A purple shade of sabotage

Up and over and over and out. Diving from flesh I emerged freshly spittle wrecked, chased by creatures con­jured up by the warped reflec­tion of someone I no longer regard or recall, and a someone from whom I would no longer recoil if only I had the strength. But not me, right? Never me, right?

I crashed face down onto barbed tendril wires at one minute past five on the dot. It’s the new morn­ing, the same old morn­ing, with dawn break­ing in through men­tal twi­light and the song­birds gasp­ing and chok­ing on smog, pet­rol fumes, even belch­ing bleach. My eyes encrus­ted and my skin damp. Drenched, held under­wa­ter until I bloody well learn to behave.

My darkened dreams were once more immor­ally stained, pulled apart by slav­er­ing hounds on the edge of the heath. Good as gold, them dogs. Good as fuck­ing gold. They blooded the boy, smeared him with the kill. In that moment I was unwill­ingly ini­ti­ated into the broth­er­hood, the sis­ter­hood, and most of all the silent neig­bour­hood that dare not speak of its cata­logue of dis­asters. I was destined — still am destined — never to speak of what’s gone down, what’s going down, what’s slip­ping down, even as I try to throw it up in the shape of furballs.

I don’t have the words to describe, so I stretch out some­body else’s hands, grasp their wrists, blood them in turn to make them part of this cease­less and cir­cu­lar hunt, then force their fin­gers to cling onto coiled and sprung nettles so they can pull me towards a clear­ing. I’m an uncar­ing bas­tard. I kick them aside in my thoughts. But I’m a caring soul too. I carry them on my back as an integ­ral part of record­ing this exist­ence on my dusty reel to real, pre­serving it in the hope of a future gen­er­a­tion, a dis­tant rel­at­ive, who will pol­ish it up and listen in. Rapt. Or at least vaguely interested.

Only when the clear­ing comes, only when I see cumu­lus and jet trails do I finally pause and check my oxy­gen sup­ply, dis­cov­er­ing that over fifty years’ worth still remains, and that it’s full to burst­ing with fierce, unfor­giv­ing intent. It’s never going to stop pump­ing and breath­ing, wind­ing and weav­ing, deny­ing and believ­ing. And it’s never going to stop for­cing me back into that defi­antly purple light again and again and over again. So I may as well accept the inevitable.

Comments: 9

    damn.…

    paisley | 07.27.07, 02:46

    Stained furballs spit in purple smoke sig­nals onto the night­mar­ish sky are loud and clear to those acquain­ted with the sac­ri­fice. No con­cern neces­sary for the few that are sound asleep and undisturbed.

    Of course, in this light, I could be see­ing only and exactly what I want to see.

    Ani | 07.27.07, 03:09

    Some of this exist­ence is merely tran­si­ent, and some is as stead­fastly mono­ton­ous as orbital motion. It’s a true friend to stay around, yet a hate­ful enemy, in one. One that can’t be seen. Yet des­cends with the reg­u­lar­ity of clock­work to pay a nightly visit.

    another inhab­it­ant of this space once said “you are never alone. you are merely outnumbered”.

    Miles Away | 07.27.07, 10:42

    This is all about sex, isn’t it?

    Yes, I thought so.

    Melograna | 07.27.07, 14:36

    Yes, I think the inev­it­able is, well, inev­it­able. Deal with it. You might as well grab those wrists, get into the clear­ing, and not worry too much about whether you are an uncar­ing bas­tard or not. You are no more so than the oth­ers in the clearing.

    bohémienne | 07.27.07, 14:38

    Pais­ley — … and blast.

    Ani — That’s the advant­age of this hazy purple light, that you do see what you want to see. I think I shall redesign this site in purple.

    Miles Away — I am often out­numbered at such moments. By my own selves.

    Melo­grana — Obviously.

    Bohémi­enne — Yes, there a lot of bas­tards in this clear­ing. I think they might be hav­ing some sort of annual gen­eral meeting.

    An Unreliable Witness | 07.27.07, 14:40

    Bas­tards AGM!? Oooooh… good. Thought I might have missed it. Save a chair for me? Those meet­ings tend to be very well attended.

    bohémienne | 07.27.07, 15:23

    col­our­oftheday
    purpelie,
    and black. sun­light dap­pling in hazy rays onto tur­quoise water through a open­ing of mossy green cave roof. deeps of thought pro­filed in a pile of scraps, (cloth­ing), scrunched and softly breath­ing (seeit), left foreground(?)nestled against the music­ally res­on­at­ing stalagtitemites.

    eyeliketheimage | 07.27.07, 21:10

    barbed tendril wires? you may need a new mattress.

    callisto | 07.27.07, 23:25

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