Friday, September 29, 2006

Part Toe-Won

Eggiwegs! I would like... to smash them!

Thursday, September 28, 2006

Part Toe-Zewo

Apologia pro Poemate Meo

I, too, saw God through mud, - The mud that cracked on cheeks when wretches smiled. War brought more glory to their eyes than blood, and gave their laughs more glee than shakes a child. Merry it was to laugh there - where death becomes absurd and life absurder.

For power was on us as we slashed bones bare. Not to feel sickness or remorse of murder. I, too, have dropped off Fear - Behind the barrage, dead as my platoon, and sailed my spirit surging light and clear. Past the entanglement where hopes lay strewn; and witnessed exultation - Faces that used to curse me, scowl for scowl, shine and lift up with passion of oblation, Seraphic for an hour; though they were foul.

I have made fellowships - untold of happy lovers in old song. For love is not the binding of fair lips. With the soft silk of eyes that look and long, by Joy, whose ribbon slips, - but wound with war's hard wire whose stakes are strong; bound with the bandage of the arm that drips; knit in the webbing of the rifle-thong.

I have perceived much beauty. In the hoarse oaths that kept our courage straight; heard music in the silentness of duty; found peace where shell-storms spouted reddest spate.

Nevertheless, except you share with them in hell the sorrowful dark of hell, whose world is but the trembling of a flare and heaven but as the highway for a shell, you shall not hear their mirth: you shall not come to think them well content. By any jest of mine. These men are worth your tears. You are not worth their merriment.

- Wilfred Owen

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Part Won-Eyth

I’m sorry mum. I’m sorry that I freeze when you try to hug me. I’m sorry that I will never give you a grandchild. I’m sorry I never talk to you. I’m sorry that I still don’t have a college degree, or did any outstanding things so you could be proud of me. I’m sorry that I can’t make you happy. I’m sorry, I’m so very sorry.

I open my eyes and the undead soldier is standing just in front of me, holding up his rifle. He is crying and his hands are shaking. I stabbed out his eyes once, but he can see again. He can see everything. There is no room for words or misplaced sympathy, I simly duck. He shoots and hits the piano. The once so wonderful music quickly dies out. I run into the kitchen, where the Bride and the Vampire are smoking their cigarette. Join us, they say and the Vampire hands me his pack and his lighter. I join in and hear how the Vampire is commenting on the Bride’s dress. I nervously glance at the dining room door, where I can still hear gunshots. The Vampire and I listen to the Bride’s song. She lalalalas and I pretend to like it.

Contemple-les, mon petit singe, ils sont vraiment affreux. Pareils aux mannequins, vaguement ridicules, terribles, singuliers comme les somnambules, dardant on ne sait où leurs globes ténébreux…

The Phantom Ape refuses to speak to me.

Part Won-Sephenn

I run away. It’s what I always do. I just run into the streets, rain pouring down on me, trying to forget that house even exists. I realise that I’m being a coward, but I can’t go in there by myself.
The Phantom Ape, of course, is shocked. He looks different somehow, less transparant.

I say: you look different (he nods)

I ask: is it because of me? (he nods again)

We’re silent for a few minutes. I stop running and start walking. I get tired of walking and I just fall down on my knees. In my coat I grab the pack of disposable razors. I ponder about slashing the Phantom Ape into tiny little monkey bits.

The Phantom Ape asks: Do you want to know what happens if you die? (this time I nod) Well, whatever the reason may be, your bodily functions stop working. That is called being clinically dead. The brain however, is the last part of your body that shuts down. Unless your brain gets smashed of course, but then you’re just very unlucky. So your brain is still active, but it hasn’t a body to control, and it just enters a dream stage before it closes shop.This final dream stage, that lasts about three minutes, is the after life. You see, bored or panicked, your brain throws everything it has stored at you hoping it will trigger a response. For a full three minutes you experience everything that has ever happened to you. If you know that a regular dream lasts only for about thirty seconds, that’s a whole lot of time. After those three minutes, it’s all over. Nothing. Nada. Flat line. So, you’d better live a fun-filled life and try to avoid as much crap as you can or your three minutes will feel like an eternity in hell.

I let go of the razors and take a sip of my rum. I look up and I’m not completely startled when I see the house again. I walk in, straight through the hallway with the closet (with the undead soldier inside waiting to shoot me), and I hug the harlequin with the pink lips who was waiting for me on the stairs. We dance into the dining room where the mysterious stranger is playing the piano. The Bride and the Vampire clap their hands. I laugh and they all laugh with me. When the Phantom Ape asks me another question, they all vanish into smoke.

He asks: why didn’t you open the closet?

I notice that the piano is still playing, although the mysterious stranger is gone. All I can do is stare at a vase with a naked Apollo on it. I try to imagine that the Apollo is smiling at me, but I close my eyes and wait for the music to stop.

Sunday, September 03, 2006

Part Won-Siks

What’s your next move?

I am going to arm myself with Ysbaddadan’s Javelin and the armour of Achilles while wearing the helmet of Rostam with the Tarnkappe over my shoulders and I will ride the auspicious cloud of Sun Wokung.

Just open the door, that’s all you have to do.

Why don’t you open it?

I’m imaginary.

I take a sip of my rum, look at the picture of Madame Blavatsky and she seems to be saying: ‘go in weird little boy.’ So I unlock the door and push it wide open. I stare into a dark hallway. Darkness there, and nothing more.

How poetic of you.

My guilty feet have got no rhythm.