There are things which are hard to admit. They must be retched and wrenched from the throat, choked out like some viscous substance that harbors thin traces of blood. That’s what this is like, the thing I won’t say here. And no, it’s not what you think.
But there were images that filled my mind, once upon a time, when the earth revolved against the sun, against the moon. There were images that played there that ran dark with the vilest of natures. ”Rational” turned southward, backward, it inverted into a crazed haze of blank spots and black spots that raged within me.
And as rage took human form I stormed from the door. I don’t think I ever looked back, though I know I did. I looked back and looked back until I thought west was east, until truth became lies, until I had time to sort it all out. And like laundry, soiled with the defecation of the bedridden and defeated, I sorted through it all separating the whites from the dark, the shadows from the light. I separated it all until I found colors bleed from the heart of me, like oranges, yellows, and reds of which I am made.
And retching out the truth of what I won’t say here, was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. [censored] enough to taste, to smell, to see, to hear, to touch the darkest of me. I think I reached out and carressed me. I fell in love with the deepest darkness in me. I think I moved myself to that door. I know I drove and drove and drove and sang songs to the top of my crazed voice and laughed hysterically and cried tears that dried in my eyes. And I yelled, “FUCK YOU!” as loud as I could, until something in my throat pulled. I coughed and spit blood.
I’ve been to the edge. I have gone over. And fuck you if you think there was no reason. And fuck you if you think insanity speaks to weakness!
(March 6, 2008)
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