"Draft One"
Posted: Sat Mar 31, 2007 4:24 am
The following piece is in the form I intended. It is structurally based on the exact method I intend to perform it, spoken word, next week up at the college bagel shoppe. Thus, the form is again, intentional.
"Alone"
I am sitting inside my center at this exact moment. I am content. I am at one. Every cell is listening, with rapt attention, for what magic my desires will weave this night. The world is on pause. My worries have been face-fucked into obedient silence. Everything in my sight is bound to me. Everything within my dreadful reach is mine. I own it. I control it. I manipulate it. I become what I want to become and nothing, not a thing, can stop me.
I feel insurmountable. I feel, inside the deepest, darkest, hissing and sleeping evil of my rotten to the core center, where my silent disease is clotting my arteries, the clacking jaws of the starving Arctic Wolf. I am the alpha male in this forsaken place. None can nor would challenge my strength. In the snow of denial that swirls about me, I melt each unique and special snowflake with ragged breath, formed of a terrible and fearsome willpower mightier than that of the angriest God's wrath.
I thirst for the hunt. Not for game, and not for my meal, but for the sheer...sensation of the flesh. For That sweet, quickened taste, as my inner primal essence sinks my intent into the flank of whatever random thing is at hand. Trees. Horses. Iron bars. Grenades. Human FUCKING beings. Paper. It makes no difference. I want to eat the whole fucking planet earth and shit it out and wallow in the excrement, just for the pleasurable knowledge that it bothers the small part of me that remains human.
I will chain that bastard, unwanted child of perdition away; that part of me that is soft, malleable, and pathetically frail as a newborn. I will poke out his eyes and force feed them to him, and pluck out each tooth, just to see how high-pitched that little pig shit whiny fuck can scream. I will bash his fucking skull until his cries for reason and sanity and purpose have become nothing more than a garbled, digitally diffused white noise, grating on the nerve clusters of a God I denied so fully, that I caused his final, contemptible END!
Everything will wane. All withers in due course. I can become as strong as an ancient Redwood, and yet, still, as is always so, I will loosen my hold on the denuded soil with my roots. So from redwood to Wormwood, will I slip. I will atrophy. I will succumb. I will go the final direction. I will bear witness to a final winter, and south will I aim my failing glances.
FUCK THAT!
I will RAGE against this closure! I will not be silent! I have earned scars to resist this! My hide is thick on the lashes of circumstance! I will scream so loud that it will rupture my veins and rend my tendons! I will fuel my infernal stubbornness with my own pain! I will fuse my every fucking sentient notion against it with the drive to win! There is only my own belief! Everything bends for ME. I am not finite! I am not a mote of dust upon the cosmic floor! I will NOT be ignored! I will RAGE against the silence!
I will BITE! I will PISS and SHIT and RIP and tear at
THIS FUCKING PRETENSE! (chew up and spit out my still burning cigarette at the crowd and snort derisively)
I will look down at my hands, covered in sweat. I will trace my ley lines of years across each palm with eyes that have seen more than some can imagine. I will despair in that exact instance. I will see the lines have deepend. I will see them to have become cuts, piano wire trails from the 18 wheelers from the cold, hard road of life, grinding over another bag of rotting meat. I will acknowledge that raccoon and that armadillo and realize I am no different. Life is in a hurry. I was in the way. I will acknowledge.
I...I can always deny it, even in defeat. I can fall to these knees, the splinters tongue fucking my nerves, piercing my ebbing strength, as it seeps out beneath me, into the dust where I know Inevitability's kiss awaits to wet my lips. I know how this will end. I know all too well what waits for every man in the dark.
Alone is a cunning predator. Alone is callous. Alone is ruthless. Alone is what waits for every man. Every woman. Every dog and every idea. Alone is always waiting. Always watching. He is infernally patient. He will gnaw a talon in patient reverie, as I flow into to his mock-erotic devices. His lust is only matched by his godlike patience.
I will destroy everything to deny that I am going to be destroyed. I will become immortal in the goto-loop binary INSISTENCE that goes into labor within my completely unrestrainable mind, that it cannot end this way. My refusal will take physical form. It will crawl its way up and out from this grave of circumstance and bite at the breasts of the reason. I will suck out the fatty tissue and watch it foam on my cracking lips. I will swipe my crusty, filthy hands across the face of Sanity. I will deny her, in spite of myself, until I am convinced the silence is gone away from me. The silence....My only quiet, persistent...NAGGING FUCKING FEAR...is that silence. That god damn silence. There is no noise that can compete with that smothering, hovering, lingering, sadistic non-sound.
And in the silence that comes, I will believe I fought it off. To the last fleck of tired skin and clotting drops of room temperature blood, I'll believe I fought that fucking bastard named Alone, killing his sister Sanity, and escaping his prison of no more.
I will tell myself, in spite of all of this, that the face now before me is so....So perfectly luscious. The mother of Alone, the Queen of the fated winds, will lure me close. She will lean in like a curious lover, her tongue of absolution will lash, teasingly, against mine. I will quiver in some inane pleasure at this, despite what I know it to signify. She will impregnate my wounded, blistered maw with that tongue of absolution. It will sting at the outset, and my inability to scream will still not make me shy away. Her touching wet tongue will be undeniable. I will kiss Inevitability back with passion, for my fate is my entwined with this romance, and it is the romance of all who draw in their many stolen, over-extended, unworthy and wasted breaths.
Alone will stand at a distance, watching his mother, his queen, use her most potent utensil, her Absolution Tongue, to bring me to him.
Alone is me and I am him. Death is Alone, and so am I.
"Alone"
I am sitting inside my center at this exact moment. I am content. I am at one. Every cell is listening, with rapt attention, for what magic my desires will weave this night. The world is on pause. My worries have been face-fucked into obedient silence. Everything in my sight is bound to me. Everything within my dreadful reach is mine. I own it. I control it. I manipulate it. I become what I want to become and nothing, not a thing, can stop me.
I feel insurmountable. I feel, inside the deepest, darkest, hissing and sleeping evil of my rotten to the core center, where my silent disease is clotting my arteries, the clacking jaws of the starving Arctic Wolf. I am the alpha male in this forsaken place. None can nor would challenge my strength. In the snow of denial that swirls about me, I melt each unique and special snowflake with ragged breath, formed of a terrible and fearsome willpower mightier than that of the angriest God's wrath.
I thirst for the hunt. Not for game, and not for my meal, but for the sheer...sensation of the flesh. For That sweet, quickened taste, as my inner primal essence sinks my intent into the flank of whatever random thing is at hand. Trees. Horses. Iron bars. Grenades. Human FUCKING beings. Paper. It makes no difference. I want to eat the whole fucking planet earth and shit it out and wallow in the excrement, just for the pleasurable knowledge that it bothers the small part of me that remains human.
I will chain that bastard, unwanted child of perdition away; that part of me that is soft, malleable, and pathetically frail as a newborn. I will poke out his eyes and force feed them to him, and pluck out each tooth, just to see how high-pitched that little pig shit whiny fuck can scream. I will bash his fucking skull until his cries for reason and sanity and purpose have become nothing more than a garbled, digitally diffused white noise, grating on the nerve clusters of a God I denied so fully, that I caused his final, contemptible END!
Everything will wane. All withers in due course. I can become as strong as an ancient Redwood, and yet, still, as is always so, I will loosen my hold on the denuded soil with my roots. So from redwood to Wormwood, will I slip. I will atrophy. I will succumb. I will go the final direction. I will bear witness to a final winter, and south will I aim my failing glances.
FUCK THAT!
I will RAGE against this closure! I will not be silent! I have earned scars to resist this! My hide is thick on the lashes of circumstance! I will scream so loud that it will rupture my veins and rend my tendons! I will fuel my infernal stubbornness with my own pain! I will fuse my every fucking sentient notion against it with the drive to win! There is only my own belief! Everything bends for ME. I am not finite! I am not a mote of dust upon the cosmic floor! I will NOT be ignored! I will RAGE against the silence!
I will BITE! I will PISS and SHIT and RIP and tear at
THIS FUCKING PRETENSE! (chew up and spit out my still burning cigarette at the crowd and snort derisively)
I will look down at my hands, covered in sweat. I will trace my ley lines of years across each palm with eyes that have seen more than some can imagine. I will despair in that exact instance. I will see the lines have deepend. I will see them to have become cuts, piano wire trails from the 18 wheelers from the cold, hard road of life, grinding over another bag of rotting meat. I will acknowledge that raccoon and that armadillo and realize I am no different. Life is in a hurry. I was in the way. I will acknowledge.
I...I can always deny it, even in defeat. I can fall to these knees, the splinters tongue fucking my nerves, piercing my ebbing strength, as it seeps out beneath me, into the dust where I know Inevitability's kiss awaits to wet my lips. I know how this will end. I know all too well what waits for every man in the dark.
Alone is a cunning predator. Alone is callous. Alone is ruthless. Alone is what waits for every man. Every woman. Every dog and every idea. Alone is always waiting. Always watching. He is infernally patient. He will gnaw a talon in patient reverie, as I flow into to his mock-erotic devices. His lust is only matched by his godlike patience.
I will destroy everything to deny that I am going to be destroyed. I will become immortal in the goto-loop binary INSISTENCE that goes into labor within my completely unrestrainable mind, that it cannot end this way. My refusal will take physical form. It will crawl its way up and out from this grave of circumstance and bite at the breasts of the reason. I will suck out the fatty tissue and watch it foam on my cracking lips. I will swipe my crusty, filthy hands across the face of Sanity. I will deny her, in spite of myself, until I am convinced the silence is gone away from me. The silence....My only quiet, persistent...NAGGING FUCKING FEAR...is that silence. That god damn silence. There is no noise that can compete with that smothering, hovering, lingering, sadistic non-sound.
And in the silence that comes, I will believe I fought it off. To the last fleck of tired skin and clotting drops of room temperature blood, I'll believe I fought that fucking bastard named Alone, killing his sister Sanity, and escaping his prison of no more.
I will tell myself, in spite of all of this, that the face now before me is so....So perfectly luscious. The mother of Alone, the Queen of the fated winds, will lure me close. She will lean in like a curious lover, her tongue of absolution will lash, teasingly, against mine. I will quiver in some inane pleasure at this, despite what I know it to signify. She will impregnate my wounded, blistered maw with that tongue of absolution. It will sting at the outset, and my inability to scream will still not make me shy away. Her touching wet tongue will be undeniable. I will kiss Inevitability back with passion, for my fate is my entwined with this romance, and it is the romance of all who draw in their many stolen, over-extended, unworthy and wasted breaths.
Alone will stand at a distance, watching his mother, his queen, use her most potent utensil, her Absolution Tongue, to bring me to him.
Alone is me and I am him. Death is Alone, and so am I.
