Experimental Piece

Graelwyn · Myrrdyn Joined: Dec 21, 2006 Age: 34 Posts: 8667

I wrote this last year as a sort of experimental piece of writing...it is pretty abstract.

I can hear the wind blowing, rattling drainpipes as I sit here staring at the screen. Who am I? Bones, scrap of sinew and red heart, pulsing love. Is it really red? I have not stopped to look lately. Bottle of Amaretto; liquid gold waiting to coat my throat. Nothing is at is seems. Cold façade. Eyes echoing promises of more to come. It never comes. I lift a hand and study the lines and ridges of my nails, trying to find a pattern. If only life were so neatly organised. Organised chaos. Screwed up tissue of too many tears. The mirror sneers at me, mocking my hungry eyes. ‘Who are you?’ The words ricochet off the walls and strike me thrice. Many lessons to learn. Always so many lessons and suffering is lessons. Every lesson is suffering. That is the spiritual way, isn’t it? My lips twist into a sneer as I stare at the screen. Spiritual people are full of jealousy and bile, the same as any other members of this flawed humanity. Never presume it is otherwise. A shallow bowl. The ground rushes up to greet me. It is always the same. Blood red shadows dance before my eyes, forming Rorschach shapes. Is that a butterfly? I pluck off the wings, sucking our the colours. Negativity reaps negativity. Smile and be happy, they say, spewing out their platitudes. What do they know? Without the dark, there is no light. “It is all about balance, my dear”, the blind man says.

How are you finding living in the rat race? The clock stretches, its numbers contorting wildly. Time is what it is all about. Alarm clock screaming in the morning, ‘Go to work, money, money, time is money!’ Is that the sum of our lives? The image of a coffin imprints itself on my mind. Then what? Rotten, maggot-ridden bones, buried six feet under? Pearly white gates, inviting us to an eternal Heaven where all is perfection? It is a nice delusion for the masses, is it not? My eyes find the large pile of books beside me. Spirituality for the masses. You too can ‘learn’ psychic abilities! Speak to the dead! Heal your soul! Fools. What you learn from books is already known. There is nothing new to learn! My eyes narrow as a young academic sniffs with superiority. Unenlightened souls. I am surrounded by them, They cast shadows in the dimmest light. Knowledge is experience. Experience is knowledge and you know nothing.