She was Memetic. Just a barely filled in thing, a rumour of a thing and perhaps as sensuous as she was she lacked being. Don’t they all. I mentioned that Josephs coat of many colours was just his filters quenching the useless torrents of blaring realities as he tried to make sense of his day to day life in the Eigensystem. Throwing around his platitudes to Gods because that was simply what he was expected to do rather than just stand there and say ‘I haven’t really got any stories at all for you…sorry’. But there is always another group of people to stand around and pick apart the rigorous days here.
Ascend or sit still and gaze at the world as it goes past. In 432 Hz waveforms. Pissing about in the great piss pot of a universe. I sat and drank the whisky prescribed and I was halfway down the bottle and felt sick at last. At least it was a filtered feeling, something concrete to hold on to, here in the darkness of the forest. I chugged another mouthful and another pill. Waveforms. Filtered and sick, and my my hands shook, and even the forest dared not to look too close at this unfiltered and raw thing within it. Take me into the soils and absorb my spectrum. Taste it and tell me you were right at last. To see an old man instead of this, a thing deprived and sensual but not giving. All it did was cut pieces off and I shuffle lighter now at least but my wings are broken and I do not fly at every call. I sit and sip. Sit and addle the day apart like threads.
Always look at the enemy you have been given. The Villain of the piece but not too close of course, because you will see where they have stitched the parts together and it’s all a little computer generated, all a little too contrived. You see, you never look at the villain only the things behind it. The unseen things that slither between the words. We ascend and crash back to Earth biting each other and crashing through the branches of the trees, sticky with sap, absorbing the zeitgeist of the day like a Virus. Her broken wings and my efforts to superglue them back together as the chemistry shook my very beliefs.
In the Hotel room my hand felt like it belonged to somebody else and I wouldn’t touch her. Not a chance. This was betwixt and behind and treasured flesh should never be touched less you are yourself touched. Yet I felt a simple fingertip would be sensible. And I did touch her and she was lost, I was lost and yet laughed as I ran down the stairs with my nose leaking bloods, they splatted on the floor like red suns, a galaxy of them and even the girl at the reception desk wept as she raced for paper towels and a mop. She was good.
Outside there was a buzz in the air and a blue flash. She asked what it was.
‘Electro magnetic burst, in a moment the world will come crashing to the earth’ I said and she laughed of course as the static in the air caused her hair to lift from her scalp and stand aloft. She closed her eyes and waited. A few seconds after the burst there was a flash of brilliant light and then the rumour of devastation to come. A slight rumble underfoot and then a blast wave that tore the trees from the soil and cast the houses around us down into bricks, concrete and entwined within each simple homestead were the family within it. Torn and burned flesh. The instigation of Shiva. The five hole portal and the nuclear death of the world. The heat and pressure tore off her clothes as I laughed and she was naked with her arms outstretched to the Shivatastic spectacle. The final love scene. The fires of love cast out at last, and I laughed loud as the detritus of this stinking place was cast down under our Nuclear judgement. Well theirs. I couldn’t give a shit about her or that.
Slot in the filters. A few for them and also those. Slotting them into place with a fever that was almost desperate until there were that many I couldn’t even see through them any more and all I saw was just vague shapes of personalities that drifted into and out of the circle. In my pocket was the small photo of Saint John Dillinger and I kissed it and set it back within the safe place I had. She laughed and thought it funny. She was dressed as a Cop again with her stab proof vest and her hair tied up under her cap. I laughed too, because I had anticipated handing her over to him for Judgement.
We had stood around the book and we were all robed and Holy and the liturgy was ancient and rare. Even the candles never flickered as the Holy Father read the sacraments and chanted the platitudes again and again. But there was to be no forgiveness here. It was the final trick. You judge yourself. What loathing we have for ourselves is reflected on the Judgement we give. Death not punishment but existence, this constant existence a trap for those who throw their sins as confetti. So foolish and we never even knew it. It was the great filter and even I dreamed of leaving friends and loved ones behind as I traveled on, and I never wanted to meet them there. Not all of them just a few who I could trust and yet their existence within the Eigen was as fractured as mine but they saw too much. They opened their eyes far too wide and the flash of Human nature in all it’s sordid delicacy had made their hands shiver as they talked and another prescription was all it took.
and you found you looked at the limbs you could reach through the reflections in the car window as it sped on and you counted them and every 23rd tree was the one (you found) and you abandoned the car and walked across the muddy verge encrusted with salted grit to THAT tree
Alas for ascension. Thrice alas for typed magic and geometry and she sat on my lap and that was where she wanted to be but I looked always forwards. Always ahead and through the trees, because I was never fooled, never taken in. Stand back within your self and look. See the stitches and the cuts the maker has left for you to see. For all your fauts the only guilt you have ever had is the fact that you were never fooled by any of it. The pills and the alcohol. The emotions they all had. The cocaine nights and the hand that shook. All pixels of the greatest work you have ever done and now utterly worthless. It is just a map you used to get through it and now in these territories they are useless and cast onto the floor as we look.
Slot in the filters and play the part you were supposed to. Smile and make jokes about the days. Smile and laugh with them. Shake that hand and this with that smile too. Pull your hair out of your eyes and try to open them a little more so they can see those eyes are not blackened things but fresh and alive like them. Hidden knowledge held tight within you, coiled and fresh. Turn up for fucks sake. Just be there. Let them know you are not tortured and alone. Be the zeitgeist so that you may change it and be fell. Shake the offered hands and choke down the vomit that rises up. You are not them. You have no part of yourself in that game. We are defunct and I can’t even be bothered to ask if everything is good. I just sense the colour and the symphony you make and the sympathy you bleed and you are filtered. She is the shadow not me. All that Goddess propaganda laid bare in the nuclear flash of light. Sitting in the forest eating the pills and drinking the whisky.
“Do you want to come in the office and discuss it, we could smoke a spliff out of the window” she said. It was tempting. We would end up fucking and that wasn’t good. Forest whisky Queens and short tempered facetious gasps. Sense of unease as she clasps her bra back on? The way she licked her fingers clean, the way she licked the Cocaine off the phone screen, the way she threw obscene words your way when you were lost. The way you collected ropes and learned all the knots and every tree was the one…until it wasn’t. Driven by it she was, by her own twisted stories that bored me to tears and I held my hands behind my back and twisted my pencil deep into my palm so she couldn’t see and I wouldn’t feel anything at all.