Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Fingernail stratches

I would soon be expelled, I am sure.

My grades had plummeted like the 20's stock market crash in no less than 24 hours. I burned my uniform in the parking lot, and refused to wear apparel unless it was black. I painted my face everyday, with more black eye paint than I had ever used before. Black-the absence of color-had become my new best friend.

I spoke to no one, glared at the pseudo-care principle until he stayed in his office for fear of his life. I had no weapon but myself, had no comfort but my mind, and had no love but that of the day I too would die.

I was mourning, I was in rebellion, I was in hell.

I am an anarchist An antichrist An asterisk I am an anorak An acolyte An accidental I am eleven feet Okay, eight.. Six foot three. I fought the British and I won I have a rocketship A jet fighter A paper airplane Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, oh! Say what you will I am the kill The only thing that keeps you really truly safe from being real I have a tendency To exaggerate Just a little bit I am a plagiarist Apologist A lawless calculator Ah oh I am an optimist A closeted misogynist I fought the British and I won I have a wishing well A living will A magical eight ball Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, oh Say what you will I am the kill The only thing that keeps you really truly safe from being real (Put Pat Sajak back in office) Put Pat Sajak back! But the sun still sets on you And the retarded party nobody came to but you And so you drink to all the emptiness until you wake up And there's hell to pay again And the punch line point at you And all the comebacks in the world are in your head But you can't say them until everybody leaves And it's just you and your imaginary friends... Your imaginary friends... Your imaginary friends...

Such is the song of my life. My life that felt like the rest of my life but was only one literal day. It felt like the rest of my life because I knew each day for the rest of my miserable existence I would dwell this way. I was the fallen Sydney Carton. The unredeemed Orual. All the characters in their own stories that I analyzed and pondered and dreamed up in my head. head. For that was where I live now. My body trembles in its auto pilot mode, it searches out the barren of the day. My garb and demeanor are a falsehood, their only intent is to keep people away. To frighten them so they might leave me alone.

Truth be viciously told, we are all monsters awaiting a catalyst. I feed on prey in this aching head.

Monday, March 22, 2010

if you're wondering, I know.

What followed my death was an unforeseen expectation. I had always wondered if people would miss me when I did leave earth for an eternity far greater. If I'd be realer. If people realized that I would be a true loss. If I would realize I was a true loss. And I never knew what my conclusion would be, until now. I watched over Deirdre during the following days. People in relation to me insisted on life support, which is what the white coated beings did. Simply to appease those who loved me enough to try to keep my body going even if a spirit no longer resided. I had more freedom to come and go in those days than I did any other time in my life. I roamed the woods in search of something. In search of the faceless man. In search of the lion for reconciliation. In search of my dead father. In search of the past. Anything to help me toward a decision. But to no avail.
I killed Deirdre inside. I killed her and I never meant to hurt a soul alive. I had become no better than those who had killed me little by little, ultimately trapping me inside my own head.

What had happened, my death, to anyone would seem absurd. I was killed psychologically. I was killed within the realm of my mind that brought me to a hidden place of darkness. A place that people never came away from. A place where creatures could kill me with the right stare. I had been sitting with Deirdre beneath our tree, Muse, and was recalling one whom I had become indifferent from. One who reminded me of another that killed me. Both of which looked like wolves cunningly disguised as domesticated dogs. The dream, the happening, whatever it was. The trauma was too great. While in the hospital, I listened to the doctors mull over my strange "death" over and over. They said many things about my psyche. That it wasn't likely that I'd survive this. That I was alive but dead.
I visited myself in the hospital. I looked at myself and it was weird. I saw person after person after person come into that horridly bare room and look at me. Some would talk to me. And I would listen. Some told me that they missed me. Some said they were angry about something I said in 3rd grade about their brother. A very scarce few kissed my forehead lightly and whispered in my ear that they loved me. I didn't care to stick around the hospital. It was a strange silence, save for beeping and the walls wailing. They cried for everything and everyone within their parameter. I would check in on myself every now and then, but never lingering long enough to know anything.

I followed my bosom friend by day. Watching her barely hold on through her classes. Watching her grieve for a supposed loss only to come home to sleep. Only to awake again, crying and shaking from relentless nightmares torturing her battered psyche. I slept beside Deirdre every night. As she tossed and turned in between dreams and nightmares. As she cried in her sleep, dried her tears and sang to her. Her favorite songs. The saddest songs I knew. Ironically, they were the ones with the most peace in them. The sad ones. I knew she wouldn't mind. "Deirdre, love, I'm coming back. I'm not done here yet" Then I would continue to sing: "And if I'm wondering then you show me, If you're wondering I know" 

I will open my door for you, little one.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Clock trapped. Intentionally bound.

Black embraces my body everywhere. Ancient black garb swirls with my form, and sooty black eyes birth sooty black tears. My hair is black. Ashes compliment it gray.
She is gone.
My Addie-bird. My Eden. My doll. My angel. My blue doorknob. My sparrow.

I cannot sleep, for an anvil the same shape size and weight of her, lays in my lap still. Heavy, weary, nothing. It forces my back into the springs of my bed. It terrorizes me until my stomach raises like a frightened cat's back. It grows wings that beat me instead of carrying me away. It sprouts claws that rip up my throat. Like vapor come its eyes, forcing mine open with their devil stare, bleeding into them poison.

It is guilt. It is mourning. It is death.

For 5 hours in succession, my tears fell out of my head. With feigned resolve, I let my albatross lead me away.

My sustenance is air. I wish I were a sheep, with nothing to give but my wool. With nothing to say but a peaceful baaa. With nothing to think of but myself. And death is yes, incommodious, but I would forget the next day. The shepherd could yell and scream in rage, and I would be dumb and chew the inside of my jaw in complacency. To be dull would be easier. Easier than what? Than this haunting apathy that consumed my entire gut? Than the realization that my best friend, the one who understands and cherishes me, the one who is like me and life to no more.

With that thought, I collapsed in invisible tears. Tears that ran over with an endless flood in my soul, but never touched my visage. I choked and vomited up my recent food...air. I was nothing. Now, I was vanity as well. And there was no sun.

I feel as if I have been morphed into the hand of a clock. Always moving forward without any say. Each tick is a break of my bones. Likewise, the ominous clock continues to hustle me forward as if there were a rush for the death I felt. A death of half of me. I get up.

I was once told that I would do well in the world of anime. I have often dreamed to thrive in solitude amongst only precious fauna. My dream seemed to turn in an impossible position and bite me in the face. My desolation makes me popular among kin, but I find no consolation or joy in their presence. I only lay with them, impossibly wishing they could speak their innate protective senses into my dense head. I got too close, and when she died, I did too.

No, not quiet death, but I begin to fall into the trend she developed without suggestion. I make a conscious decision that if I cannot die, I will live in my mind. For it is cold and dark there, but it is not able to smother me in agony. I can recreate my my head.

I climb a massive weeping willow stocked with vultures, curl myself about a branch, and shut my veined blue eyelids.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

doorway: inbetween silent earth and eternity

In an instant, I am at a standstill. An inbetween. A hallway, a cross between silent earth and a home I always long for. A home I have always longed for. I'm not frightened. I'm not puzzled. I know exactly where I am. This isn't the first time I've died. Or come this close. Life such a fragile state and I a mere freckle on the face of the earth. A door behind me leads me back to my life and one in front leads me to my impending future. I have always wondered if I had some kind of serious psychological condition. I live life in my mind. All adventures, all tales, they are a mere figment of my imagination. And I don't really know how to get out. I don't want to hold on any longer. I'm tired of the life in my psyche. I'm not just bored with life. I want more than this world can offer. Those I love never love me back. Why should I stay? There is no further purpose for me in this life. I want to go on to the next, more perfected one. I reach my hand out towards the door and the man appears behind me.

"What are you doing?" he asks, innocently. I turn around quickly and see the scars on him all over. Gashes, fresh it seems. "What happened to you?" I replied. "Waging war is never attractive or beautiful. Answer my question, if you please?" I looked at the my feet wishing I could evaporate in to the ground beneath."I'm moving on." 'Something's missing in me' is what I'd rather say. There's more truth in that statement. "Explain?" his eyes hold no question. He already knows. He always has. "I've lived my whole life a big mess. Things have happened and I could never do a proscribed thing about it. I always end the victim and this is only fitting. I want to go where it's perfect. Where I'll never feel lonely. Where I'll never have to hide again. Where love is perfect and returned. I'm empty. Something's missing in me." I looked down at my feet again. He moves closer and raises my face close to his, looking straight into my eyes. "Child, do you not understand? You are so stuck in your own head, in your own world. You're to love where there's none. You're to shine where there's no light at all. You're to laugh when mourning is inevitable. And sing when people scream. You're the love, you're the light, you will be one that people look to. You're not like everyone else. You don't belong there ultimately. You are one of few. There are others, but you. You are special. Set apart for this task. To be the very essence of love. To exude Love. To never waste love on the lovable. and really, if you consider it, no one is lovable by nature. You can come home to me. Or you can carry out the task I've laid before you. It's your decision to make. I won't make it for you." He then disappeared before a molecule of wit or logic could come to my very human (at the time) mind.

I weighed the options. Minutes crawled to a gradual screeching yield. I thought back to those who would miss my presence. My mother and younger siblings. Friends and relatives. And Deirdre. My Diana. My Istra, my heart. I would miss her. But I couldn't stand it here. Tears well in my eyes as I touch the doorknob. In that instance I feel a hand on my shoulder. "Please, child, at least give yourself a little time to think about it. I will let you roam the earth as a spirit. No one will know you are there but me and you. After 3 days, you may come back to me with your final decision." I nodded my head submissively and with a blink of his eyes, I was back to the forest. I watched as Deirdre cried over my body. I was there. But I wasn't. My lifeless body slumped over and moaned a last time. A sickening chill filled the air and Deirdre turned to face where I stood. She obviously could not see me, for I waved my hands in front of her face and she did not respond. "Addie, why are you leaving me?!" she cried and I began to weep. She shifted my body over on the ground next to her and lay down next to it, buried her face in my chest, and cried.
And in that moment, I felt like the worst human being to not live.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Buried alive

I feel like an imbecile. Holding such a doll in my weak arms; watching her fade like a final sunset. Incapable of resurrection - she is lost. I am sure. And yet, I encircle her still body as if I can do anything to prevent the inevitable. As if I, the weaker of we, could possibly save her.

It began a mere hour ago. Like a Bastille prisoner, buried alive for 18 years, Adelaide still lived, on occasion, in a hollowed out canoe of her own mind. It was there that she lived her adventures, the ones this world could never offer nor fathom. She survived in her own head, instead of her own body. Madly enraptured by venues of the psychological, I have often spent hours conversing with her about the journeys. In them, Adelaide was just as vulnerable as in physical life - perhaps even more so. The danger she received there, a knife to the skin, for example, cut and bled and scarred her mind, and she tended her own wounds accordingly.

Upon the conversing in Fauna, Adelaide became silent at the mention of a beloved. She stared ahead, and a terror griped me. One of recollection of the past. She was staring...static, disconnected.

10 minutes. She began to scream.
10 minutes. She shrieked and begged for mercy.
10 minutes. She began to breathe in gulps, sucking in the not so readily available air.
10 minutes. She cried. She said she understood. Said it was okay, she was inanimate. It's okay. It's okay. I'm fine.
Then she stared up at me. Back.

"Deirdre, my darling, don't get lost in the wave."

But I only looked at her, feeling like an impediment. Like a mental zombie. Like un developed social skills. Like a nurse that kills a patient.

I don't utter a word. For once, I realize that there is not an effort I can implore that has a possibility of helping, much less saving. So I lay next to her, clutching her, waiting without fingerprint of hope.

Friday, March 5, 2010

telescope eyes and metal teeth

From there, my vision or dream or whatever it was, transitioned to a horrible, calamitous state. I was thrown into a great forest, a forest who's vines were overgrown. Overgrown and different colored. Darkly colored and encircling around me like the arm of a false friend sent to whisper pretty things in my ear. A least desired cage in it's finest form. I am disheveled and disoriented. From the ache in my body and the dirt and sweat on my face and everywhere else, I have been running for a long time. From one I am most frightened of. I know his secrets, his deepest and darkest. And now, I have made him angry and he is relinquishing his wrath upon me. I smell his closeness. I take of like a deer in the headlights, scared to death of what is imminent. My legs are weak, regardless, I run. I feel his malice converging. His telescope eyes see my every move. His matted, red brown hair askew. His instincts bare, and ready to take me out. His metal teeth borne to show me how he's been stabbed. His intention: to take me out before I can hurt him.
He's got me right where he wants me. He has me in a death grip and I am too weak to escape. He moves in, not looking me in the eye once. He takes his knife from his hip and with a groan, permeates me with it. I do not cry, I do not scream out. He stabs my heart first, the most fragile part of me. Then the rest of me. My body writhes in anguish, but my soul lives on. I feel the pain no longer. he continues to stab saying over and over "I didn't want this, I didn't want this." I see his eyes stab my consciousness for a mere moment. his eyes like that of a beast. they plead for forgiveness. "Please, don't make me cry. I'm just like you, I know you know. I'm just like you, so leave me alone." And then, all is black.

Consciousness finds it's way back to me and I find myself in the arms of another. In the arms of my Deirdre-bird. My best and closest. My bosom friend. I held her close to me, our hearts pressed against each other's with no intention of letting go. I knew the blood from the beast's impact was soaking through her clothes, but I didn't have the heart to tell her to let go. For hours that felt like moments and moments that felt like hours, we embraced. No one was nearer to me and I loved it that way. I released her and told her she must get back to where she needed to be as I drifted in and out. She'd seen my worst and now she was watching me die. "Deirdre, my darling, don't get lost in the wave." She looked at me with her grassy eyes, crying black tears so chagrin. Like the beast's. Except, hers begging me to come back. To stay. I go in and out of the dark and towards the last, she glows brighter and brighter when I come to. Like an angel, fierce. With telescope eyes that see me as a child. She strokes my hair, crying and singing softly. My eyelids flutter and I am gone.