Obituaries: Bones

[Sepia]

It takes a special kind of man to skin an elephant and even if you find a man with the skills to do it, you still have to go looking for the one with a soul to do it. We drive around town looking for dealers out on the streets, everyone we know is in prison or quit or died and the cops have been busting asses all summer and everyone who used to bust kneecaps round friday night aren't where they used to be, they aren't in their haunts and the lack of these people make the city feel haunted. It's hot and summer and we here can't take the sun too well, we drown inside our skin in a scandinavian madness as we long for the autumn, dreaming we're somewhere else.

We need to meet her now, we need to do what we haven't done. We must put it into practice and see how it works. All of life is a series of experiments and when you're down and depressed just remember that for the time being your manual is written in a secret code and all you have to work with is depleted uranium and one of those small toysets you got as a kid. We need to see her again, perhaps touch her or sample her hair for proof of what our eyes have seen but which our mind will doubt at a later stage

which is a miracle but it was only we who saw it, it was only us that realized what this was, to us, to the world and to everything we are connected through and we ended singing, stranded on a rock somewhere in the ocean and a god saw upon us and laughed and cursed us so that everyone who saw us would see what he desired the most and all communication and thinking had to be done while singing and we rode the ships into the rocks and we were the doomed but we saw those who drowned there and grandfather death became like a brother to us and we felt the same way about the children which washed upon our shores and it wasn't apathy but we had seen this before so many times

and the catacombs reeked of death, reeked of the filth and the shit we smelled and drank, what we were as we sat on the graveyard, the only place we could drink and smoke in quiet in our late teens and respect was something we didn't have even though old people died like flies, death wasn't even a concept as we celebrated oscar wilde. there was a stench there in that graveyard but one time when we had gotten our hands of some mushrooms I realized the stench didn't come from the place, it came from us and what I saw that moment is something I'll never see again but what I felt

The city transforms, growing skin and orificies over the asphalts and the buildings and we're walking inside her now but we still can't see her but we feel broken glass being dragged through our marrow and time feels right

[navkat]

<3