out, feel sick in the morning. drive, dirt/gravel and a thousand or so kilograms of moving force make the break. i didn't see, i was trying to buckle my seat belt. but then i got out, then i went closer, oh and how i saw.

broken leg. clean break, through the fur & skin, other leg partially skinned & also broken, possibly. tufts of fur pulling away with the breeze. breathing, shock. she's young, this season's offspring.

pain soon. agony. and only strange creatures and their strange white virtually-unscathed machine for comfort.

he's distressed. still feeling sick. pacing a little, getting a little angry. the march flies are huge here, we lift her into the back of the van. i stay in the back with her. i calm myself and try to work out what to do. blood is pooling slowly, sticking to fur. her eyes wide open, muscles reacting instinctively.

spasms. paws clench and neck stretches, mouth opens and closes. confusion, shock after shock. pounding noises. sound i do not know, flesh i seldom see, and all surpassed by suffering.

there is a pattern to the movements. they must be involuntary. no sound escapes her mouth when it opens, paws scratch once in while as if to get away. legs do not move at all. i am holding the back of her neck. i can feel it, every few seconds, spasm, perhaps a breath, release. and over and over. while i wait to see what will happen. while she waits for it to happen.

people react, i am steeling myself. 2 others get in the car, we drive up the road far enough away. we pick it up, move it to the dirt again. she seems dead. no, still breathing, not as distressed perhaps.

closer smells more like i recognize closer eyes open closer pain closer breathe closer


a knife? he cannot, i think i can. but the best way perhaps - something heavy. i squat beside her and pull her head back, imagining what it would be like to end another sentient creature's life. eyes open. he returns with a rock. i move the head into a better position, i apologize silently and step back.
once.
may not have been enough.
again.
enough.

they go back to the car. tears come to me. i pray to the earth. turn around



rough, man. heavy shit. make a joke. defend. numb? okay. feeling okay. did the right thing. did the right thing. goes back in, comes back around/out of the ground.

so continue, heart heavy as it is fathomless. float for a while. get blurry.



coming crushing down. lost, lost, deny, lost, explain, reject, re-explain, reject, lost, anger, words, lost, hurt, lost, love, hurt, lost, leave.

okay. has to be okay. did the right thing. has to be the right thing. heat, transfer, hurt, change, heal.

but time broke the skull. and we learn. in time.

bre a k

how do i keep holding onto the desire to watch it grow when i have been defined as the wrong path?
as wrong?
there were two leaves stuck in the car door. i felt them pull away from the tree. when i opened the door to get out, they fell. i placed them on the dashboard. it is not my car.

feel. something. break. i feel break. push something out and it becomes break. crush. destroy. any desire, of all - i need broken.

step 2. step one is pure reaction without definition, it must be followed by composure [in a way],
so put it back together oh it made a glass bottle i knew that before i threw it at the concrete why do i need to reconstruct things when i knew what they were before they broke?
because it is part of the process.

step 3. fuck the process because your anger has overcome all other reasonable sensations.

step 4. listen

step. it's a baby! a tiny tiny bloodied dependent thing, yeah she's smart and says some cool things but man you should live a little first hey? burdens are for the stable and bored.

step step step and jump. the last defense mechanism you had for this sort of bloodboil was smashy, or slicey, pain and whatever comes up between the lines
what now, hey? you will have to sweep it up this time because it's your house. the lines are more noticeable with a second set of eyes/hands. but does it even make a difference? haven't you told yourself about, oh say, 10-15 times that it is all gushing outta your earholes now? you know it must be, i mean, if you can see your own eyes looking dead... pretty sure that's a sign hey...

c'mon, c'mon i mean just a little bit won't hurt. well it will, but that's the idea, i mean really it's not like you do it all the time, c'monnnnnn i wanna see some blood i wanna push faces into broken glass i wanna

well i know it's shit, but the shit it tastes so good.

this is what i could see. foretold you so. would think it is good when its not and we would not be there i would not be here and you would not let the anger go and when you get the next chance it's a swift BLAM to the forehead and you're seeing bulletholes for days. until some psuedo-resolution is found as an excuse to fuck, psuedo-peace is made so we can continue our psuedo-lives. in what? in happiness? in joy and in love? in sickness or sorrow or anger no no no that's just silly, expecting someone to know what is going on if you don't tell them.

yes. it is. and i am silly, sometimes, because my emotions can get the better of me. but you are silly too. you just think you are the way and the light. and you end up looking like a shitty comedian who doesn't know what irony means, and the down spot is too harsh and bright when you're dressed down in your clown clothes with only crickets for comment. it's sad. everyone feels sorry for the guy. well keep on fucking around and saying the same old jokes, man, because i am so close to done here.

i keep trying. but i will stop. you can only convince yourself it's okay for so long. the veil thins. the veins thicken. the jaw clenches, and dark and break and eyes and blood

so. exhausted. enough, oh lord that's enough.

open your eyes before you die

you wake up this morning, i had been dreaming about getting my precious world stolen from me. you woke up this morning, you tell me you had a hard dick. you have been so horny the last few days. driving you crazy.
i tell you i'm not that turned on. you shut off, almost instantly. you don't think, 'i can turn her on' - do i even want you to think that? - no, you roll over. you defend.
and of course when i say that i have been trying to give you the leg-up into my brain that you need because we are so many leagues apart, and that you will reject that more often than not, you deny/dismiss. i wish i could make love to you. i want to. you say it's not fair. you'd be right.

it's an endless loop, babe. but the more you go around it the more mass it accumulates, and it has become so heavy that even the earth can't hold it up anymore. it slips straight through, into the pressure centre. so now every time we slam our bodies together it is out of desperation, not love. the centre's density rises. i contract. i don't know what it does to you. i don't know how you can listen or observe or be told and not be aware of its relation to who you are - instead look at me and ask why i am not aware. you say i don't understand. you'd be right.

none of us do. do not separate yourself, otherwise you will be separated. and you are. and you wonder why. when you say, I did. I am the one who(...). Out of everyone in the situation, I am the one -


who is blatantly unaware of himself as a human being?

but you will not hear this.
even if you did it would be rejected. not in on ear out the other - in the opening of the ear canal, hit a wall, ricochet, bounce.
but no, a small sliver of shrapnel slips past, and it is lodged in the back of your mind along with mountains of metal rusting away. what can i do with that? claw away, kick, even steel-caps only last so long. my hands will be well torn up by then. the toxin crawls up my spinal cord. my jaw will clench. i will spasm, and eventually be unable to move at all. twitching periodically. overtaken by brainrust.

we are hoarders. we keep. we collect. but i collect because i love, i treasure, or am inspired by. you collect because you cannot get rid of.

maybe i should have just shut up and fucked you.

excerpt

walked past wet-faced, smelling like old clothes left in the rain. whole block of chocolate in the back pocket. blood sticks thick to the walls of my veins and pumps my pounding brain into submission - heartmuscles can knock out any little kid who thinks they're smart, and send 'em insane.

it's gotten to that point where i hear myself saying "it's gotten to that point..." every day.

and if six months can push past this easily then three weeks will hardly be a nudge.

i know i'm leaving, but i don't know where to.