The end is in sight but all my thoughts of the future are marred with resentment. R E D is the colour of love, of blood, of splitting flesh and bursting vessels. Draw the scalpel through our dissatisfied surface, across skin that crawls and through wounds that gush with adrenaline for what might have been. Cut and paste.
No one ever asked if it was okay to be made this way, the wrong way round. Design faults; stitches and scars mark the way forward. One solid block of muscle beats away regardless of it's packaging, oblivious to bitterness. Parallel to here are our alter egos playing out the side of things we spend so long wishing we could be on. I am alone but I am alive.
Last night I dreamt of two men, together. They did not touch, only stand a breath apart and move around, infatuated with each other. One lay the other down and stood over him with a rubber mallet. He proceeded to slam the mallet all over the other's body; cracking the rib cage, splitting the bones in his arms and wrists, shattering half his face and knocking the wind from him. Only once all his emotion had been spent did the man drop the mallet and claim a kiss from his broken lover.
Does the mind's eye see beyond this muted stream of consciousness, to our parallel existence? No door or path seems obvious; maybe that is our heaven - for our souls from what we know as reality to merge with a version of everything that has been perfect and running alongside us behind a veil of perception all along. Death then, calls us.
But we do not live to die. Being alive; having breath and a heart that beats, feeling and thinking and knowing and wishing. 'Now' is no intermediate stage, no practice run, no dress rehearsal this is it. A fraction of time in the scale of things to be something, someone worthwhile. Invincible; I fear nothing and I do not dread the end.
Heavy, aching heart beating out love and hate. Beautiful, bloody heart.
Thumbs and eyes.
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