies I have told. The endless show, the band that came and never went, It was a thought that’s all as I press against the cold Iron rail of the Balcony and fancy below I can see traffic of sorts that speed their way into the murk and fog below.
These Crimson Kings and Golden thrones they offer me mean nothing at all. The Crystal friends break through now and again and warn me, take me to see the places I must. It was a nail through the ankle that held me there. Against a blue sky and within it simple crosses of a Blacker, greyer land that shine through the flesh and through the heart. Just a little tighter perhaps?
We fucked and were lost for a while you and me. I suspect we could have starved to death in your cold flat as we just fucked for hours. Then you would sleep as I sat on the floor smoking and looking out of the window, my heart too fragile to nestle with you in that warmth. Do you remember me Superstar Princess? I saved you from these things, these visions. I kept you safe from harm but couldn’t tell you why.
Seeing it, all you have to do is start loving it, trying to forget the awful loneliness the hurting and believing that you’re seeing it. Seeing and believing that you’re hurting it and…
Choking again on the bleed, force down the blood vomit, cough out the liquid the bullet has made enter the lung and dark everything darker…it’s always fucking 3am
…knowing in your heart that you have lied again. Trusting they don’t see you and believing it and as they walk the Iron walkways seeing all the hurt they have inside of them. Don’t start sucking it all in and and start believing it. Knowing in your heart the masks have slipped a bit. I think they see and they believe its just the start of it and knowing what they know they can be seeing it. Believing and the loving and the starting it they speak only what their Masters tell them. Brave and true you see he knows the truth of it.
I see you now and touch your face gently, I know who you are and now I must say goodbye to you. You see I am not lost any more, I simply yearn no longer and the ache you pressed within me has gone away. We were never meant to be, I was already trapped and hidden within the tangle of the Prison made just for me and for you. That we may live our eternal lives drawn to each other constantly would drive a man to a place beyond insanity. That man would power things beyond his belief with the pain I would pour out for you, as I scratched songs for you into my skin with a piece of glass.
I walk down the walkway. I cannot stop myself, you smelled of Peaches and Sex, then. Now you cannot see me as I am unside. I am abandoned by God here and I fear you to be trapped also but, I think you may be safe from them. I was closer, I thought about the safety of my Cell and my release from it once the Magic has been done. I will not be here long, no. Nobody ever is as somebody always comes, in the end.