sand-paper & seraphim

IMG_7597

i/

Pain.
her name is Pain

[for fuck’s sake!]

she, by any other name, would still remain
as ugly.
and she IS ugly.
desperately ugly.
she is a creep.
she is unwelcome.
despite my best effort to keep her
OUT
of my world, she
always
seems to find a way to creep
BACK
in and fuck
with me: meddle
with my mind, screw
up my plans, piss
on my parade
in her
USUAL
cuntish
way.
she is relentless.
she makes her presence
FELT
when i am at my happiest, my
most comfortable, my
most vulnerable, my
most…
or when i have
plans.
i am convinced
that she does
this
to seek attention, or
unsettle,
again.
and again,
and
again,
when i am alone
with
my
thoughts, and
almost every night it seems,
she SEEPS
back; back
into my consciousness.
sly, septic seraphim,
she is
a
BAD TRIP.
she turns,
and returns;
laughing at me,
mocking me,
like a barfly whore with her lips
around my lover’s cock…
Hell-bent
and bent out of shape.
her mouth like a ravenous beast.
Hell-bent on having.

[I HOPE YOU CHOKE…]
sly.
smiling. sweet.
sly
lies.
lies.
she finds
a way to be
there, in my mind
and in my bones…
conniving cunt.

it’s exhausting.

and she can be emotional-
like a scorned
LOVER or a jealous ex-girlfriend,
all tragic and bitter, to play
the “i’m gonna fuck with you”
card.
she returns when i least expect it.
and return
she does,
like a tragic memory,
she haunts me and
taunts me
and calls me delusional;
or she’ll hit me
like
a new bereavement;
tearing me apart
and
GRINDING my
BONES.
and oh how she wants those bones.
those bones.
i see her: grinding her pelvis
trying to seduce.
sucking on fingers,
touching, twirling hair,
saying all the right things
and laughing, as appropriate.

she wants those bones.
those bones. my bones.
the ones i love
and cherish.
the ones i cling to.
the ones only i
should
cling
to.

[FUCK OFF!]

but with one hit, i can silence her.

ii/

and so
i cave.
i take THREE PILLS
and nestle
beneath
the furry blanket
of self-medication.
i take three pills and allow
my cerebral cortex
to drive.
drive me insane.

i can hear the sea.

a candle flickers,
in the corner of my room,
and shadows spill
and twirl
and dance their
odd languid
little dance around the room,
to the music of the
sea.

a sea of thoughts.
a sea of words.
a sea of worths.

automatic writing.
i hold pen to pad
and
let my incoherent musings
spill and twirl
out onto the paper.

the pen makes a scratchy sound.
am i writing on sand paper?

what visions will come, if any?

i need to see so
i close my eyes.

in my mind’s eye, i wipe
the window, in hope
of a clearer view
but… PAIN, again,
she laughs in my face.
her mouth, wide
enough to accommodate my fist.
she is a painted harlot, a whore.
[FUCK RIGHT OFF!]
brain, give me something pretty
to distract.
nothing.
i search the dark and dimming
light for pattern;
sand-SHAPES; for
fucks’ sakes and
familiarities…
nothing.

i sigh.
i weigh the sky.
i feel it bear down on me.
such a crushing weight.
like a kick to the stomach
from a crazy mare.
a nightmare.

i can still hear the sea.

so i listen to her. her voice is soft
and low.
she sounds exhausted.
empathy.
what if…?

what if she were to just… stop??

STOP.

 

what if all the tides
of all the world’s oceans were to
rebel
against the push and the pull?
what would become of
us,
in the throes of
such mutiny?

iii/

once upon a time
there lived a MOMENT.
a beautiful moment of clarity.
she was called Epiphany.
one day,
she took a tumble
and stumbled
upon
the meaning of life.
she saw it all.
everything.
so clear;
everything.
so simple.
Rumour has it, she stood
at the very edge of the Universe
and that she actually skated
on the fabric
of the space-time
continuum.
she never speaks of it, but
she was
overwhelmed with
BLISS
and bathed in golden light.

she was shown all existence.

she saw, in particles
and quanta,
the past, the present and the future
of all
existence.
she was taught how
it
all pieced together
and, with the nascent
spongiform curiosity of
a newborn,
she watched everything unfold,
fold and unfold.
a story was told.
she saw her own birth.
she witnessed her own death.
simultaneously.
in the blink
of an eye.

she was
unafraid.
she saw
distant memories,
dissonant and
beyond reach.
she felt the pang
of past grieving.
she watched the birth
of the Universe, our Universe;
and other
Universes.

she held an
embryonic Earth
in her hands
and saw how everything
– all pasts, presents and futures –
are connected; and
over-lapping,
flapping
and floundering.
where?
there…!

[just there… like a glass of water for a thirsty ocean – just beyond reach.]

 

iv/

human life.
rancid.

where did we go wrong?

we assume. we skull-fuck each other with our egos, our super-egos and our pushed asides.
we are foolhardy and arrogant.
crass,
and myopic.
predictably acidic,
we are lame
and dull.
our vanity; unquantifiable.
“do you see me?”
“are you watching?”
“attention without intention”
we flirt.
cause and effect.
who gives a fuck about the butterflies
and their repercussive wings?
we are dirt.

truth?

oh it will out. it always does.

where is home? who will take me there?

i don’t believe in angels.

we are but a speck of dirt on something big… bigger than all of us…

something bigger than any one of us
can comprehend with our little brains.

we are ridiculous.

it would seem
we have a lust
for the meaningless,
meaning thus –
we could have more,
but…

we humans are stupid
despite our brilliance.

as pioneers, inventors, artists and thinkers
yes! they can all CREATE
but! they are
masters of destruction.

humans kill.
it’s what they do.
it’s what they do best.
humans kill all that is beautiful.

why do we do that?

i spoke with Epiphany about this.
we talked all night;
until Dawn
told me
that humans will never
fully evolve or
reach their full potential because
they will be
EXTINCT long before
this is realised.

she showed me a DIFFERENT
Universe; a Universe
where maximum human potential
had
been realised.

she showed me a Universe
so beautiful;
so completely unbroken
that it broke my
heart.

v/

with tingling hands, i enter the dream.
is it a dream?
i feel awake.
more awakened than i will ever be.

i turn onto my side, squeeze my eyes shut, and nestle into the Amur tiger that sleeps by my side. i breathe in his scent and open my eyes. with telepathic fingers, i can see his chest fall and rise with sleep. i trace his striped flank. i stroke his face. [those jaws…] he could CRUSH my head, like a fucking watermelon. such powerful jaws. yet he chooses not to. here he lies, by my side, with a paw as large as a guitar, heavy on my hipbone. he is my animus, my guardian.

my protector.

vi/

and where is
MOON tonight?

SKY lied.
Sky told me of TWO MOONS
and now there are none?

Sky looked back at me
all dark
and empty;
wombless
and desolate.

what has become of her
and her
nubility?
Moon must be out there
somewhere.
what will become of her
or her sisters?
her role-models and
ladies in waiting?
her unborn daughters?

Mother Moon,
she must be out there
somewhere…
cut adrift.
like a lost balloon,
abandoned by
a spoilt sulk of a child.

maybe…

maybe Moon is
the spoilt sulk of a child?
skulking off somewhere,
hiding, and hiding her humility
in the folds of Sky’s skirts;
lost amid the
pleats of that inky
black velvet;
sulking,
because Oceans no longer
want to play with her.

vii/

i remember what Dawn showed me.

i remember space.
the vastness of space.
the immeasurable amount
of space.

i remember the reality of seeing
for the first time.
a pin-prick.
eyes smarting,
or are they tears of joy.
what have i just been witness to?
a birth?
the birth?
the birth of the Universe.

the beginning of the end?
i remember holding a newborn Earth
in my fumbling clay hands;
the realisation;
the dawning of
the fragility
of
us.

single-mindedly, singlehandedly;
we will, ultimately,
be the demise
of us.

our futures will lay
in fragments
and frayed filaments of fiction
and fable as
our furrows unfold.
fate, feverish fashions
furtively unfurl.

we have become slaves
to our selves;
to
Superficiality and whatever
that whore brings to the party;
she is but a Christmas jingle.
except,
she doesn’t rock.

she is a sexually-transmitted disease.

humans are pathogens.
humans are germs.
humans are disgusting.
dirty specks of dust and
mould to blight
the fabric of our own existence
and existentialisms.

no seraphim to guide us.

there are no angels.  there is no home.

we sully it
dirty it
maim it
kill it
pervert it.
cut it.
cull it.
shoot it.
torture it.
buy it.
improve it.
rape it.
choke on it.
try to defy it.
try to deny it.
shake it.
break it.
make it.
force it.
coerce it.
disable it.

engage.

lick it.
suck it.
fuck it.
kiss it.
kiss it better?
too late.

we bend it, like a lie. colour it white.
pretend it.
pretend it never happened it.
distend it.

lie about it. in the dark. can you live with it? can you live without it?

recoil.
cry about it.
illuminate it.
ruminate it.

double it.
decouple it.

sell it.
condone it.
provoke it.
promote it.

make it a cult
or cultivate it.

mock it.
dock it.
doctor it.

a Doctorate.
rate it.
abate it.
corroborate it.

syllables
in syllabus

salubrious symbols
and drums.
thumbs up.

finger it.
powder it.

blow it up.
or just blow it.

snort it.
inject it.
ingest it.

and that’s just it.

it’s fake.
fake it.

guilt-free, fat free, duty free

when all is said and done, and the pleasure of pain breaks, and all is lost- no dogs or angels to take you home. this body was home.  but home is gone.  ask yourself:

how was it for you?
do you feel enriched?

was it good?
was it the fuck of the Century?

[FUCK OFF!]

just open your fucking eyes.

looking back, in that blink of an eye, was it worth it?

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words & images: (c) Kat McDonald Photography 2015

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8 thoughts on “sand-paper & seraphim

  1. wow.

    farewell to our potential. goodbye to hope.

    in one blink of my fucking eyes. everything and nothing. cancelled out.

    in this moment, if i can even call it that, should i look back at the blip of my existence and ponder briefly on its worth or merit, i can say i tried to be a good influence on this world, particularly towards those whom are dearest to me.

    ultimately, its meaningless. my existence that is. when i die, most people will miss me about as much as they’d miss a fart in an elevator. when those doors open, everyone bails out of there fast, striding into the fresh air, with their own lives to lead, just glad to be leaving that foulness behind.

    my life is akin to a dissipating fart.

    *loads gun*

    i always knew it would come to this.

    *holds gun to own head*

    this is it then.

    *has second thoughts*

    no, right the first time.

    *bang*

    Liked by 1 person

    • aw… don’t feel like that… xx
      i’d miss you. you know that.

      it’s more geared towards our governments… bla bla bla… those who, ultimately, control everything.

      you are not a fart. you are precious. you are my love, if not the love of my life. xx

      Like

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