H
Pat hways A colouring book
I n dreams, I land nimble a swallow on a dew leaf; I cannot remember t he edges of my mind: where it begins or ends, or where t he road lands , t hat singular corner where t he maze recombines t o form a single configurat ion, a point perfect , a clearing for t he const ant flight s of my heart a labyrint h sunk wit hin; inscrut able, but t hrough a magnifying glass.
I want t o gobble words. To mince and chew and grind, t he t eet h sharp and snug around each syllable: gobble, gobble, t ow and t rouble, t ill meaning rends it self t o not hingness, t he whit e gleaming like a bone- whit e skull.
Blank night s, whit e light , t he moon blooming like a flower int o t he back of my head. L ike a pair of eyes disc- like, just t he right size t o fit int o t he palm of my hand; snug in t he socket , a false eye looking out upon a perpet ually dazzled sky.
Perhaps t here is somet hing wrong wit h me. M issing irises, a phant om eye wit h float ing t ent acles dangling in t he universe- et her. W hen t he t hunder rumbles, I feel it deep in t he inside of my bones. I can feel it heaving under my skin, an eart hquake quaking wit h each exalt ed breat h.
And t he light ning, flash- whit e, snow- bright , bleaching t he hollow of my heart t he colour of un- being. I miss it - somet hing- a kernel, core. A lit t le jewel, buried deep in t he inside of me. A dirt y, black oyst er's pearl. Dirt y, smot e wit h dream dust . A black smudge of not hing, dirt y upon my fingerprint s.
Perhaps- womb, claust rophobic core. L imbs clumsy and clenching eart h, a clut t er of bones crisp against t he eart h's belly- - birt h, in(side)- un- being, snug- in- in- bet ween breat hs, a t iny spark flickering.
Little Gods There was once a boy who t hought he was immort al, so he lived and lived and lived abundant ly. He uncovered t he eart h like a secret , moulding it s insides t o t he corners of his flesh; he t raced each edge and line, marking boundaries, drawing horizons, conquering worlds wit h t he t wist of his fingers and when he was done, he flew above his new cit yscape st ill cloaked in t he newness of birt h. The eart h became t he dome for his t hought s t o fly in, and so he flew and flew and flew t ill his soul t ired, and t hus, on t he sevent h day he rest ed, collapsing int o t he sleep of t he dreamless.
Here is t he st ory of t he boy who once was, before t ime set in and declared everyt hing concret e. Before gravit y fell wit h a shudder int o t he spaces in- bet ween, set t ling t he eart h int o dirt , st one and grit . Before t he eart h?s flesh grew over it s skelet al core, and t he bruised cent re pumped life fiery hot t ill burst ing, it vomit ed int o t he blue horizon creat ing mount ains, valleys, sky- highs and eart h- dept hs.
This is t he st ory of a beginning before beginnings, above endings, in t he Eden of what was, a garden where t hought s flowered unbridled by consciousness. A space of unspace, dislodged from logic, in t he place where t hings et ernal dwell. A place where t he breat h of God showered it s radiance upon all planet ary eart h forms and a boy, solit ary, sat exhaust ed at it s middle, shaken by t he shock of t hunder rendered int o a singular blade behind his rib cage, separat ing life from deat h.
mind pulled t hin as a muscle over a sky bled lurid and clean, like t he split half of an apple sliced, devoured by a t hroat wrecked in a fit of choking sobs, shaking t he body asunder t hunder gripping bony flesh, st ret ching skin t ight as t he muscle of t he mind over a sun- slit skysurgery of cosmic dimensions, a pat ient lying limp, lifeless; frigid, a frail t hin shred of wit hering whit e hair falling over like snakes along a dist ant sky.
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I carry t he galaxy in my bones, a live st ream of consciousness; t he weight of emot ions flows blood- red, a massive, pulsat ing heart .
I flow t hrough it , dense t hrough t he sea of et her- awake, but dreaming
Her head is a forest of candle garnished t rees, t opped off wit h Christ mas light s; Each bauble holds a separat e illuminat ion, a fire t hat burns a new edge of her fant ast ical world open. Wit h words, she creat es her world from t rashcans and half- born fears, t he skelet on of her spect ral body given flesh by t he profusion of beliefs t hat crown her foreheada herald of fairy st ories lit like a chain of fairy light s.
L ife is also- deat h. I savour deat h; I breat he it in wit h every breat h.
M emory: you, a flut t ering shadow across a screen I know not what I remember and what I forget - my mind, a pat hway lit t ered wit h pot holes leading perhaps t o here, t heredist ant places, faraway horizons, hist ories forgot t en t hen revealed by candlelight . I remember, perhaps, a shade of a shadow peeled open by t his full moon t hat swells my heart t ill I am brimful and alert wit h moonlight . Here, wit hin t his moment , I hold your ghost wit hin me, memory of a memory, swelling full underneat h my t hought .
The wings peel away- a skin, paper- t hin revealing a body, fully formed; a marvel. You shrug your feat hers, slight ly bemused your face separat es int o an easy smile, t he corners of your face beaming upwards and wit hin- an eye peers lucid, looming, lit - -
Black rainbow, split - dozen shades of blue t he sky glist ening like an invert ed mirror over t he globe of an eye, luminescent , a million sea creat ures squirming minut e like t he writ hing of my mind.
I look wit hin, int o t he splint er of light - t o a hidden world, enclosed, at t he bot t om of my fist a t iny spot , miring int o darkness.
I nside, flimsy core split t ing splint ers of glass, an eyeball fract uring I feel chewed up, vomit ed in t o t he four corners of t he universe int est ines whirling, spokes of t he eye like st rings unravelling; a broken doll, odd angles joust ing against t he fabric of t he world, t he world fabric of t his world- t ree.
Child- like, my limbs limber- t hin I float as t hrough a fog int o t he dark- gooey subst ance of t ime. I can t ouch t he edges my limbs are feat hers t hat bear me flight .
baroque room, I am a child again; in a lavish room, papers overflowing, a river burst ing around my ankles I sit at my desk ast ride by not es, pens, ink st reaks down my arms like scrat ches of a cat down a t ree; M y head lies rag doll- dead on t he surface of oak sinking skull- deep int o a sea of t angled hair st icky wit h a sap birt hed from t he insides of my swollen belly, t he mount peaking like t he loom of M ount Olympus, over t he t win lumps of my t highs.
on t onight 's st ill night moon gapes like cat 's eye gleaming dangerously low
in corners of heart s shadows bury like eart hworms t hrough t unnels clammed close
sleepless and rest less I sing t hrough solit ude's shell songs of phant om seas
I carry t he galaxy in my bones, a live st ream of consciousness; t he weight of emot ions flows blood- red, a massive, pulsat ing heart . I flow t hrough it , dense t hrough t he sea of et her- awake, but dreaming.
Everyt hing breaks me apart .
The sky clear above me, t he t ouch of air, of skin, of blue That single dew- infused membrane t hat ext ends from you t o me. W hen t he world widens wit hin my soul, I can feel my eyes open t o cry, my limbs shivering- - int ernal quakes; eart h shakes.
Because I am- raw, skin- frail, a newborn being Ent ombed wit hin t his fresh chrysalis, flown from an ext erior planet : A cryst alline ext rat errest rial, I soak up t he at mosphere of t his planet as a plant drinks sunlight .
I am st ill new; a single syllable, a capsule indivisible.
W hen I close my eyes, I see an expanse of horizon underneat h my eyelids, sinking deep as t hrough an infinit e sea of t hought t ill mind is rendered subst ance- less, an endless well of non- being.
Everyt hing breaks me apart .
such vivid dreams I st un myself by sun upon day; t hey imprint t hemselves on t he back of my eyes; negat ives of blackened sunset s, old friends met upon st airwells and along must y corridors; st airways t hat wind, a t ape unravelling under my eyelids; dark swirling pit s t hat lead int o t he subconscious et her and beyond, t o anot her galaxy where t he scent of jasmine replaces t he deceased, and upon st one mausoleums I lay my body t o rest , supine, abandoned t o t he world wit hin.
"Art should be creat ed from t he heart , t he inner being. I t should be a fruit ion of all t hat is inside, no mat t er how ugly, deformed, 'demonic'. For once, we must recognize t hat 'demonic' it self is a t erm creat ed by an overly rat ional cult ure ant it het ical t o Nat ure, t o t he nat ural impulse.
W hat is nat ural is primeval. it is dark, secret , hidden. I t is t he beast t hat rears it s head, bred on t hings buried under."
deat h at my door, mut t ering an endless refrain, rat t lesnake's t oy vibrat ing against t he lobe of my ear soft ly sweet ened poisonous lullaby dripping sweet amber, sap of an eart hen t ree st ret ching it s limbs down hell's gaping abyss t o t he heavens abovecelest ial blasphemy
like my soul sucked t hin as a membrane across t wo dualit iesan endless surgical grey a frog's int est ines st ret ched across t wo horizons st olid, sordid, abject -
you, t he slip on an edge across me; I remember, faint , your breat h a ghost mist ing t he mirror of my mind I wish you would come t o me by night in dreams, your shadow cat ching in wit h mine and I will snare you close t o me, a capt ured memory, a snapshot of you, preserved like a but t erfly in t he bell jar of my mind.
I cry everyday; my eyes open out ward, t he dam dips forward int o a looking glass; t he t ips of my corneas are a leaking iceberg where t he river flows: a cosmos of emot ion, elect ric wit h t he flut t er of my heart .
I cry and hence I am, a vessel full, a cont ainer of emot ion; upon my face, like a smear t here lies radiant , a single, glist ening t ear: t he dew of my overflowing night .
A declamat ion: I will write out these prognastications and tell you what I find at the end of the world, where all paths end- silence now, I am in the grey chasm flash i a st reet in New York, where all is spilling over wit h t he pit - pat run- array of black- suit ed men rushing t o t he buildings and beyond. A clamour of grey horses- Arabians, of crazed eye and silver manes- rush across t he pat h, t heir hoofs suspended in obeisance t o an unknown ent it y. They bow wit h t heir eyes, each hair shivering in mut e horror. I n t he st rained daylight , no one sees t hem but me: t hey are phant oms. Phant oms of a ghost realit y now t urned archaic and ancient . flash ii a girl giant of mad hair spilling over a brick building t hat clasps her bosom in some obscene deformit y. it surrounds her, st art ing where flesh ends. t he colours are grey, crumbling concret e and rumbled brick debris. in bet ween t he dirt , lit t le people run over silent ly, insignificant ly, part of an empire forgot t en, yet seemingly unaware of t he significance of t heir non- exist ence. flash iii t here is a rose at t he end of t he pat h which bleeds blue blood down t horny t angles. each t orn grasps a piece of mind- flesh, each bramble embracing t he int ricat e net of art eries and channels t hat comprise t he head and reach down t o t he pulpy mass of t he heart . t he eyes t hat st are beyond are mad wit h an unseen fury, t he hands t rembling, t he whole body a t remble of forgot t en eart hquakes st ampeding across t he mind's skull like a crowd of shivering grey horses. all t his occurs because of t his rose- t he sickly rose which bleeds blue blood down pale flesh. ~ I t rains. A grisly rain of realit y. We get wet , soaked. Trut h melt s on fingert ips wit h each droplet . The sun t ips upside- down, t he horizon blurs int o a faded rainbow.
Silence, now. The end is near.
i.
When the thunder comes, it shakesthe walls T he earthquakes, mourn-shakesof a world asfragile Asan eggshell, at the edge of an endinga house balanced on a precipice.
ii.
T he T ree house He paced and paced like a being possessed, his int est ines whirling wit h t he swirls of phant om oceans. Thought s ran his brain a cont inuous circuit , shaking his limbs int o a flurry. He wrung his fingers, shook his head, t hrew his foot st eps along t he wooden floor, sending a shudder t hrough t he house like a memory squeezed out of t he heart ?s chambers by a fist . There was t he issue of memory, he t hought . L ife, flut t ering t hrough t he map t hat gaped at him like a but t erfly caught in a labyrint h circling about t he cycles and channels in his life t ill, suddenly, it clamped down like a jaw; an unt angled knot , winding int o it self, an ouroboros wit h no t ail. He had observed t hem, oft en. Bet ween t he dust , t he dolls lying scat t ered wit h t heir shat t ered marble eyes; t he empt y t reasure chest s. A Vict orian cellar, dense wit h meaning. Dense in t he dust t hat sat urat ed t hat air like a permanent miasma, like a purple- grey cloud colouring all his senses t o t he root of his being. And in- bet ween- - t he t ree t hat wound it s body around t he shell of t he empt y house, shat t ering it s empt y eyes, leaving t rails of glass splint ers in it s wake in t he aft erbirt h of it s florid jungle. And in- bet ween- - t he flowers, t he dandelions and t iny pink flowers t hat crept around each corner and ledge, t hreat ening t he spaces and confines in a conglomerat ion of limbs, crooked and disjoint ed, rough bark st rangling t he wooden, rot t ing walls. And underneat h- - a boy, eyes wide in wonder. Sheet s gat hered, st olen from his dead mot her?s bedroom and wrapped around his body t o keep t he warmt h close, sealed, shut . At t he bot t om, under beams of redwood- hued musk, a small fire of dead t wig and t issue burning, illuminat ing t he cellar in a wreat h of warmt h. And above, circling upon t he rot t en ceilings, a suspended halo danced like t he operet t a of angels caught in t he shaking of embers. He wat ched t he boy from afar, a disembodied gaze. He saw himself in walls, in cellars, in- bet ween t he living t ree t hat grasped t he wooden house in t he deformit y of birt h. Wat ched him as he reached int o his sack and t ook out it ems: an apple, a crust y piece of bread, an eyeball t aken from his fat her?s socket aft er he had- like t he rest - st umbled over t he ridge. He wat ched as t he boy squeezed his body int o t he cramped space of t he rot t en t ree house, let t ing t he fire warm his hands, his skin, his pale, shrunken body nourished by pale embers, meagre games, st ories suspended over a childhood bled dry by t oo many sorrows. He wat ched as t he boy arranged t he it ems around his makeshift alt ar. He wat ched as his mout h gaped, releasing words int o t he frigid, st ill air sparked by a palt ry fire. ?And once upon a t ime, t here was a boy who lived in a palace of glass. And he fought a might y giant wit h a sword of st eel and eyes of diamond. And he met t hree wit ches, who gave him t hree gift s. And wit h his gift s, he defeat ed t he giant and lived happily- ever - aft er.?
iii.
A dream
Film- like: t wist ed oak in a confined classroom. The classroom is old, t he desks are in neat rows, t he air is humid wit h t he grat ing choir of wooden floorboards. I vy creeps unruly about t he floor. Empt ied of t he laught er of children, t he classroom cont ains a sacred, st ill kind of silence- t he silence of t he woods. The oak is beaut iful, very beaut iful and very old. His arms pierce t he rooft ops, and below, t he rot t ing wooden floorboards. The t ree is in agony, I can feel it . I am doing a document ary about t his: t he oak's t ragedy of get t ing t rapped in a confined space- t he whole int ernal monologue.