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C.L.I.T. commander Registered: 08/10/13 Posts: 855 Loc: nowhere man Last seen: 9 years, 4 months |
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Looking back, I sort of knew it would come to this, something a bit much. “Too much,” was pretty much the mantra of our entire existence. From the moment she passed me on the school steps, and I felt the nauseating tug of that intangible flow, fate, implanting itself as a conviction that I’d lost her love in some effervescent mooned sacred pool lifetimes ago, myself incapacitated elsewhere in conspiratorial throes, failing to arrive before tragedy inked its way into love’s grand scheme, I was most definitely overwhelmed. I’d never been kissed before. I was 14, and high on ditch weed.
I didn’t even know how to make my bed. Still, a week later saw her holding my hand. Then came the alcohol, and tailing it, the harder drugs. Living in a rather small community, it wasn’t long before the cops showed up. By 15 our attitude towards life was, “perpetually shit out of luck.” She dropped out. We split up. Life descended into perpetuating those sad smokescreens which mask insatiable pain. Too much. That’s what I’d laugh and hiss towards God during my detox days, all huffed up and frayed. We were doomed from the first go, being so young, and as we got wiser with age, whenever the two of us tried to reconnect, something always stood in the way; mostly judges and social workers, us still being so young. We caught probation in different states. I was in college. It’d be insane for me to move away, to give up my dreams for what I mistook for love. It’s strange, how they can tell you your dreams. But they’re the government, they know it all. She ended up chasing death with a heroin habit, and in her absence, my stress levels soared. The thing about soul mates is that if they get a taste of their potential, and are conditioned to give up, shit tends to run amok. Their immune systems tank. They get rail thin. Depression thrives, and it’s a contagion which brings the community down. Factor in addictions, fines, court cases, plus the inability to hold a job down, and life starts breathing real heavy. We were some sensitive lil’ bunny rabbits, too. Despite what is usually thought about substance abusers, they can be incredibly aware. Being naught more than a hopeless drain on society destined for a lengthy cyclic existence of prison to parole doesn’t exactly inspire you to keep on keepin’ on. So 9 years later, none of this was very surprising at all, all of this too much. Between the two us we had maybe 3 years left. Probably not. I’d already died once. Destiny had dealt me a surreal hand, though. I was 17 when I started using LSD. At 20 I spent a year on it. By the time I was 22, I’d stop taking so much. Still, I continued to dream the future, nonetheless. I wasn’t the only one. There are elders wiser than me, far more experienced in their tending of the vibes. Somehow they knew about my subconscious interactions with the divine, and they tracked me down. They beat me up. They undid the havoc mass media had wrecked on my mind. They saved my life. And I’d always thought that it was because I was polite, or maybe because I had a nice smile, that I still occasionally glowed like a child, but I was wrong. Those definitely played their parts for the well-wishers bogged down in the conscious swamp, but there was something deeper that didn’t reveal itself until tonight, until I entered heaven’s vault. I am the tender of love manifested in the romantic dyad, the angel of mornings shameless and audacious, wrapped in blankets, all hushed up in awe. If blessed with her presence, having undergone the strife of my life, I will do great things for those suffering in this world. We will, actually. She has her own path to plan, but we’ll walk together, hand in hand, forever children in love’s rainbow light, warriors of the tribe, wharf rats of the celestial kind. ¥ “Douglas…You’re chasing a ghost.” “You need to stop with all of this Jay Gatz bullshit, man.” “The relapse is over. You’re clean aren’t you? Why go back to these darker times? You’ve grown so much these past years, Doug.” “Have you ever really considered why that is?” I asked. It was a loaded question, one to pacify my own mind. My hands no longer shook. I know that language is a desolate place, and that they had yet to develop it, that place in their minds where they could begin to understand. It’d take too much time, something I didn’t have. She was in bad shape. “I’ll be back, someday.” Most have never left the place, the land of conscious reality. Everything there runs on a circuit of rationality, and when it comes to outside areas, the nation state’s policy is one of baseless isolationism. Occasionally a few are let beyond the bounds. Outside of the cave the sunlight blinds, at first. These chosen few, originally, most often the truest of the buffoons, stumble back whipped, crying, preaching the wonders of the rational way in a language constructed with the intention of only allowing its praise. Yet no one marvels at the remarkable change brought about in these sun-burnt kin, the blossoming of their amity, after the traumas mend. The geography of the spirit realms are still beyond me. Crossing them safely requires a good lineage at your back, a devil may care disposition, and a remarkable intuition. I knew for certain that I had the latter 2 of the 3. The lineage was a bit suspect, deriving merely from vague inclinations within my subconscious mind, as well as blatant synchronicities throughout my personal history. Still, I didn’t have anything else to live for, should I lose my way, and that fact was working wonders for me. The moment of my departure, I felt weightless and free. I was a babe swaddled in my blue sleeping bag, shirtless, walking the streets, heading east, floating downstream, the riverbanks lined with eccentrically dressed strangers that I had seen many times before, in my dreams. As a blonde Russian psychologist to my right touched a beautiful, bald, pharaoh of a tan man, I smiled, feeling like I was on my way home. First came the side streets, where the trees looked like overgrown uteri slobbering red and violet juices upon the naked limbs protruding from their trunks. I sauntered amongst the sap allowing my fingers to snap, feeling like a motley fool who was always down to get a bit more strange. After this came the land of the opium haze. Her most recent boyfriend was marooned near the gates, jaundiced and thin with crust at the corners of his lips, his eyes incessantly bulged, eager to exist. The child asked me for change. I shook my head and choked on his name. The boy used to be so cool to me. “If this works,” I yelled through the heavy grey glaze which permeated the place, “I’ll be back for you.” “Naw, naw, I’m OK. I’m ok, man, I’m ok.” I felt the nudge, and again flowed on my way. It was an unlit descent into the catacombs, and I sensed that’s where I’d find her. At the bottom of down sloping stone path I came to a sandy, amber chamber with an arched ceiling. My footsteps reverberated off the clay walls with a wet, inconsistent delay, as if sound itself was liminal in this place. She was laid out on a stone slab there, engulfed in silent flames while two white-robed dwarfs with pointy, hooded heads, and black scarfs across their mouths, were wrapping her for her end. The air was acrid with a charred aftertaste, and my ego longed to devour these freaks while my spirit marveled at how they carried out their craft; they were so devout! They’d be my friends, or rather, friends of a friend, before this stretch of time had run out. “Bless you, you good men!” I volleyed sardonically over my shoulder as I left my lover, staring longingly as I passed at her melting lips, thinking about Disney, and stories of the prince. They were all bullshit. Still, she loved to watch them. She especially loved her dvd of Disney princess sing-a-longs. Heroin, jail, prison, and dead by 23…how did it come this? We used to be wrapped around each other grateful for man’s simplest inventions: the vcr, the bong, and the bed. We used to be ecstatic to exist, baked in love, giggling and necking before the sun was up. Somewhere along the way we bought into it, the threats people threw in our face. We had labeled ourselves as too far gone. If there’s one thing I’ve come to believe during my awful being, it’s that anything in possible with love. When it comes to it, there’s no such thing as too much. Love is intense and unyielding. It bastardizes itself for no one. If you’re going to dare to wander around wearing it proud as your chain, you have to be a shining example, bringing pride to its name. Otherwise, karma is a cold cunt. In admiration of those robed spirits, I now knew the way. I couldn’t carry her home, not yet. I had to re-experience my own death, and purge myself of my ways. A ragdoll in an intangible flow, I strutted forward, my feet gliding across orange waters, and darkness the majority of matter in this new realm I had found myself in. My limbs all froze, except, that is, for the swivel of my head. The waters were flowing through dark woods. The river was Styx. Father time stood rooted in anti-matter robes, the folds of which flowed a lackluster white, trailed by his silver, chest-length beard. In mania, my eyes stretched out of their sockets, my mind reckless in the absence of fear. “I’ve been here before!” I laughed, as I intersected the motionless man. I’d now entered the realm of fate. Wisdom saturated my brain, notions of the dimension of time being a hyper continuum repeating itself at an exponentially increasing rate. With each cycle both sides of the vibes had to replicate, demons and angels being consecrated at critical times and forgoing the comforts of the cessation of existence, never fully becoming one with the creator’s mind. Instead they strike their contracts and live an eternity in service to their chosen side, serving as their boss sees fit. My path on the river ended on a narrow inlet. I was posited at the bottom of a steep dirt hill, one which was dotted with several young ferns, forest green. Aside from the rapid, rich revelations that weren’t quite self-narrations fizz-popping within my mind, there was an absence of sound. “I’ve been here before!” I lip-synced as I strolled the upwards path. A natural vault bordered by tree limbs was perched ahead, and through it I saw the sun rise. A few stray rays slapped me in the face, refracted, and were consumed by the plants. I dosey-doed in punch drunk grace as I held out my lonely hand, imagining, wishing, that in 60 some days, I’d bring her along to this place. At the top of the hill was a lake, and it was the very place Olga Kharitidi, bless her and her writing, had learned of from the Siberian shaman Umai. It’s a place inside all of us, especially important to healers because the waters there are safe, sacred in some way. Staring into them, I leaked out of my body, and was drawn in. I’d returned once again to the land of the conscious, but rationality no longer ruled the place. I was alone. As I wandered streets, I relived memories from different cities, different states, all in a relatively small geographic place. It recalled conversations I had once had with my friend Patrick. A conspiracy theorist, Patrick had claimed that the free masons designed cities a certain way with a guarded knowledge of spiritual laws concerning the flow of energy. Witnessing the shapes of the streets with Iowa City names, and then realizing they had correlates in my hometown a state away had me feeling that his idea might hold weight. I hardly know any history, however, and merely laughed it off, remembering that I was here not for the pursuit of knowledge, but to rewrite my destiny. I was here to win the graces of love, and to do that, I needed to purge myself of traumas. One by one the memories presented themselves, hungry to consume me. One by one I looked them in the face, laughed, and repeated, “I’ve been here before.” And I was free. The waters had baptized me. I returned to my body at the lake, still wrapped in my blue blanket, shirtless and covered with sweat, exhausted and nearly hyperventilating, high on the joys of battle. The sun had already set in this realm, and now the moon danced across the sky. From the middle of the lake rose a granite path, splitting off into sideways strips which divided the water into various sacred pools too centered to wave. My palace obscured the horizon, marooned. There was no conspiratorial drowning and division to be carried out tonight. I was the prince returning to my abandoned land. One day I will have her again, my Morgan, as wife, in the bedchamber dotted with windows without panes, our heated, rapid breaths in flux with the chilly, desert breeze of twilight. Our tribe will be many, and our kingdom strong. As I write it, it will be done. Refocusing my mental energy to the back of my mind, I closed my eyes and visualized the world as a quadrilateral plane. When I opened them, I stood at a crossroads, the night sky technicolor and alive. I turned one direction at the four way and realized that the sky this way was colored, as if the sun was about to rise, but was predominantly gray, it to be an overcast day. This was the place. I sat down in a grassy field, watching the clouds swirl Roman Catholic images across the sky. First came a grey recreation of the Sistine chapel, and then the image known in modern day as the face of Christ. Eventually, the Yahweh from the Sistine chapel re-appeared, devoid of an Adam to touch. His finger pointed at me, and I felt as if an angel was kneeled beside me, ready to whisper in my ear. The world was still, except for the sound of a rapid river, in the distance. “I know now the life I must lead,” I started, “and I’m doing my very best every day to get wiser, to prepare for what you have in store for me. The Earth is dying, I think.” Silent lightning danced amongst the clouds. “I believe someone needs to radiate positivity, and I can’t do that without her. So please, give me her hand in marriage, our souls joined in union for eternity, and for that long I will do your work. I will go anywhere and do anything you ask of me. Just give her to me, please, and I will do things of which only you can dream.” ¥ “That,” I laughed to myself, as I unlocked my apartment door, “was a bit much.” I’d returned somewhere on the outskirts of town 10 hours later, over 2 miles from my home. Ushering a cab, I sat in the back shirtless, wrapped in my blanket, now muddy, the things of this realm rushing past me through the cab windows uncertain, as if awaiting confirmation to affirm that they were still in fact there. There was power now in my stare. I’d never be no normal man. And I wanted to get my rocks off. As I sprawled out in my perpetually unmade bed and unbuttoned my pants, ogling the bumps of my popcorn ceiling as they swirled into so many fictions of my queen, I bit my lip and giggled in anticipation for the morning the coming sun would bring. I’d won my personal fight. Now it was onto the collective. Things would be alright, I knew, because now time, time was on my side.
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A Growing Ambivalence Registered: 11/19/12 Posts: 2,468 Loc: Parked Car, Play |
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-------------------- Life begins on the other side of despair...
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Stranger Registered: 09/25/11 Posts: 10 Loc: Puget sound Last seen: 10 years, 4 months |
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Nice story bro
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C.L.I.T. commander Registered: 08/10/13 Posts: 855 Loc: nowhere man Last seen: 9 years, 4 months |
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Yep, currently revising it. I'll post a later draft, someday as a reply I've feel that it's improved a lot since this one
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