Malo Mori Quam Foedari

Oh, you little king, checked and filled with momentous rage! Ponder your next move… Bound to lateral dimensions, you long to break free from your bored existence, surrounded by squares who view the world in black, in white, never your spectrum. Alas, the fight has gotten stale and you've tired of waiting for a better end to this game; now, part of you longs to occupy their terror, story it as your own. No, far more preferable to resign on your terms, before you conform to further defeat at their unseen hands, to fall with pride and not after dishonor.

Synæsthesia

What color, joy, to paint a smile on one's face? What sound, love, to throb and thrum with beating drum? What taste, desire, to tease tongue 'til reason's undone? What smell, happiness, to waft aromatic with memories of home?

What touch, to feel you?

I see what//I hear//what//I taste//what I smell

May I feel, too?

Babylonian Waters

• Miracles are what happen when we forget to remember reality as we know it, when we allow our schemas to topple, crumble, and fall away into dust.

I performed a miracle today. Twin rivers of saltwater streamed from dry eyes, washing away the hurt I felt inside.

• Miracles need to be observed, recognized, confirmed. They need a body to witness them, to go forth and testify.

I cried in public today. This miracle was chronicled in the consciousness of another, perhaps to be forgotten in the days to come; perhaps to be remembered when the waters rise again, when I forget to remember what I think I know.

A Stone's Throw

You still don't know how he got in, or even if he got into your cell at all. He might've just gotten into your mind to do some time. He brought light with him but it wasn't strong enough to cover you. You remained in darkness listening to his soft, sibilant voice. The conversation between the two of you still has you locked up in those moments, even as you're being strapped in.


LB: How do you feel?
You: How the fuck do you think I feel?
LB: You're angry. You think you don't belong here.

You're silent. Perhaps he'll leave if you don't respond. However, you're lonely. He's the only person you'll see before the morning crowds your vision with uniforms and cameras.

You: Why are you here?
LB: Why are you?
You: I'm not guilty.
LB: Aren't you?
You: Look, man, everybody fucking changed their story!

Now, it's your visitor that's silent. You look over at his glowing form, wondering what it would be like to cast no shadow, to always walk in the light. Funny how your mind has time to dwell on such matters. Funnier still when you remember that all you have, for these fleeting moments anyway, is time.

You: You know. You know I didn't do it.
LB: You're right. I do know that.
You: You're not going to say anything, are you? You…you could get me out of here.
LB: I could. But, I also know everything else that you did.

To end the story here would mean…well, you know quite well what it would mean. And to go on would mean more opportunities, more validation for your sentence. Wouldn't it be better to end it here? Before you run out of stones to cast? That is, if you ever had a pile to begin with…

Noh Way

You smile because the fist up your ass unfolds into a hand, bowing the corners of your mouth into a tense parody of good humor. You are simultaneously puppet and manipulator, molding your own expressed emotions to obscure the tempest within.

Gute Nacht

Your bed is an untethered island, floating on a dream sea. Peering over the edge, the waves reflect nothing, forcing you to look deep within them, and ultimately, within yourself. You're distracted from your marine reverie by stars unseen, beckoning you from outside the blanketing clouds above: "Come, hear our whispered secrets. Sleep no more; awaken this night before the sunrise wipes the sky again and you forget our love."

You're alarmed by the rising strains of music from your speakers. Spotlighted in sun, you wipe the sleep from your eyes, trying—and failing—to focus on the blurred images of your rest. Your day begins again with another cycle of messages mixed and missed, as your fingers rhythmically flow across the keyboard, spilling words across your laptop screen. Done, your mouse scurries across your desk closing some windows, minimizing others.

The now empty screen seems to take up too much space; you feel claustrophobic. Turning away, motes of dust floating in a sunbeam remind you of something. Your bedroom window? You walk over, looking out at a paned view of the world. Muffled sounds tease your ears as your pupils contract in the glare of the sun. Your eyes wander with your mind while you wonder aimlessly about bullied stars being chased from the sky's playground by the sun. How strange that you can't see what you know is there.

Con-CERN

Moving from one event horizon to another, it's easy to get trapped in the moment, eternally staring back at where you came from even as your feet are pointing to where you'd like to be going. You twist 'round, watching the halo of light in front of you, and wondering when you lost yours. Far above Terra, Heaven is still nowhere to be seen and the only thing felt is a vacuum matching the void inside you. But, don't worry, all things in good time and everything in its right place: Eventually, abhorrent Nature will fill you up, feel you up, fill you in, color within your lines, scribble outside and past the boundaries of your yesterday. Eventually. For now, enjoy the still life. You're still living, after all. This is just one page out of the biophysics textbook describing your life.