weightless she, permeating through a fold dispersing the saliva of a postmodern toad burnt acid in his magnet mold and therein resides a scene to decode retching gallons of water gushing down a moonlit road gallons ethereal from the glowing hands of miniature souls
I held the image of him tightly I felt the searing heat rise from the beneath us through a broken-down staircase fashioned of stone as it curved ahead, seductive like a snake into the distant dust of an infinite horizon
I run after him there, laughing. we we’re all laughing All there, in the warm fog, laughing.
Just as he was there, so too was he gone being what I thought he was, to being an other being what I thought he was, to being nothing at all
Looking down at my forearms that bore his inscriptions his hieroglyphic imagery of ancient symbol and of distant memory, intertwined first ink, then blood into deepening cuts, albeit sensation-less
Images animated there, transforming shifting and altering their base structures of form flashing through fragments of memories, long set aside memories that do not ring true on any real-world ride
She stood alongside me with a look of all-knowing with a guilt and pain in her eyes as I stood there screaming at my arms on the path as I stood there screaming into the sky as I stood there screaming at the deconstructing imagery of time
In a twilight In amongst a barren wasteland of deserted powder stone with low lit trees that bear no autumn leaves trees dancing slow as the currents of an ebb and flow howling in twilight immortal
Winston had a kind heart and could paint meticulously with oils, he made a ceramic frog that still sits by the front door of my mum’s house. I always suspected that he really did love her in some way and that her love could’ve been reciprocated had they not both been so muted in the realm, where their synapses could not spark to form such a connection. Not in that (or this) passage of time/space at least.
Lisa had a sly sense of humour and loved her leather jacket, she was destroyed too but well before she could even try to know herself. She was exposed to some of the greatest horrors of the institution that few could ever begin to fathom, but she had a light inside her nonetheless, that never ceased to fashion a smile.
And today they’ve both been bought down by their captors, but finally they are free floating majestic in the cosmos somewhere everywhere. Slithers of light in the fraction of a tragic moment.
I hope one day we find a better way through it, through integrating and overcoming instead of switching off and shutting out.
Schizophrenia is spiritual, cunt.