Tuesday, November 18, 2008

"There's a beautiful war going on up there", he says.
And I say "Yeah", because I want to ignore him but I still turn to face the sky and together we watch as great grey cavalries of clouds gallop fast across the emptiness above as beneath it all I sit and smoke and pretend to be cold, and heartless and tough. As though the death of the sun means nothing to me. As though I don't want to grow wings and join her up there, to die beside her with honour. As though I can't see the black battalions looming on the horizon, rotten reinforcements ready to roll, to move in, to occupy the night after her death. And when they do, to hurl their rain as a dead army upon me, the lost brothers of my tears returning home as they spin an erratic dance, falling to earth and collapsing on the road in sad, silver pools.
So I sit and smoke and pretend to feel nothing.
"The darkness always wins," he says.
I can tell he didn't think when he said it. I can tell he threw those words away. More waste to sit upon, more junk to pass the time. That's all this is, isn't it? To him, to them, to you? More fucking junk, a bottle, a paper, a word, a feeling hurled as venom or spat as spite. I smoke. My stomach starts to roar and when it does I smoke to keep sane, to feed fire to the demons which scratch within, to keep my hands busy so they won't do what I am afraid of them doing. And in the meantime I watch the crimson courage of the sun fail, and the beauty of her death, and feel her warmth leave us behind, to be reborn in another, better place, and I listen to his drivel and for a brief moment I believe him, the darkness always wins. I believe him and that's what hurts the most, or does it, or will it, or god the stomach pains have started, which means, I'm confused - and you're in danger. The darkness always wins? 
I decide to clench my fists. The darkness always wins? 
I'm shaking as I take the last few drags from my dying cigarette.
Dying, dying, dying sun, dying smoke, dying boy, dying day, dying hair, dying, frying this fucking lying prick who sits beside me. THE DARKNESS ALWAYS WINS? 
What are you trying to tell me here, that I am naught, that we have no Hope? That all this light is for nothing?I look around for a stick but I can't see one. I look at my hands, and they still haven't healed, but I don't care anymore, because, what is it you said? The darkness always wins? No redemption? No matter where I turn - no matter what - I lose, you lose, we all lose? Is that what you meant with your pathetic throwaway one line wrap up of fucking life? Your one fucking sentence, you fucking cunt, you fucking want the fucking darkness to win? 
I feel my eyes go white. And I can feel him turn toward me and I don't want that just yet. I want to begin with a little light. My idea of a joke see? Why I think I'm funny. A little light amongst the dark to make the point - you see?  
"Look!" I say, and I flick my cigarette.
He watches the sparks tumble down the hill in cartwheel celebration and he sees the light and as he does I turn and punch his fucking face over and over and over. He cries in shock as I punch him again and again and again. And there's a light, alright, there's a light tonight that'll frighten you bright, and it's funny I think as I kneel over him now, on the grass, beside the sea, my knees on his elbows, keeping him down where he belongs and I'm punching that fucking ugly fucking face in for all he's fucking made me do, and all the times he's complained, and all the times he's been weak, my pussy fucking friend, who has nothing to say but, the darkness always wins? And I scream, I'll fucking show you, you cunt, and each time I hit him I notice his blood dances and leaps and sings around us, it's fucking musical man, it's beautiful man, your fucking blood is a fucking musical man, and I try to hit harder, in time, a rhythm, don't you see, to jump higher to the song that I hear, you'd like it if you could see it from this angle, I'm sure. I wish I could show you, you know? I mean, I'm not crazy, I just want this moment, this golden tune, this perfect musical now, I want it, I want to hold it, to cherish it, to kiss it, to fuck it, to marry it, to smell it, I want to UNDERSTAND IT, shut up, no I don't, YES I DO, I want to know why it's silver, why is it silver? Are we in heaven, have I risen above this never ending Hell, are we in a cloud, my angel, are we singing a song on silver harps with notes that land as drums beside us?No, wait, it's the rain falling around us. The curtain, the end, oh god no, I'm sorry, it's me, isn't it? 
My fault and the rain to show me. 
A weak, snivelling sky, emptying itself of its remorse, as my violence does, so I scream goodbye as I beat him one more time.
I want to punch your fucking face, I want to punch your fucking face.
He's crying of course.
So am I, of course.
I want to punch your fucking face.
I want to punch my fucking face.
So I can find my fucking way.
The rain falls heavier. It beats upon my back with no thought of me.
I hold my hand to my face and feel the blood and cracked bone.
I roll over and onto the grass.
I fall asleep and do not dream.

I never, ever, dream.

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