Obituaries: Heat

[Sepia]

I am drowning. The world flickers off and then flickers back on again, a fault in the leds that illuminate reality. I can feel the smell of blood and the gravel in my mouth, I can feel the hope running out from under my feet and I can feel myself getting lost in the earth. I can feel myself drowning down towards the molten core, I can feel myself tossing in sleep, I can feel the empire still breathing, still waiting and yearning, I can feel the machine in my belly going slower as we stripmined the oil and I get the feeling that time is moving way too fast and the war never began, it was a coup that started in our brains but ended in our hearts.

The cigarettes burn our throats and there's no more weed to make us shake it, we've grown tired from the drink and the pills, we've grown tired of the life we are living, we've grown tired of all our hopes that entail a better life, we're weary to our stomachs because of all our failures, everything we didn't act upon and everything we acted upon but wrongly because we as a whole and as an individual didn't know better but we felt it when we felt the machine in our bellies hum in a different key, when we felt the abyss open up in there, the black star shining inside our intestines, showing us how puny we are as we descend into the fire underneath the earth

We feel the skin hunger grappling us, chaining us down and taking us apart, we feel the burdens of our lives tax heavy on our shoulders, vexing our skin and like they were marks of cain, the rash spreads throughout us as we drown for none of us is trying to reach another, no one is trying to grasp for something that would make it worthwhile, a distant thought on distant shoulders in a faraway land. The fingers bleed as we touch the world but we shut our wounds on the stovetop, burning our memories into the skin where all of life is fixated, the terrible nightmare, the horrible symphony, the backdrop of which all great stories are plaid out upon, seven in the number

We are clawing for reason and understanding, thinking them to be the virtues we should all possess but they are too small gods, too impotent to work in reality where we slide downwards through the skin of everything, the deserts are screaming the names of the lost in our voice and the heat is going back up, the föhn bringing madness to the city, all the men and women walking sweating, forgetting who they were when the weather was cold, living only now in this place inbetween, this twilight twixt where the asphalt develops pores and nerves and we see it as we watch our feet, we see the blood from the wailing city when we get lost in it

[the last yatto]

[navkat]

That was really quite good.

Thank you for that.