Thursday, 21 January 2016

For Sleeping. (anti manifesto, transitional terror).

Last night. I couldn't sleep. I was very glad when I saw you had fallen asleep. And I was very glad when I heard all these eyes closing. Eyes everywhere, falling asleep. And the eyes were over the water. And eye after eye fell silent. And they were counted. and closed, counted and closed, counted abd closed.

**

Sometimes when I need to sleep I listen to someone's voice, and I reach out to whatever my mind can imagine. Last night. It was an audiobook of the last Sherlock Holmes story. At the end of it there is this: "There's an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew on England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a good many of us may wither before its blast. But it's God's own wind none the less and a cleaner, better stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared.". I lay there and your eyes made a closing sound. And I thought about that bile and all the people it hated. And your eyes snapped back and forth behind their lids: pop, pip,pop,, pip. And then I found an audiobook of Das Kapital. The chapter on the Working Day, where there seemed to be endless floatillas of passages describig women of different ages compacted into agonies and boxes, working themselves dead. No. Not that. Snapping eyes. Being worked to death. Only I wasn't hearing it. It was in my dreams. My eyes had gone. Every dream was thousands of bodies crushed and stamped together. All of us writhing and twitching. Eyes bolt open. It's raining. I don't want to walk with you alone by the sea.

*******

Sometimes the sun is there

when you wake up it goes
into your eyes

a jar of water
a helpless moan  The clamour
is disgusting

you move through
the stations
                      ,  filth

read of it

lie there

not speaking

                        whilst
your failings
gloated

                        whilst
siren, flea

shut up. The sun, the sun
never say it

foil
shut up.

Constant clamour.

I become ruthless, depthcharge

heretical blame
chard of flags.

Then go alone
into the sun.

                         No.

I do not want to walk through this door to stay inside that door to remain out here between them I do not want to have to move I want to see no one I want to be alone I want to see anyone everyone I want my time taken or given back I hate the cold and the heat the scabs and ridges wrists wrists everywhere are wrists I want something back something gone no returning no extending no doors and every door. Sick of sick of what take me away take back my time my agency I want it gone // was born in the wrong body the wrong world its climates can not drop out of. What is the i-body, wait.

& when I am told I have
no enemies something
happens to my blood. My mind.
Surround me
and celebrate
what is there to
do to celebrate.

The broken voices, Jesus...

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