Saturday, June 5, 2004

gargoyle

i have something inward pushing me down that opens me up. there’s this feeling in me just fucking me in. i wanna know what’s going on this time, let’s go in. again.

a certain determination, a certain will that is; the certain perseverance, intuition, a gargoyle statue grins. he’s on the pinnacle, the very top, the summit of the skyscraper. the wind’s blowing, the sun’s blistering the skin; the clouds are ominous, his hand’s on his chin. what new threats does every day on the top hold? when will he fall like a weak, feeble being? this status quo greens in a summer’s time. ripe fruits bear a picking, a pulling out of the roots, a devouring to the lust, to the desire. stone held up will soon fall down. the world awaits below-that never-ending crowd. just hold your grip. . .and fall.

on top of this edifice, the wind blows like hell. the clouds fill the endless sky. gray dark peeks its eye. proverbial, it stirs a design. the rain falls, and the angels up in heaven are crying for nothing again. while they gently weep the lowly prowl. worms come from their dirt homes way down and prance in the falling tears. some seem to hope a fallen angel will land in their lap and show them the world. it’s too much well wishing, too much dirt digging. hope is an apparition; don’t you hear, hear it try to conquer all the fear? such an empty likeness to what is a human being. the gargoyle-stone tenure-can see them all. and the rain washes the dirt away. the rain washes the wishes and bangs a pitter patter with no avail. it’s an endless wail.

the gargoyle is broken, is destroyed by a thunderbolt. zeus flung that thing like no tomorrow, aimed it with intent. he wants to watch it go down. we go in and out, the angels’ incessant pout, zeus’s thundering bout. and down pours them tears; the worms down below are being drowned. they flounder like trout. flip flop, the water flows, grows ever-higher with each moment, each passing train of time. this time is a train hell-sent, bent on making wet all the fears. it’s not stopping till it falls off the tracks. the angels won’t let it happen any other way. the worms will feel the wrath to no end.

down falls it from the skyscraper, broken debris wettened, the gargoyle’s face seeing nothing but the coming ground. he sees the windows of the building flying by too fast, sees the drops of rain streaming down fast as him. with weight comes inertia, the speeding up of endless mass. statuesque, can you see inside the gargoyle’s burlesque? deep in there-that rock hard stone-is something soft like the touch of skin to skin. it’s all within. look past the superficial superfluous supercilious and see the supernatural, the anomaly, the alienation from the supersaturated greed. you’ll see once it falls and breaks to pieces.

the statue breaks on the lips of the ground and explodes to pieces. out from the gargoyle crawls a spidering thing, a naked, open king, a rex to rule this monarchy. the worms cover all around, the rain makes its sound, and here stands what you never see. what’s always covered by the temple, by the building-the physicality, the stone being, the hard exoskeleton covering.

the worms, stupid, feeble, idiotic imbeciles go about their way. two-handed, two-footed, one-hearted blackened machines, broken to this reality. blinded by greed, by success, by the sucking fiend of pride. they taste accomplishment from slaving for this resounding organized humanity, the society, the swallowing, grounding. for it they bleed, with open sores, and let go of themselves. servile insects, they slither into the ground, the covering dirt of this enclosed space and live with it all their lives until they die and are buried, forgotten names which had no place but to continue what’s here. and i am this king, and i am supreme, and success-true-will taste upon my lips and i will give in to this and kiss it with my all. i will spit upon the sidewalk, i will walk and wear the reality and bend it to my will. it will surrender, insurrected, and i will live in the chains but will utter the forgotten names, and i will overcome and oversee and overanalyze. i will make everyone realize this immense potential and mesmerize all the worms. i, stone gargoyle, broken, ruined, destroyed, have been reborn. in my hand i hold this scorn, and with the words i shall shield, shall defend my given right to express this fight. i will make one of them angels up above fall to me. she. . .she shall be my queen. i will crown her also supreme and we will never be torn apart. for you cannot tear apart the coalesce that is the heart.

only the good die young, and only a fighter can go beyond death, go beyond this breath. i heave in this oxygen, and it goes into my lungs. the air is full of pollution, of transportation, of commerce, of passing cars full of passing lies. i will not fall to this, it is so contrived. opening up my eyes, i walk on the sidewalk-king of the worms-and i feel my feet walking, feel them hitting hard upon the ground. i want to dent it, make a crater, make an impression to everyone around. i want them to know how deep my compassion is found. i want to show someone-even everyone-the genius that can be had if you just open up and view. let your eyes see it true. living in a space that’s too close for someone as paranoid as me i go beyond and in my head. i am walking out, the sun up in the sky, the squall going away, and i crave.

i crave to taste the air, crave to taste your moving temple, crave to make something above and beyond the usual. i crave to be known as an unknown and shown the things in life i cannot find. i crave to always feel the imagination within my mind. but here i am, on the outside, in disguise; i am wearing my stone skin, i am a gargoyle, i am on top of a summit, a pinnacle of my existence and i feel fine. physically, i read between the lines, i pass it on by, but i am caught up in this reality that’s in my eyes. the beauty is what i crave, and it is time. i will have it all. don’t disturb me, i am festering by the rose-the red thorns poking the side. i want to be exposed, no longer alienated, isolated, below this shine. i will find myself in myself and give it to you. a rose a flower, it is in bloom. someday to wilt someday to gray and line, someday to push away what is really mine. i will not waste this taste, i will come to it and devour, dine. i will bend, i will excel, i will feel beyond this empty. i will push it all aside and see myself as beyond a human being, beyond this useless greed, beyond this useless temple i am grounded to be, beyond this mental heed. all that matters is the feeling, all that matters is the desire, the lust, the need to weed.

i am a dandelion, i will be picked, i will feel my seeds. i will flutter in the wind, a disease, and supplant myself within you all. i am the king of myself, of all i see, and i need a queen to spread this creed. the bible is devoid, but what i say is true. close your mouth and speak with your mind. there’s more deep inside than what’s outside. this weed-what i am. it’s summer, i shall cover the ground and fester. the worms will nourish on my roots. the rain of fallen angels will make it divine. you will smile in my presence, i will strengthen it all.

can i smile? i do not think in my entire emotional head i have the breadth to open up these two red bounties and allow the curvature which enunciates happiness. happiness in slavery, i am most happy when i am least happy, and i am least happy when i am most happy. i am most happy when i am fighting, when i am passionate, when i am alive; it’s when i feel above it all that i crash and fall-can you not just hold me in your arms? but you do not see me, i am a statue, i am rock hard, i am indifference. i am a cratered surface, a satellite orbiting about the earth, a moon with no place no home. there’s no angels here. the only way it comes is when it goes. it’s all falling up. there shall not be a smile but there shall be contrived happiness. i will only open up when you’ve given up. this is the game i play, pounce and pray. i go to my temple each day and worship your name. do you do the same? you know you’re my god, and i don’t have you yet, but i will have you in the end. then i will clutch you till it drains. till the rain goes away, and what’s left is just me gone.

the feeling of frustration endlessly embraces my face and goes all over the place and makes me feel wasted, useless. but i am above it, i will succeed. i do not need to worry, it will all go as i please. i have the potential to make more than i am. but deep down i know i am nothing, i am dust in the wind. but i have gone beyond this self-depreciation, this self-lament. i have hit the cement, and broken in the rain. i feel wet, but i am on fire. i will forget. i will be cynical, but i will go and do what i must. i will give in to these intentions. it’s all for you, it’s all so futile, but i will build my empire, i will be king, you will be queen. love is only a feeling, but that’s all there’s ever to need. this is absolutely a machine. but when i covet you each day i see it all fade away. all i care for is beyond what i see.

i am in a haze. this contrived happiness, this fake, i know what it is. but i am so sick, i am so tired, i just give in. for a moment, i’m not a gargoyle, i’m just within. my temple doors are open and i need to stay in. what’s wrong with my head? don’t you see, i was already dead. i’ve gone beyond death-i’ve conquered myself. i want to sell myself away. let me just fade away. let me just be here alone. i will pine. . .pine. i will pine. this is fine.

the rain stops. i never even cried. i crawl back in my broken statue and piece it back together. i breathe in the air, full of exhaust. if this is anything, it’s rigormortis. this is the hardness of death, and how strong it makes me. i’ve gone beyond. i am king of what i see. i rule this dirt mound. the worms, they all squirm, and i pluck them in my hands. some of them have so much potential. they will go beyond with me. it’s back to my stone skin. i’m back within, extrovert, schizoid, immaculate in my presentation. i dislike this civilization in my head, so i paint myself another picture as i lie here in bed. i am flying tonight, and i have no wings. i am going on a magic carpet ride. i’m setting the controls of the heart to the sun, it’s to the great gig in the sky. future, past, present, it all goes by. i never knew each one and i never will. it all happens as it happens, an endless time machine an endless dream. all this is is a dream. i dreamt the same thing i did last time i dreamed. i feel the end is a rubber band of this beginning, and it will come back and wound my soft skin.

stone wings that aren’t even there, i fly back up and perch myself on the building’s top. i look over and look around. down there the busy scuttle. they move and go about their way. i feel isolated, what dismay. this is goodbye, for today.

on my bed, i fly away, close these two eyes i’d like to call windows to the soul. and on these windows i shut the blinds, and i keep everything going on. outside it’s too fastidious for me. too meticulous, tedious, too crowded with suffering. so i cover it all up with imagination, with dreams. this somnambulist is me. i’m sleeping beauty. the world better open its eyes and get ready, because i’ve got lots of things to say. i will show them all one day how i can change it all. i will make my mark and count it in this prison cell, this neon distraction we call Earth.

get ready, get wide, i’m gonna do some surgery. the scalpel will cut away the terminally ill, and will make an incision to your heart. you’ll feel it, and everything that’s your foundation will fall apart. this world’s gotta get a little work done, and i’m just the man. this is the plan.

today i walked till sweat blushed my face. my feet moved all over the place and i was off in my own space. i will show you all this place, i will give you it like a waitress giving a plate, like a caveman writing on his slate, like the killing hand of fate, like the warmness of a handshake. i will give you a taste. put it on down and swallow.

this is my moving temple. worship me. pray for me. one day we will meet. one day my name will come to you. one day they will all know my name. it won’t be fame, it will be my will done. it will be my perseverance sung. it will be my intuition, what i deserve. so get down, let’s serve.

we’re servile, ancillary, helpless, hopeless, hapless catering creatures. what monsters are meant to be. let’s shout this discourse, our wounded, beheaded dreams. there is no american dream, there is only this dream. dream with me higher than the stars. higher than mars. higher than you can.

i have these wishes and these wishes will be real. this gargoyle goes on, surveying.
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