(no subject)
My greatest nightmare is one where I am walking on a sidewalk. I feel the tapping, the rhythm of my steps. I feel the terrifying rhythm of others' steps. I feel it deep within my mind. Like a clock, like something approaching then passing. Then something approaches. Something horrible. A sound. Motion stops. I am made into a mess of blood. My body is horrible, I am like a queen bee made of organs. The steps deepen in sound, they are now a heartbeat. I am now sitting in my bed staring wildly into blackness. I am my blood. I am a heart attached to the skeleton by strings. I am thin, I am strained. I am open for the blade of the sun to strip my mind bare. To eliminate. Into questions. Into what? The dark I wake into plagues me. Every second is an infinitude of thoughts. Possibilities. But it is not as terrifying as the light. With its clear cut edges. Its boundaries. Blinds. Doors. Chairs. Closet. Stand. Gravity. Mirror.
My constraint is illusory. Water is my savior. Within it my womb-body moves. Slithers with the electric vision of touch. Boundaries are something to be danced between and around. Oscillatory. Hand raised towards the sky, clouds motioned towards me, towards my center. Hide it. Slide beneath the surface, half my skull staring suspiciously upward. Remain within. Wait for it, wait for the spine to arch itself upright. Wait for the convulsion of the spirit. The beam of sunlight to terrify me into movement beyond. The wall. Beyond it loping dogs elope silently towards drier earth, except in execration to thunder and the moon. Serpents move easily, slowly, directly. Freedom is found, but there is bondage. Bondage to the tooth. The real: flesh hung upon bone, sagging downward, sweating and water-logged, sinuous from the sky.
Spirit is the behavior of matter.* I have the sword within me, the vajra, the wisdom thunderbolt to slaughter the innermost slave. I will use the body as an arrow for the soul. A tool for total freedom. Beyond mind and body and soul, beyond all division. Motion is necessary for destruction, anyhow. How glorious and artful and dramatic this loathing shall be. Like the skittishness of an uncooperative cat. Communicating intelligence. Moving backwards in order to lance forward. Strategy. Premeditation. Deceit. The capability of illusion. Glorious illusion, wielded like the facets and veils of the world. Beauty as it only can exist, beyond the pale.
My constraint is illusory. Water is my savior. Within it my womb-body moves. Slithers with the electric vision of touch. Boundaries are something to be danced between and around. Oscillatory. Hand raised towards the sky, clouds motioned towards me, towards my center. Hide it. Slide beneath the surface, half my skull staring suspiciously upward. Remain within. Wait for it, wait for the spine to arch itself upright. Wait for the convulsion of the spirit. The beam of sunlight to terrify me into movement beyond. The wall. Beyond it loping dogs elope silently towards drier earth, except in execration to thunder and the moon. Serpents move easily, slowly, directly. Freedom is found, but there is bondage. Bondage to the tooth. The real: flesh hung upon bone, sagging downward, sweating and water-logged, sinuous from the sky.
Spirit is the behavior of matter.* I have the sword within me, the vajra, the wisdom thunderbolt to slaughter the innermost slave. I will use the body as an arrow for the soul. A tool for total freedom. Beyond mind and body and soul, beyond all division. Motion is necessary for destruction, anyhow. How glorious and artful and dramatic this loathing shall be. Like the skittishness of an uncooperative cat. Communicating intelligence. Moving backwards in order to lance forward. Strategy. Premeditation. Deceit. The capability of illusion. Glorious illusion, wielded like the facets and veils of the world. Beauty as it only can exist, beyond the pale.