a true story of sorts dear reader. slightly embellished, but true nonetheless.



She Sings Event Horizon

to be alone is the fate of all great minds
-a fate deplored at times,
but still always chosen as the less
grievous of two evils - Schopenhauer

She is worshipped.
They are lined up, nearly bursting
to see, to hear, to experience her singing redemption as if it were
proof or approval.
A valediction attesting to the reality of their emotions
and dispelling the fear that they may have been imaginary.
She has a voice that kills or rather
makes you want to embrace pain.
Fading away to that silky voice slinking through my head
leaving subtle deposits of solace;
deep, profoundly inspiring.
A paradigm of melancholy washing
over in purple nighttime waves.
Calming, cold.
Striking, soothing, sensuous uplifting.
The crush of gathered bodies promising
their eternal love in return for her voice,
moarnful bliss.
The barely contained passion of this growing
mass threatens to destroy the theatre's very foundations.
A mingling assemblage flashing smiling pristine teeth
in a murmuring thunderstorm of controlled laughter
dancing on the threshold of hysterical giddiness
with the unsteady movements of the fallen-in-love.
I can nearly feel, physically,
the excitement stirring on the cusp of a revelation,
the impression of foreign sojourning air
freeing fur-feathered birds from a stagnant sleep.
A whisper of the fantastic unknown, innerspace charged with restless ions humming an invisible subatomic mosaic in Brownian motion.
Unseen activity skin deep inciting
gooseflesh to surface and the little hairs to riot along my arms and the nape of the neck .
A permeating energy cajoling a warmth, a vibe,
a common joy i've never before witnessed
yet now it occurs in and all around me, through me,
like magnetic fields in orgasm
spastic and enamoured with hyperactivity.
Forces of energy forming a slow whirlpool,
picking up speed and momentum and pulling my mental clarity with it,
expanding my consciousness dreamlike in all directions.
A dizzy churning of faces i recognize impossibly.
Like past lives.
Former glory and sorrow bottled in a surreal melange of infinate familiarity
flowing throughout the realization
of never having seeing these faces before now,
spiralling through milky strands of possibilities like a web, pearlescent and inviting in sunbeam truths.
And a sense of belonging swells towering,
and spills over the walls of forbidance
removing me from fear until, filling the room,
heavy, no heavier, than gravity
She sang.
She sang in sweet sombre.
Her voice coating like syrup,
simmering and stewing around and past, neon unseen undercurrents, deep chords.
Sucking fulfillment out from hardship
and leaving something unattainably more subtle,
more total in its place.
Leaving me alone now and alienated among these bodies
this rushing river of tangeable achievement
and deepest loss.
Overwhelming me with strange feelings, unspecified urges.
Unprepared-for suggestions, pervasive and impossible to relate.
Sirenic lashings of languid power like the licks and flickerings of a tongue dripping Nirvana.
A miracle flogging me
disguised in mundane fashion
dressed in tears and guile, innocence and victory
eluding words, making them inept, clumsy.
And at the heart of it all, lurking always
in the shadows and the bleeding edges of blurred panoramas,
a loneliness, xenomorphic and paralyzing,
a torturous consuming terrible need to fill in my empty space,
for a warm body to share these feelings,
this ecstacy, these vibrations.
The skin's yearning to trade carresses with another intelligence rich with attracting intoxicating femininity.
Sultry glimpses of mischievious temptation
and the spell lets up on its long leash of paralysis
to let me gaze upon sariphs.
and once again i'm spiritually wounded.
So many angled faces defying symmetry as they redefine its perfect illusion.
Alluring intelligent lucid eyes
threatening to swallow me up, strike me dead
with overloading longing, desparation.
I've never gazed on such sensuous mouths' faint partings
where the whisper of Xanadu drifts out to encircle
my helplessness and spear it to the ground.
Such systematically diverse curvatures
of pale throats, gradual bends and arcs in transcendant apogees.
Slow sloping clefts joining noses
and those full red pink black chains of
sexually enslaving lips.
Sculpted faces synchronized with framing locks of dark hair
soft like cats, like ropes molded in moonbeams, frosty with luminous beauty.
These supernatural-seeming angels
surrounding and staggering beauty's concept
with a singularly cosmic aprobation
leaving me reeling to deal with the
consequences of glimpsing perfection.
A beast implanted in my heart ripping with despairing claws,
chewing on my sad ventricles and atria.
I'm soaked in a power
drowsy like a fog stealing sunrays,
monochromatically sapping the sky
of pastels and transforming them into
slates, charcoals, violet like night killing colour
shrouding the world, twilit mists swirling time
and for an instant, a glimpse of destiny's darting eyes and the possibilty of
maintaining an arm's length from interaction with them.
And I sink lower into what has the taste of dream you cannot wake from.
A nightmare you don't neccessarily want to wake from,
cringing in the bald face of dawn.
Her voice bares me in full,
slowly converting my essence into the Liquid Diamonds she sings of.
Molecular-level fireflies glowing
and dissolving into something like fairydust
settling over me like a shimmering snow
all silvery and sighing.
And she sings like a bell
shattering me with sense-blitzing force
picking me up, unfettered, as a bee
fat and fuzzy in an Oz-like cyclone.
Refusing to let me forget home by paving the way back
with grey monolithic sadness.
Strapped to this chair watching dreams unravel before my eyes.
Wanting to let spring tears
and keeping them inside not daring into
presumptuousness and refraining from
imposing on the tears already pouring free
from all these eccentric vixens
exotic, shunning cheerleader molds.
Soul-starved-searching women i know must harbor feelings and sensations
dripping with poignancy that dwarf my own,
demoting my loneliness to a much lower rank.
My feelings insult the colours of their hearts.
I'd never dare to ration away from such an intrinsic joy of sadness and sorrow's fumblings.
I'll reabsorb my salty inclinations
in a well deep inside me
where they can pool and lay dormant
awaiting a turn to stone to
crack and shrink, re-expand
in changing weather to finally crumble
in the cursed and presumtuous prison of my own advent.
Deep down burried with everything else
with nothing for my bereavement to lay with
and hold onto, become, share.
Just a spreading petrification like a virus.
Hoarded with a dragon's zeal to overwhelm me
from the inside out.
Crowding around my heart, poised, an assassin
waiting, numbing, tainting, but saving that heart for last.
That weak and crippled, diluted
stuttering, hooded feeble heart
awaiting a blissful salvation from my
suffering homage,
a solemn surrender into itself
into a grave of my own cultivation.
The only plot I could ever hope
to achieve such totality and refinement,
my anguish finally worthy and appeased within my own barony, my own body, my own brain
my own chosen burden.
The soul province where my voluntary ostracism
can more than nourish me
where grief and love are fine robes of fire
unquenchable and isolated from invaders of mercy.
My grim gates closed black and pointed with vanity
cruel barbs sharp and ready to impale.
Stoic, spearheaded sentinals on guard,
silent and ankle-deep in the random bones
of my undisciplined urges.
The casualties of my conscience strewn about,
lifeless bodies of cowards who tried traitorously to flee my sanctuary during the besiegment and now lying twisted and broken,
all victims to the pain and empty love caged and fortified, jealously owned with awesome ambition.
The dream of a peaceful disposition
now free to mourn, undisturbed by guilt or movement,
claiming the throne of my atonement.
Satisfaction I've waged desparate war for.
I am an island amidst wasted plains,barren and desolate voids,
dry lands I once resided in now forsaken and terrible.
Morbid protection from the world
until my honed and consentrated wretchedness rises, blaing to a searing radience
a monstrous release
of pent up negativity, critical mass emotional exodus.
The product of my life finally let loose
on my terms in blinding brilliance.
Supernova of solidarity sublime and bolstered
becoming exponentially-endowed destiny.
A supreme transcendence
and She sings a chain reaction
heralding my self immolation with a crescendo
of harmonics rendered in megatons.
Fanfare like atomic drums
assailing the world in waves of vaporization
razing the universe from my oasis of
harnessed apocalypse the Big Bang eating up the spineless enemies
fleeing the assured swiftness of Event Horizon,
my world eater impetus.
And at that time when the universe dies
will the underlying faith in my abstainence
of life shield me from prescribed doom?
Will the prized possession of unmatched
arrogance yield a final insult?
Will I emerge as a pheonix?
Perhaps I'll be the only surviving evidence of a reality collapsed or so deformed
from that time that I'll cease to represent
anything at all.
And perhaps in another plane in another
time and space I can fade with and into you
and relish all these emotions in a
unified ecstasy of expression.
Her singing stops and I will never know
but I'm forever scarred, polarized and
imprinted with perminent wounds
to be cherished over skin
rubbed and re-lived.
Creation and obliteration savoured in an endless repetition.
Deified, she sings Event Horizon.