Preparations for a Departure


Exactly where does this mystification end?

The sound of your laughter in the gloved darkness unnerves me, I’m not in the mood. Not tonight. I really don’t need it, I’m already so tired of everything, especially of being, of being my—Self.

The Self.

The hastily packed bulging at the seams spilling its shameful contents across the indifferent streets worthless piece of luggage that I unwillingly carry around with me at all times, unwittingly retrieved from the bombed out building that used to be my home, for a little while at least. Impossible to lose or even mislay in some crowded train station, always with me and weighing me down and getting heavier with the pointless accumulations of each and every passing minute.

How to escape this tyranny? No narcotic will fix it and no manner of drink will drown it. The opiate of sleep soon wears off and I wake up confronted with the infantile peep show of my dreams. Yes the angelic-daemonic girl-twins will reign terror in heaven tonight, mirror-imaged inverted pendants swaying between heavy pendulous breasts that touch and rub as they feast on blue meat and drink the bloodiest wine. The sublime promise of love contained within the psycho-drama of lust is a glimpse of a unobtainable mountain range seen from an unexpected opening in a squalid and dangerous alleyway; soon comes the revelation, after the initial rapture, after our limbs have become un-entangled that this too solid flesh will not yield, will never succumb or surrender its sovereignty to the usurpation of another being, of another Self.

Of course there is one way out as everybody knows. But what if this exit only reveals the inexorable sarcasm of the Gods and leads to an even darker and inescapable dungeon or to some cruelly designed garden of eternal artistic torture? Some are willing to take the chance. I have known people like that, my first nine months were pregnant with death. But for me that moment is yet to come. So for now I stare out of the window and see only earth water air and fire; but I know there is a fifth invisible element beyond these four walls that constitute our universal prison cell.

When did this mystification begin?


58 thoughts on “Preparations for a Departure

  1. Blue meat and bloody wine. Oh my. You’re not really tired of being your Self, are you? It’s just that bag your lugging around. You have to find a way to ditch that somehow. This is an … intriguing write. In the sense that, as I’ve become familiar with your writing, I find more and more subtle similarities. That is not to say it is predictable, no. Just… Interesting.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I will be the first to admit that my range is very narrow…major writers try to cover the whole gamut of emotions and experiences whereas my body of work (not that my small and modest output deserves such a high falutin title) only covers certain topics and themes. I can only hope that I do that to the best of my ability.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I was hounded by night mares. One night I stared a particular night mare in the face, hugged it tight, and kissed it on its nightmarish mouth. I never had another nightmare with that fiend in it. Sometimes, we must embrace our darkest fears, even in our dreams.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. The most amazing picture. And the questions … where does it end and where does it begin? What you say in your last comment, ‘comforting illusion versus annihilating truth’ maybe that’s the choice we make (blue pill/red pill) neither come with a list of warnings. I for one try to live for truth but it can scorch.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. You know how to hook me Feather…mention the Matrix (that’s borrows from Alice and the Gnostics) and I am there. I would recommend a little known novel called A Voyage to Arcturus by David Lindsay which is a gnostic novel that goes deeper, the red pill is just another illusion that leads to another red pill that is just an illusion etc, deeper still until it reaches the irreducible core of reality that is utterly terrifying.


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