Dead Sands I
I used to have so much to say. Brilliant and beautiful things.
The words used to flow out of me in an endless stream. A fount
of wisdom, hypocrisy and genius. It was a gift.
There have been no words for some time, now. The fount has
dried up and the joy of life has abandoned the plains of my
heart. I mourn the loss of it; my blessing, the thing that
set me apart from the rest, placed me above the crowd, and
made me a part of everything. That thing I found so special
about everyone I met.
I am empty. I have nothing. All is lost. I am lost. There is
no love here. I wander in a desert of my own creation and self-destruction.
I sucked up all the life that once flourished here. Chewed
it up and spit its soggy rinds back in lifes dead eye. Somehow,
I am left with a mouthful of sand.
There is no tomorrow here. This is the land of eternal today
and perpetual uncertainty. I could lose myself in my duty
but I am a hypocrite and a coward. I have lost all desire to
succeed here and have crawled back into the barren womb
of pathos.
I recoil in terror when faced with my obligations. I have
no honor. I have no desire, no love. I scorched this land
that my hosts have offered me as a home with my anger. Let
them hang me for my crimes!
One judge did hang me but another cut me loose from the noose.
He spoke softly in my ear of a new life. He taught me to work
hard to earn my place among my peers, my fellow men. I would
drink their blood if I had courage enough to face the consequences
for slitting their throats.
But I am a coward. I have not the courage to face life on its
own terms. My dreams dictate the terms of my engagement
with life. I shout at life from the bottom of this totem pole.
Here I sit with scheming on my mind. Always dreaming of a
way to beat life, to beat them. I must be wily, craftyslippery.
I have strayed from the path of righteousness and cannot
find my way back. I walk no beaten path. I am lost in the dead
sands of a delusional and dysfunctional life. The way of
darkness lies before me. So funny. There is no fear when
I walk on this dark path but I tremble with every step taken
along the path of light. This path is comfortable and almost
familiar in its surreal way. Am I falling further into blindness?
I do not want to be understood. I do not want understanding.
I want lust and worship, adoration. No friends for me I
want a fan club or a cheerleading squad. A longing fills
my emptiness; therefore, I am not empty. Longing for the
union of my body and my brides. I miss her body and her cruelty.
My jailer. My tormentor. My lover, my goddess, my wife.
The world is full of lies. Religion and philosophy. History.
All lies, all meaningless, all empty. Faith and love, lies.
Like all of us are lies.
This is what I have. My emptiness and my lies. I cannot cherish
the lies I once had though. I see through their guise to the
core of my humanity. The heart is a weak thing of flawed design
and selfish desire. Destructive and base. All of it and
all of us, ugly in our needy beauty.
Caught in the webs of our conflicting desires. Everything
we want we try to possess; anything we cant possess, we
try to destroy. Obsessed with this, we hoard all of the worlds
treasure and beauty in our pockets. Locked up in the dark,
forgotten and without appreciation. It becomes valueless,
meaningless. Lifeless? Dead.
We cannot appreciate beauty without fear. We cannot know
beauty without wanting to own it, hide it or destroy it.
There is no understanding in love. There is no communication.
We are all separate and separated from each other. Loneliness
is the greatest constant even with our own company to keep
us well. Loneliness is the only constant. There is no measure
to guard against it.
The heart is blind. The sweetest misconception, the easiest
of lies to sell and buy. I believe and I deceive. The heart
is blind. This heart I bind!
Even the bluest skies can bring down rain for the lonely
heart. The darkest nights can fill you with light. Despair
and hope at odds and at war in our hearts. Deception is a key;
perception is everything.
All roads lead to you and I wander in this desert without
aim or direction. I have thrown myself from grace and from
my place amongst my peers. I have thrown myself into the
fire of lost souls; I have found a desert and lost myself
in its circles.
The bluest skies rain tears of endless regret. Wasted tears,
wasted suffering. Wasted sentiment, regret pointless,
actually. I gaze adoringly at clouds that ride the winds
forever under the never-ending sky. The soul of it, the
meaning, escapes me. I have no desire to understand this
beauty, only to witness it. All I see is a mystery that wishes
to unfold; ugliness hiding, untold. I have no memory of
myself. My face fell off.
My spirit dries up under the sun and crumbles to dust. It
scatters in the winds to mingle with the anonymous grains
of the desert. Even the swords of my mentors rust in the dragon-sand
tears birthed of wind and sun.
The desire to flee this place has left me. I am content to
have a bed of sand and a pillow of stone. A blanket of apathy
kills what chills my soul and softens my spine that I may
roam.
I want to tell a story of my own. Do I? Will I struggle to tell
my story? Will I fight to live the way I would want my story
told? I do.
I am content without desires. I am content with loneliness
and isolation. Living afoul. The smell of my home does sicken
me and forces me to observe the traces of inhumanity that
no one can hide from view. No effort will hide their symptoms
of madness. And madness breeds madness.
Sloth and vanity are contagious. I find myself feeding
on confusion in the midst of silent chaos. In the Mist of
Silence, chaos. I forget my face and the face of my father.
I forget my soul and the heart that my parents have given
me. Hear a voice, a whisper in my ear. Concern? Deceit?
Memories are deceitful by design.
Lost my way in the desert. Tossed about by the wind. Waves
of despair fall upon me on the shores of a green and golden
sea of depravity. Drowning and choking under sands of the
desert. All of life sucked out of me there; I drift on the
winds of change. I have no purpose, no direction, no identity.
I am no one and nothing. I have no will and I want no will to
have or employ. I prefer the current of passivity, prefer
stagnancy and pestilence. I regurgitate foolishness
for all to swallow.
I want no praise. I want no criticism. I want no life. I have
none. It is simple, I have no desire and that is just fine
with me.
Sometimes I catch myself wanting or wishing. But I dont
pursue it. I know what I can have and what I cannot have. I
want nothing enough to fight for it. You can win if you fight,
but you can lose, too. Having won, you may still lose, and
you are lost.
Love can be lost. Lies can be lost. Nothing is owned. Nothing
is permanent. Everything is temporary, on loan, for rent.
A slip of time caresses the breast of my desert and I am jealous
of the beautiful simplicity in their cheating intimacy.
It is no hurtful endeavor, simply my girl being sensuously
clever. I get no end of satisfaction from our mutual infidelities
and the unusual ways in which we express our devotion and
dedication. When youve gone around the block so many times
on so many different fillies, it becomes a challenge to
find the truth in fidelity or the true infidelitybut what
do I know? We are a mutually satisfied and happy couple.
I fear I may have to leave soonworse, I doubt that Ill be
missed.
Even real wounds heal or disappear, in time. Given enough
time, the distance between two souls may not grow smaller,
but the amount of time between their last moment and their
next may. The magik that holds two together and holds their
possessiveness apart from their hearts may be a constant
hum but that might drive them both insane; or it may be intermittent
and marked with high and low points of drama and excitement
but that might drive them both insane. Both must choose
to go insane in each others worlds and in each others hearts
for the sake of each others love. Love?
Colors of a nameless day slip to the sky and back as time makes
way across the sky and bakes my heaven to inferno. Sweat
drips from your nose as you rock bock and forth in fervent
prayer atop the altar of my body. Stones bear witness; you
dance in the dais, become dazed in the dance. I become the
oracle in a moment when we forget we both belong to someone
else. Your whispers are a mantra in my ear until our voices
unite in chaotic shouts and unintelligible moans. Prayers.
The sun beating down on the roof of your truck. The air as
dry and hot as only the high desert air can be; we two, intent
on driving each other mad with pleasure, trying to make
up for the deceit that led to our fall.
Here, Im bleating for them. And before them I am stronger.
More true to myself than I could be alone. What comes after
the destruction? Youll never know. Youre never around
long enough to see. Who comes next? Here, Im bleating for
you. After you, I am stronger.
Colors aside, whats different? In each frame that goes
by and each moment of such, nothing is different and nothing
changes. Except, sometimes, your courage and your grace.
I have forgotten the face of my father and I am slowly losing
my soul. The only way to get inside is to fool the doorman.
Im a fool and shes the door. The only way to continue excelling
is to fight the good fight, or fight any fight.
Hide in the shadows before us, behind words and between
moments. Blinding rage crashes into their world. Daggers
from my eyes but they do not feel them or me. Echoes of my screams
go on in their ears forever, but I go unheard.
The digital sound of the Wailing Wall crowd goes on echoing
in my head. They wind up dead. They are all dead. Our voices
are dead.
There is beauty here I am not to behold. A secret I am not to
be told. First, we share syllables of memories. Later,
we share hen, letting go.
I hate the sounds of my brothers sleep. My paranoia runs
deeper in these moments of emptiness. The world dissolves,
revolving around patterns of truth and deceit. Then I see
the truth I tried to deny. I am the one, the only one. I am the
bringer of the stench that comes, the bringer of the wench
that cums. I am the maker, the creator and the destroyer.
The living and the dead, I am. My actions are expressions
of Chaos will. My very whims are Destinys children.
Words of weight and value. I press them from great blocks
of my iron will. Melt into the letters this focus of mine.
Grind, to fine sand, some of my determination. Fuse these
elements in the fires of my soul, all this to form the words
I would share with you to form the elements I would give
to convince you of my place in your world and your place in
mine. That my word may have might, weight and value, I will
fill them with courage, the breath of my heart, and desire,
the blood in my veins. Great, pendulous drops of perspiration
and inspiration hang from the edges of my word. Witness
my work! Witness my life! Marvel at the efforts of one little
man.
RiqA
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