A contained disease

[Sepia]

"6 apparently has no distinct image." - Wikipedia on Daniel Temmet


The elephant man sits on the ledge of his bed, his one foot scraping at the raw dead tree under it while the other hangs dangling, might have been a beautiful picture, might have been something people would want to see, the elephant man sitting lonely and crying but no tears come out for there are no canals, there is no salt water left in his body and he feels his skin cracking and drying up like paint rushed in fast forward and the elephant man is tired, young and tired filled with despair and the entropy of the situation

The musicians have grown docile, lingering behind the machina that taught them, silken clad riders in charcoal and yellow, dispersed through the night in a scene from a movie made some time around the 1990s and they do not look back as they ride out and leave the castle behind them, they do not look at their wives or their pretties as they stand on the wall and watch for the grieving women have always accepted our creed in their hearts and have always stuck apart, the cluster of lonely souls there, moving to become smaller dots as the skies come crashing down into the world and the sky will fall into their hearts but the men ride and after half the day they speak of the desire to fuck and drink and are filled with the love of their newfound freedom and freedom it is as they chase the drums of war and there is a flaw in all of us that keeps us small, containable

Yes, you hear the rush inside your heart as you read, you know this and you've heard it before but you want to hear it again for it makes you feel something, something beautiful is dragged inside the corridors of your mind and you hear the chains rattle and the balls knock over vases and other inhabitants and you want this rush, this temporal loss of control where you can give in to the mind you've created yourself unknowingly for you always view your actions retrospectively, everything is past you tell yourself and we've been made to be containable

By ourselves. Not a hard concept to grasp is it? Quite natural too. You can be larger than life but there's nothing in it for you untill you heed the call of the masses that drone your name and you want to stand there on the grand stage with thousands of fans knowing who you are for you imagine that during those hours you are complete because someone knows you

hears the faint whispers at night

Yet, that is also containable, isn't it? The census of the norm, the ideas that created revolutions and wars decades and millennias ago, they are part of your backbone now, they're a part of you as the revolutions and wars were uncontainable when they happened, the idea you have is that in the olden days they were all romantics and wars were fought over pretty faces while now you muse, wars are fought over oil, before that politics and before that religion. You've grown so accustomed to the idea of war that war is natural, hell, what you understood of Darwin in high school gives you a clear understanding of this, doesn't it?

The papers lie crumpled in the corridor, covered in white, scissors and rocks. The dreams they were given were small and the potlatch didn't last long, the cultures clashed and the dreams were all but satisfactory. In rare cases of a potlatch, tribes would raze and burn their village as an ultimate gift.

The predictability, synchronicity or just good oldfashioned dullness you experience every day isn't because you're like grant morrisons explanation of the Joker, an advanced idiot savant who has no personality but has to rebuild himself every day, what you experience you experience because it's what you chose, right? There is no difference between fate and free will, not as abstract concepts and not as that which you relate to the words, the stories and histories because they are both containable, you know the mechanics of how they work.

Bacteria.

[Kai]

Yes.

Except for the reference to Darwin.