Weapons Training

I AM THE ONE THEY WERE AFTER
AM I THE ONE THEY WERE AFTER
THE ONE THEY WERE AFTER I AM
WERE THEY AFTER THE ONE I AM
THE AFTER I AM ONE THEY WERE
I WERE AFTER THEY ONE AM THE
AFTER THEY WERE THE ONE I AM
ONE THEY WERE AFTER THE AM I
THEY AM THE ONE I WERE AFTER
WERE I AFTER THE ONE THEY AM
THE AM WERE AFTER THEY ONE I
AM I WERE THEY ONE THE AFTER
I AM AFTER THE ONE THEY WERE
AM I AFTER THE ONE THEY WERE
AFTER WERE THEY ONE THE AM I

                                             THEY 

                                                        WERE 

                                                                    AFTER 

                                                                                  THE 

                                                                                           ONE 

                                                                                                     I 

                                                                                                       AM

Minutes to Go

Ιf you wish to hide something

 it is simply necessary to create disinterest 

in the area where it is hidden.

Ι spent two months in the morgue

making time maps of the city.

What did the streets you walk look like yesterday? 

And the day before? A month ago? A year ago?

What store, what building was there that it isn't there now?

That second-hand book shop right opposite
to the old cemetery is not there anymore.

Unknown evenings and strange memories.

Cigarette smoke curling in black pubic hairs.

Pimples of light along naked thighs.

An old typewriter typing by itself

the story of the death of an iceberg.
The night was darker  than a bullet trauma
every road in the city  pressed close, suffocating.

The city was like Moscow in the wilderness

 like a total assault on the culture.

You're locked out of time

you've ran out of doorways

while revolvers aimed at you at any given time.

I was waiting  like a gun in a locker an old Colt 1911  that some retired Los Angeles detective  used to carry along with his badge in a dusty coat's pocket back in the 40s. I saw you take a bullet to the head.

Your body disappeared behind closing elevator doors.

But why after every last wound, was there always another one?

Don't let them see us.

Don't let them know who we are.

Don't let that out.

Minutes to go.

Seconds to go.

Squeezing the air that we breathe.

Minutes to go.

You have the wrong name and wrong number.

And I have not come here to explain or tidy up

you liars, you traitors, you apes, you dogs.

I have not come to explain 

how the blood and bones and brains and guts 

of a hundred million more or less gooks 

went down the drain in green piss.

We have had enough of your con and bullshit.

Don't let them see us, don't tell them what we are doing.

Don't let that out.

Minutes to go. Seconds to go.
From A go to B
(if you can find it)

Crab Nebula

I remember  the route I took
the day I drafted driving
I passed by
 iridescent lakes  and disused shafts
flaming refinery chimneys  and forgotten swamps 

 I encountered
frenzied alligators crawling  among broken glass
on the edge of  the slimy curbs

 I was blinded by
elaborate neon signs  outside of  decaying motels
I woke up
thinking I was
part of a circus act
with you shooting
bullets around my body
into the wall
making my outline

Chapter on Indifference

Tonight has been a rather special night

Brain pollution and hysteria dripped from the back of a trolley bus

This entire suburb is stricken by stable paranoia and

scarred memories, stored in tapes, for you to play and repeat

Your forehead's missing parts, and charts, and hearts

A sense of constant threat slowly begins to set in

On my chair, my second-hand existence is firmly stuck

Can't you hear all the blasts of disquiet in my heart?

Feelings sadistically extracted,

systematically suffocated in each other's identity

I'm a hostage of my very own emotional minefield

My pillow now dreams instead of me

All walls are in denial, all door knobs put me on trial

Hit by a ceiling conspiracy, dreams keep getting harsher

I'm not being me, so don't take it hard

Keep counting inanimate objects, bugs, and falling stars

And the bed will laugh, and the pots will huff, and the kettles will puff

The clock on the wall already screams enough

There's too much nothing,

though my mind will exhaust every brain cell

coping with

you

Stab me, Carole

We are characters in different books.

We'll never meet each other.

We are villains of different films.

We'll never shoot each other.

I'm the dreamer and you're the dream.

Excessive sunlight beam!

Oh, stab me, Carole.

With the sharpest blade in the world.

Oh, stab me, Carole.

Cos it's not going to be the first time. Twirl!

A cloud slicing the moon in half.

Your razor slicing, again, my heart.

Don't talk about destiny. These are lands without a place.

I'm the dreamer and you're the dream.

Excessive sunlight beam!

Oh, stab me, Carole.

With the sharpest blade in the world.

Oh, stab me, Carole.

Cos it's not going to be your first time. I'm sure!

Aim.
Stab.
Don't
miss.

Grand Mal

It's not déjà vu. It really can't be. You have experienced this once before. Just take a second to think about it. Try to remember the first time you felt like that. A sense of lightheadedness, nausea, and a handful of unusual and inappropriate emotions. This is called Aura. It's when an isolated area of your mind gets hit. It's just a matter of time until it spreads to your whole brain. The cause is more than obvious to you. The symptoms are unbearable though. It might last a few seconds or hours. Your odd, repetitive movements are pointless.

A few minutes later, you lose consciousness and your skeletal muscles tense. You're at the Tonic phase. Your fall cannot be avoided. And you've got only one place to fall. The soil is your home now. Seconds become years and the tick of the clock on the wall hurts your hearing. Even if you're still unconscious.

Then you start twitching, and every single inch of your body is shaking violently. That's the Clonic phase.

You realize that we're not after the same rainbow's end anymore. And that breaks your aching heart. And mine breaks into a million of pieces, right in front of you.

It's time to sleep.

The Door of Unhappiness

And it was like giving four sharp knocks at the door of unhappiness.¹

Yesterday was too early. Tomorrow is going to be late. Now is the time. A very special moment. Great and grotesque at the same time. The moment you realize who you really are. The moment you understand that you don't fit in this world. That you don't really care about what is going to happen in the next few minutes.

At first, you try to learn how to cope in a world that seems to prefer the norm. However, later you feel exposed, afraid, and indifferent. Wilderness becomes more acute as the time goes by. You can only experience distant voices and whispers, blurred imagery, and deafening car horns. The sun is extremely bright. Or maybe not. You cannot be sure. All your vital signs are low. Life seems to play in fast forward for you now.

You seem to react in a way that you always wanted to avoid, and then you realize that you're nothing more than a trite, consciously shallow person. All your efforts eventually focus on the deceit of yourself. You struggle to ignore other people's truthfulness and trust your own mind.

You're all alone now. And you can state this devoid of fear or doubts, because that's the only thing you can finally believe heart and soul.

¹Albert Camus - L’Étranger

Serpentes

The Snake: This carnivorous reptile that waits for its prey in a dark hole. Using its infrared sensitivity to track it down. It needs to survive. It needs to eat. You.

You can't get passed it. It will lure you into its nest, eventually. Once you get in, you can't escape. You can't escape the nest.

Somehow, you have to tackle it. The trap is in front of your eyes. Be proactive. Lift that heavy rock and smash its head. Now is the time. If you think about it twice, you will end up pushing daisies. But that's not your motive.

No, it's not. There is something inferior that motivates you. Use that motive. You know better. It's time for that breakthrough.

Lumiere

Overstimulated senses. A black hole capable of swallowing every emotion that gets in its way. A galactic beast that wants you to quit. No matter the consequences. A potent force that gives you nothing more than pain. Again.

There's a switch you have to flip. Within the city limits. You're searching for the switch. It will show you the way. The solution. The light. The joy.

Your tears touch the cold ground, while you walk. Always in the city centre. Your never-ending quest has just began. You can't escape now. You and only you have to finish this. No one can help.

Imagine a circle

You're on its perimeter

You spin like an electron

You want to reach the center

Someday you'll find your way

Your tears will dry

Your face will shine

The present will become past

No Reason Ever Was Given

Stranded outside in the rain.

Watching the trains go by.

There's nothing I can do to stop them.

I don't want to. I need a ride. With you.

Trains go by as fast as the thoughts on my mind.

Our heads touch each other. I think I can read your thoughts.

Mine are sealed, trapped inside my brain, encrypted in a language I can't speak.

I want you to help me. Unlock them for me. I know you can.