Volume Two

Cement

by Sascha Fink

My brain wins and loses and creates and destroys and cheats and lies and loves and has ideas that change the world, keeps itself whole and functional, breaks down with warning, cries havoc and burns the grasslands down to the scorched earth because it was ignited by a single spark of divinity from inside the self. Or maybe from outside the universe. It collapses in on itself because its ache weighs as much as the whole of humanity.

They talk all of us into using cement inside to give it sustainable form. To make us like them because they see different is not better and no one is to be better than anyone else. And we want to be like them because that’s what we’re told is right. But the cement they use isn’t nature’s cement. It goes in too fast and expands too quickly as it sets because they don’t pay attention and it cracks and splinters into pieces that fall to the floor for the men and women of letters to sweep up and puzzle back together. But the cracks that emerge can’t be patched and there are gaps that stop some ideas from traveling from here to there and back again sharing information because they can’t jump the distance. And it is these cracks that seal our fate in their world because they offer a perspective that is treacherous to the natural way of things and such things can never be thought of as normal.

The cracks let in small splendors of light…the umbra stresses the hidden corona inside that those who have no cracks mistake for wickedness because their sustainable form is whole and uncorrupted.We fight the light. We fear the light. We want the cracks filled and the solidity that comes with the sustainable form everyone else has ignoring the possibilities given to those who have even their path partially illuminated. It is their egotistical mistake that creates the opposite of what they intended for the unique and the damned.

So we wait for the cement to be brought by angels with bleach white needles as we beg for a blue pill and the black draught that wakes us up and spews the poison from within and from without. We smoke and shake and wait for the dilation and curate to rid us of normalcy’s rape. Many wait for the angels to scour away the skirmishes from inside of our minds as they become heavier and heavier, eyes darting and swaying blindly from the unbearable fog.

And we sit and we rock and we fall into ourselves caught in a maze of memory and garbage, vomit and vitamins, love hate betrayal anger sex razors and knives slicing little notches into our soft skin the blood dripping creating cosmic chaotic patterns in the grooves. Searching searchingsearching for a way to shade ourselves from the blinding light that is ourselves and that is unique and that is dangerous. They darken their own path by accidentally lightening ours but never tell us the light is sublime.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Last Updated: 4/12/12