Wednesday 21 August 2013

About Death and Humdrum Fucking; Part II


He carried me over his broad shoulders and I had no reason to fight him off. I knew very well when my voice had left me finally that I was facing a near crucifixion.
I looked in the eyes of the crowd upside down as I hung down his back like fur of a fox, dead and skinned, their eyes seemed to ease up, they cheered and inside me I cheered too, they were relieved that the mad one was being carried away with her poisonous mind and her delusional dreams that threatens their stability and their sanity in such a fundamental manner, that doesn't recognize their common sense or any other absolute standard that they've worshiped for generations and passed on to their sons, I was relieved for an escape from their world.
He carried me all the way to nowhere, where I did not see a thing, but I could only hear tides collapsing together on the shore, and I could only feel the breeze. He took me to a cave on the beach, were I was concealed even from the light of the moon, but somehow the strength of his beauty did not waver, it did not disappear, his beauty was imprinted inside my eyelids and it became a part of my dying world.
His arms were crossed as he said ''Do not fear me. I'm only here to kill you."
And I knew that he spoke my language.
"Do you claim to be above us, savages?" he held me against a rocky wall.
"I'm cursed with a door in the cloud, a lonely cloud trapped over this village" I answered, "I'm just a savage afflicted with a sickness."
His clasp tightened around me so much that I felt it squeezing the air out of my lungs, what a great pleasure it is to be in the tight clasp of a monster like Samson, The Beast.
"I have only taken you away from the villagers, O daughter of Eve, to kill you in the way you deserve to die, the way I choose for you" he said "Lo! What sets you apart from the other daughters?"
"My fellow sisters are ashamed of surrendering to a beauty such as you. I am not." I said "My dearest captor, I'm here willfully because I'm tired of this world and I see in your eyes that you understand the magnitude of that disaster."
And he looked away trying to hide his truth, but his truth was as audible as the waves loud on the shore.
"Discard your will, and I will avenge your miserable life for you."
"How?" I asked. And he told me that questions were no longer an option because choice was no longer one.
Cuts, bruises, razors, leather, screams, steel in the dark, rape after rape, I could taste my blood, I had no idea where the next hit will be coming from, my breath hitches, my joints lock together and an intense pleasure entrances me as I could feel the control seeping away from my body to his.
Such beautiful destruction. It was like he held a hammer and started cracking every wall I've ever formed, and with every crack I felt a light gushing out of me, invisible to the world but only inside of me did it shine and rid me of my noble savageness, it took me under and under, but in the wreckage I was above everything that ever existed in this universe.
He took me further from god, but somehow he made me understand him better.
In the submergence within this sin my flesh was quickly getting rotten and my soul was leaving me through the cracks, I was dying slowly, painfully in his beastly land away from the humdrum fucking of the commoners, and I enjoyed every thrust of it, every scream, every whispering word and sound. And I was determent to reach salvation in the arms of this new prophet of death, the one crazy enough to kill me enjoyably and to preach life to me through such a complicated death.
My flesh started to smell as every beauty started to fade, my spectacles fell and broke under his feet, but his beauty remained the same for a while before it started to go too, everything was collapsing into a black bottomless hole as my eyes started to close, as I started to see the ghosts of dead children and creatures from other lands calling for me to finally join them. Somewhere to belong to. I smiled for salvation.
My right arm fell first, then my right leg, then my ears and nose. After that my skin collapsed and my stomach fell off, my uterus, my brain and my vessels opened as my blood flowed on the sand of the beach. And then my heart fell last.
I heard the noises nearing, the savages has found the cave with my necrotic organs. He invited them in for a feast.
A little savage child bit off a finger and gave the rest of my hand to his mother, the father and the daughter shared my liver as another skinny savage scrimmaged with his brother over my full meaty thighs.
Bite after bite their teeth dug into me as I smiled from death, he avenged me truly, the savages started to fall like flies.The betrayer of his people, the mad murderer of us all, The kindest of Beasts.
"Food poisoning" he said, as he watched them eating the last one of my bones, and then he held my heart in his hand and took a big bite. He died too, as he chewed my heart in his strong jaws.
I could only imagine, that nations and nations of humans will feed on their rotting bodies and die too.
This is the story of my deliverance.

About Death and Humdrum Fucking: Part I


This is a pretty pointless piece about the way I died...
There's no hidden meaning, no lesson learned and no purpose for anyone to go through with reading this but the curious humanly desire of reading a story of another pointless death, another anecdote to throw around at dinner since it seems that death has become the number one topic of conversation around most.
I lived in a land where I was called crazy and where I called everyone crazy.
Once upon a time I was bespectacled, and everyone thought I looked so very old in my spectacles and that they were always, dirty.
Well my dirty spectacles served for one purpose, and their secret lied in that purpose that all the crazy fools in my village did not see. It could see from a further place, like I was in a deep pit looking at the from there or like I was peeping through a cloud in the sky and seeing people as small as ants compared to the vast universe above me. The people in my village said my spectacles made me mentally inapt for living but when I took them off and replaced my vision with one like theirs, it was my turn to call them so.
They had a superpower that made everything boring. They saw everything exactly in its abstract color and at its exact calculated distance, that when they reached, looked or heard, their senses became nothing but computers operating on facts, automatic responses to their surroundings and in that automaticity they found safety in a common sense that everyone agreed to follow but me.
When I used to reach for anything in my village, I had to look at it first, however unreal my image seemed at first I tried and tried so hard to view it from every angle that in the end I might realize the truth in it, so that I would not over reach or have my hands falling short and idle into the air. The exploration was my fun, the reflection of an outside object into introspection. My dirty spectacles made the world beautiful to me, like I was looking through a translucent lake, the haziness of which made my mind twirl and twirl in an ineffable mixture of color, word and sound.
I am into the art of constructing sentences that no one comprehends, and people often looked at me with gabbing jaws and walked way.
I tried so hard to take off those spectacles and their visions condemned for their lunacy, I tried to see with the clarity of my own programmed human robotic eye. Sometimes I'd succeed to put on a show and to see reality as shallow as they do and some other times, I failed.
When I did succeed, I met friends.
When I did fail, I met myself.
And I lost the friends.
But a danger I did not calculate or perceive neither with my naked or my bespectacled eye was in the stars for me, a sickness that formed inside me like a single cancer cell, starting with one, spreading to another and finally possessing me whole. It crept undetected, even though their were signs.
The first sign was a cut which one of the lunatics did to my arm, it was very painful and it made me scream a lot but my incomprehensible sentences made it impossible for anyone to understand a word. When I was tired of screaming I slept, and with sleeping comes dreaming and so I dreamed. When I woke up happily jumping off my bed to the world, telling them that I've found the dream, it came to me, it visited me when I wasn't looking at all, they mistook it for a joke and it seems like it was a funny one indeed, but I was the only one not laughing, it only created another cut. Alas! I did not know how to undream a dream.
And so I tried to take off the spectacles again and found that my dream looked like a mirage without them, that this dream was the only thing that was clearer with my spectacles and so I knew they had to laugh, because to them, I am following an illusion.
There I was developing it, the sickness of listening and comparison.
In its core it was only a conflict that comes from the realism of an illusion, or the illusive nature of reality, or so it sounded to me and so I did believe. I realized that succeeding of ridding myself from the spectacles would mean that I would live my life faking happiness amidst their mad boredom, while failing and the stubbornness of holding on to them would mean that I will be called crazy all my life, that this censure, ridicule and conflict would last a lifetime.
I believed in a whole lot of different lives than they had lived, I believed in touching my cuts other than strapping a bandit on them because the pain felt more human than any of their meaningless chatter, I believed they were savages because of their scientific approach to themselves and the way they felt completely alright only devouring each other and consuming little ones until they turned them to savages as well. I believed their connection to colors was different than mine, and that they can not hear a sound and see pain like I do, I believed that the art of constructing sentences in their world was judged by facts and metric measurements of entertainment and not truth, and I believed that insanity to them was a disease and to me it was an identity I had to accept. I had to not only live with the pain of alienation, but love it.
One day, when I was walking in the streets that consumed me everyday, enjoying the decay, the wreckage I was becoming in every second that passes, taking everything in and turning it into a personal pain, I heard a sharp loud scream and I went to check it out.
There was a huge crowd that called out for freedom, so I stood and yelled it out with them, then there were some other people who devoured a number of those people in cold blood and then they left them and went home, wherever that home was. And I stood in the wreckage as those corpses disappeared and those who called for freedom walked on every other path. Later I found that those thin men and women were still not as insane as I am, they were merely passersby in my world of insanity and then they resumed being part of the crazy village, they were the crazy ones now and they were crazy only by the definition acceptable enough for the rest of the village.
Every once in a while, one of them would scream and then another would die, they'd scream for a while because they think death to be horrid, and I'd scream because I think life to be horrid, because their madness is temporary, because they like humdrum fucking just like everybody else.
And one night I decided to scream a different scream than theirs, I decided to say that there's another truth that no one cared enough for, there was another truth that can set them all free and it's called madness. So one of those savages stood and looked at me with so much scorn, the scrutiny rose like a mountain in the crowd and he called me a heretic, a total bitch, a mad witch that needs to worship the same gods they did.
I had faith in a god, and little did they know of him, he is a god that requires complete dedication to the truth, and I had not completely found my path to him but all I had was my faith and a strong desire for submission to the greatest power in the universe, little did they know my path was far from done, and they did not care, they were determined to punish me for failing to be a part of their village.
The chief of the savages was a big strong man with colorful tattoos all over, to my eyes behind the glasses, he was almost surreal, I called him Samson, while they had another name for him...