Chapter 15

Lifting the veil

Urges

Open eyes, because of aching hunger, I swallowed air, but nothing happened, five days straight I needed to feed on more than fantasies and illusions. It was time to choose another path than the bed of green wet grass, I had to get up

Mechanical movements, sprouts of pain, I was indeed in no mood for walking, with my blue old shoes in a tangle I got my swagger on, walking through a wasteland of yesterdays papers, nothing else to see but an lonely old shadow hiding in the darken park . Afraid of the sun he was, hiding in the complex world of self deception. Nothing more has to be said about this lonely tune playing in grief for his own sadness...

Chapter 14

Postponing the utopia

A self claimed prophet

Slow-motion is a word that I like, because it´s the opposite of swiftly, hasty decisions makes the future delicate and out of structure, you can’t foresee things if you move thru life like a preacher hooked on acids, so I choose to cool myself of in the bathtub of reflection trying to get my own thoughts in some kind of perspective but as due to an self observing absent I often drown myself in the waters of abstract self admiration. In the house of mirrors I was known as the prophet, self claimed, but still I lived my life among much appreciated gospels. In my inner state of change and self deception I could see myself standing on the mountains preaching for the masses. I was glorious, and I swallowed the admiration with no hesitation, people were in awe over the infamous powers I got from my visions, when I spooked it was for souls dedicated to listen, with my voice I made them reminiscing. But soon, wicked and mean, I tried to murder them with vocabulary linguistics; it seemed that my loath for them was stronger than the insights of my newly found wisdom and with odium I drove them to the ground with horror and awful fiction. In a moment not longer than a swiftly breeze, I had them in the pawn of my repressed envy.

But suddenly the vision ended, revealed by the depressing patterns of biological demands.

Chapter 13

In chains we prevail

Let´s get free

When I opened my eyes, returning to the present, I was breathing heavily from stress, the vision had taken its toll.

It’s like Rousseau once said Man was born free, but man are everywhere in chains. Or like Foucault who mentioned the culture as a self demanding prison. They both relate to the humans like inmates, and the world as an already presumed paradigm. We are living in organic prisons, were our own presumptions are carrying out our own life sentences.

Either we get trapped in ourselves or by thoughts of others; we are slaves under success and social hierocracy’s, and we destroy beauty for the chance to exceed or own expectations. I look at my hands and they are bloody from greed and exploitation, the scars a reminder of insights, won by a life of excitement free from the earliest steps of enlightenment. I keep my head buried in shame, for the egocentric being that I am, for all the years covered in narcissistic shadows, and still I can’t shed a light, I need to excel.

My Anger and grief needs to be dropped like bombs on humanity, in hope to shatter the rotten cells of agony, I need to release society from its chains, try to deceive it to arose from its slumbering hibernation, and cause an erosion of self-revelation.

Chapter 12

The dream

Of agony bigger than me

I couldn´t stand up yet so I just rolled over on my back, staring up on an almost perfect sky, it was the morning after the mental disaster and I couldn’t resist to smile despite the pain that I still felt inside. Deep breaths of morning dew cleansed my soul, and made me high on something else than the booze and the drugs, or was it because I hadn’t eaten for five days straight, I couldn´t care less if I should be honest because it still gave me visions, what I saw was nature in its own permissions.

Clouds of spun sugar that dances in the sky, beautiful but fragile flakes of snow that sprinkles a green ground white, acrobats in feathers making daring patterns accompanied by the sound of leaves that rustles in perfect harmony with the water that sings lullaby’s for the melting ice that slowly dies. I lost track of time, I felt neither stress nor hurry. My soul was flying in the restless skies of mine looking down on the acres of forsaken sorrows that had always hunted my mind and I cried imaginary tears that landed on a ground of contradiction. Trees sprouted from the tears that I wept; they grew taller than the walls, higher than the marks on my chest, erasing the stigma of incest. And I breathe, with ice in my lungs; I turn memories to sculptures that erupt thru the grounds and with my insanity I demolish them one by one. I am the procreation of the modern world, a ghost of missed dreams and eternal grief, with the proclamation stamped to my rugged chest.

Chapter 11

Pounding on nature

We are all sinners

So I strolled off in the morning sun, I could hear my stomach making its own thunder, I got this flashing images of a big storm inside of me, with heavy dark clouds and an acid rain that fell to the meaty ground within me, lightning’s striking my internal organs in a fierce speed, it hurt like never before, and I had to lean over taking deep breaths of air, or else I would have fallen. My legs were shaking and I couldn’t even open my eyes nor scream the pain was beating its drum inside of me. I felt totally drained of all powers, just like an infant, or no let me rephrase that, an infant could do a lot more than I could right at that moment, I was beyond birth I was as helpless as a blind crippled kitten sleeping on a freeway. The pain fooled with me, made me beg it for mercy, it was embarrassing, and I could feel the tears rolling through the wilderness of my beard. And I begged some more, soon my whole body was shaking it’s almost a miracle that I didn’t started to talk in tongs, after all that shaking and begging, but I didn’t instead I fell to the ground like a beaten ox and soon a cloud of dust surrounds me. And I passed out; exhausted and tormented I was put to sleep before noon had gone to eve.

When I woke up I hadn’t any idea of the time, but it was still morning I could tell, because the park was still empty resting in its own scenery waiting anxiously for the vultures to come and reclaim it, the children, the joggers all of the inhabitants of this god forsaken city. They all feasted on this place, with all of their deadly sins hanging like a chain around there throats of neglects.