Fragmented desperation, lonely hollow canvas with tubes of dried paint, and brushes with no bristles. Scratch with nails till the flesh tares and the droplets dance the length of tender cream I call my flash. Screams echo from down the long hall of empty space from behind these eyes. Knock to see the gleam fade to robotic responses, the cog is in place and turns with little maintenance. I gnash my teeth in passive protest till they shatter and break, no longer useful to the movement of the machine, then while asleep I fall from my place and clatter along the walls of the bottomless well. My humanity is spent and, I descend the darkness not knowing if my eyes are open or close. So mingled is the reality that consciousness and unconsciousness are as one. The mind make’s physical the apparitions of thought. My mouth hangs open in stark disbelief a pinhole of light penetrates the darkened sight. Drops of wetness sere my tongue. The light increases in diameter, the darkness expels me through its widening orifice into a cavalcade of color and sound. Rushing of noise like a waterfall, and grinding industrial clangs and hammering bangs that boom to sear my ears to bloody collapse, I can feel the liquid residue of its departure from those openings in my body.
Fleeting fiery hardness follows a sudden impact, which rushes out in subdued waves of pain. I begin to sink into a suffocating coldness, as water fills my mouth, I am consumed in consumption.
I awaken. I perceive myself as though I am a passive observer. As I look upon myself the calm sea sways the boat into a lullaby, setting to rest the tired corpus. The occupant on this charted destiny clings to voices of those transparent, glimmering companions not visible from any point beyond the depths of his own eyes. The dreamy blue sky descends the horizon into cloudless embrace with the deep green of the sleeping sea. The heat of their embrace evaporates the essence, leaving shear “will” naked to survival, even beyond desire.
Flutters of darken waves flux in transmission of form, eloquently constructing its presence into “realities’” perceived state of being. A ping of glorious explosion in sound began to end in echoes reverberating to form that of a blackbird’s call, now presently a fully constructed creature at the far length of the boat.
The walnut wood grains of this life raft coffin bends to movement the head of the bird as it speaks.
Helpless the sunken figure could but further with-drawl into its own recesses mere flesh wrapping tighter over bones. A waterfall of questions incomprehensibly escaped silently through motionless lips, the portal to which the invisible essence of soul passes out of its shell, upon each burdened heaving of the chest.
The mind drags on in confused awareness
The blackbird calls “ the soul is but a parasite that crawls out of the host as it ceases existing. I will snatch it into my self and carry it away”. Flesh flickers in candy sweet electricity, a cascading liquid gold rush that courses the entirety of the nervous system, a movement of light, thin and frail, reaches from out the mouth of the corpus, tendril like beam flowing in waves like the calm sleeping sea. The beak of the blackbird opened so wide as to fold backwards over its own head, opening the throat, forming a black vortex of gravity that latches invisibly upon the tendril of lights’ being, fragmenting of waves, both sound and light, distorted into particles of pixilated colors and white noise, and sweeping it away in a whirlpool of universal consciousness. Its’ core the weight of a mountain within the container the size of a speck.





--
{*We* are the music makers... and *we* are the dreamers of dreams...}
BUY ART!
[link]
--
"Beautiful young people are accidents of nature. Beautiful old people are works of art"
-Eleanor Roosevelt
Welcome to
I'm looking forward to see your newest deviations.
regards,
Girl-Geek
--
<(O_O)>
i look forward to the delights of all
--
<(O_O)>
Previous PageNext Page