The Daily Fix

oh, that’s delicately disturbing. leviathan wind chimes laying claims to the plot of land in the night i thought was the fiefdom of cracked cement and spitting fluorescent lampposts. i look up. strange intruder in the night sky that he is, the sight of light refracting from our little garden of electric horror movie props onto the stainless tubes swaying to and fro in the midnight air makes me miss that chalky thumbnail that keeps me up. i’d better cool it, or that codeine’s coming up. i could mistake myself and stumble on home under the premise lucidity’s been held off at the doorstep, raving like a madman for to be let go, while i fixate on the shapes. won’t help. it’s a salient feeling, my breath abbreviated and my tongue sprained in the back of my throat. this is all separate; it’s dry. the chimes are brushing against eachother and ever so slightly reverbrating, and i’m holding still. the air is so clear it isn’t there. i’m jutting out of the ground as the chimes sing to me. i listen. their desperation is now much more apparent to me. they are nicking eachother now, and from each comes an aluminum sound. like after a mortar. and i’m vibrating. and now they’re stirring in unlovely fashions. they’re pugilistic columns of metallic angst, knocking into eachother like that. dangling violently. slamming and howling and now more of a shriek than anything else. closing my eyes. i’m at the bottom of the pond, feeling that dead woman’s egg-white skin scrape against my face. she’s beginning to slowly peel. the chimes’ fury. wishing the water in my mouth wasn’t so dry still.

i open my eyes.

i’m standing in the parking lot with fingernail marks in my palms and shoes that suddenly don’t fit. and it’s snowing.

I hear that sibilant inhalation from two walls across, and I think that maybe it’s the stairs that he’s coming up. The sentiment being that the only thing not being sown is that being reaped. Well, funnily enough there’s twelve messages for each inkling of perception, each one a bullet. The entire right side of her face was covered in the slick of human vitality, the afterbirth of a brain gone awry. The leary squid that jumps the tank. The watchful sparrow flitting from its branch when the armor staggers through. Yet to say that there was singularity of action is truthy, truthy, truthy, if not an outright lie. In a joyous escape from the ivory confines, the cranial cobbler leapt in unison, little shreds of consciousness darting from their viscous bath. And all down the right side of her face was it. The nasal sweep of air I hear is nothing but the vacuum in my ears. The red. Love it.

Well, originally this wasn’t even supposed to be that which has been done in its entirety. Not unlike them, they, those, their doses, it was an unprescribed eventuality in which none of the survivors of the fire escaped the second floor without a little scar of some kind, to remind them of their allegiance to their carcinogenic memories. It was doubtless, guiltless, and completely without form, like some kind of rich chocolate cake that seems like butter coated in cocoa. In fact it smacks smokily of such, looking back on the splinters in your hands and knees from doing the four-on-the-floor tango as quickly as you pleased across a ruination quite uniquely human until a man wearing rubber of some sort beat in the barrier of your life with a wedge on a stick. Quite unromantic, at that, although the cockroaches are certainly all gone. Nuclear blasts and infernos are unlike eachother. Tended to see eye to eye on a lot of things, you and the Governor. Sacramento is death. Yeah, it’d be easy to end there with death draped over the period- some kind of pathetic little statement-maker awaiting a beating from Daddy Logic. Too bad, isn’t it? That burn you feel?

Today, there were many thoughts coursing through my infantile mind (small like a lizard though it be). Foremost among them was the impulse to bring to the masses a new and formidably beauteous Art Form, a thing of unparalleled modernity and streamlined functionality, something that while improving upon the boundaries of technology also steamrolled the previously thought to be boundless limits of form. Then, I decided it would be too much work, so instead I went to the local cinema to see what was playing. Obviously we here in Nuremberg need to research alternative options for screenplays.

                      or maybe just see a therapist.