Sunday, August 12, 2007

Life. Lies. Bleeding. A Detective Story.

I hear a knock at my front door. It's the local Constable. They've found me dead down the street, by the creek. It's my spot, you know? I like to sit there. Well, not anymore. Now I'm dead and the Constable thinks I did it. He turns me around like I've written so many times before, turns me around and pushes me against the wall and spreads my legs and I'm laughing a little at the familiarity but only a little, mostly I'm thinking...

Mostly I'm thinking, I'm dead. And they think I did it.

********

[we were talking you see]

There's a Cypress tree which sits beside the water in a part of my dream which I rarely visit these days. But I still know how to get there. And these bars which surround me, these bars which you associate me with, they don't hold me, nothing holds me. Not even your happiness can hold me. Do you understand?

No. [I am sad here]

It doesn't matter. All that matters is you know where I have gone, all that matters is that you can see it, that place we shared. Those moments in the night. When your fire set me free. When I danced as smoke. When...

Stop it. Stop the words. You worship these fucking words and I'm fucking sick of it. Fuck if I could pull apart every word, rip it open, skin it alive, get to the fucking meaning, split the whole fucking library apart and squeeze the fucking life out of them all, down to one fucking word, just so I could shut you all the fuck up with all your fucking words, your fucking shallow intellectualism, your desperate attempts at immortality, your ham fisted fallacy, your lies, your loves, your fake blood drip drip drip on the fucking page, just fucking STOP IT WITH YOUR FUCKING WORDS I CAN'T FUCKING TAKE IT ANYMORE NO MORE FUCKING WORDS NO MORE FUCKING WORDS NO MORE FUCKING WORDS...[I am angry here]

There. It is done.

And we were free.

********

What the Hell does that mean, When We Were Kids?

It was a name of a band once. A band that never was. But in me, it held a key, it opened the door to some writing I did which I gave to myself just before...

Just before what?

Before we fought. Before I walked out on me.

Interesting. He writes it down. We're not so different, he and I.

I finger the letters we carved in the wood all those years ago, When We Were Kids. God I can almost laugh about it. But there's blood now. On the tree, on the grass and on my hands. Or so they say.

I turn my back on it, walk up the hill to the Constable.

********

Now and then it keeps you running
Never seems to die
The trail's spent with fear
Not enough living on the outside
Never seem to get far enough
Staying in between the lines
Hold on to what you can
Waiting for the end
Not knowing when
Let the wind take your troubles away...


What is that?

Son Volt.

It's nice.

Yeah, I love it.

I'm going to miss you.

I'm going to miss you too.

It's time.

*********

He leans over the table, Just tell me Matty.

I look him in the eye,

I am Telling

I am Told

I am Done

Being Bold

I am Tired

I am Tough

I am Burning

I am only..

I am only what is left,

and what is left is Truth

for I swear Officer...

Fuck how I swear.

I haven't seen myself in a very long time.




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