Interiors [picture poem]

Interiors picture poem

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Circumstance //DESPITE

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 I can’t breathe. How much longer. Do it. Heart slams so hard against my insides surely it hears me. At the dim end of the rotting structure it stands dead still. One leg suspended. Ears twitch, looking right at me. Long eyelashes. Big, animal eye. I’m in it. Mal’s not, and she has the gun. Do it. Shootititdoesn’tknowgodIhavetobrea– The silence explodes. A streak in the dimness. Blink. It’s gone. Just like that. Blink. Head ringing with the report. Behind the shattered glass the rifle barrel angles down and there is her ghost face framed in the window. Dart forward eagerly. Maybe she hit it. Little knot of hope. Hunched over where the animal was. Maybe there’s blood. Back and forth in a grid. End where its horns tore through the tumbled slats. Maybe there’s a drop. “Stop it.” Mal’s behind me. Stiff. Gun barrel across her hips. “What if you wounded it.” Squinting into the shadows and the clutter on the floor. “No." A drop. That’s all. Anything. Nothing. ...
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The Heart of Yptah

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He passed under the thirteen guarded arches, six of clay and seven of silver, until he reached the golden doors barring the entrance to the Seat of the Sun. There he paused, facing the spears and shields of two-score of Yptah’s most hardened warriors, their faces inscrutable behind helmets scored with the permanent marks of war. He became intensely aware that the only thing between their blades and his skin was thin a summer robe. But the swordbearers were expecting this visitor. The golden portal was opened and he entered. Wordlessly they swung the heavy doors shut behind him. He stood alone in the innermost heart of the palace. It was silent as a cave, and the night air hung hot and heavy in the moonbeams. He ascended the thirty-three colored steps, their subtle spectrum barely visible in the dark. At the top were several chambers, each lavishly furnished, and each utterly devoid of life. If there had been any manservants here before him, as there often were, they were gone now. To...
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Radio Receiver

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All sense perception is illusion, all is filtered: the eyes and the ears are but simulacra of actuality. Our mental maps can't do it any other way. They obscure that impossible ocean of energy surging its truth throughout the fundamental fabric of the Beyond. So, basically, your five senses are lying to you. They're lying because they are giving you a partial truth. White lies. Limited, mothering you, protecting you from daddy's overwhelming awesomeness. But they have to, because we can't look straight into the sun for very long; our eyes are only jelly. Perhaps, then, when we delude our selves by choosing (whether knowingly or not) to see the world a certain way, that is why we then actually do start to see the world that way. Nothing changes; it's the same (objectively) except for all the differences (subjectively). Your belief system is a lot like a radio receiver, which you can tune to receive any of the available frequencies along its spectrum. You ca...
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