We won't be silenced by those who won't be silenced. Quis custurd pudding et π.
Sunday, 18 March 2012
Some Current of Hairs
As you hold me and press your cheek against mine, you gaze over my shoulder and into my hair, your breath becomes slower and more viscous until it's more like swallowing something solid. At the point where your breath stops, everything crystallizes and there you see everyone. All your friends and everyone else dangling in a void, each one dangling by the throat on one of my hairs, each hair becoming the air that everyone you know is breathing. Or they were. It's stopped. The air in your throat sits like a half-swallowed gherkin and all your friends and everyone hangs limp as if hung like human game in space.
You breathe, my hair is moved by your breath, and it's movement brings your friends and everyone back to life. Pulling back you find I am back inside you and behind you, there in your outstretched hand is a tiny little black dot. The dot is your existence, your being. Your off-switch. You promised me everything so now I ask you to eat yourself for me. Without fear, you eat the pill.
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"And in þis he shewed me a lytil thyng þe quantite of a hasyl nott. lyeng in þe pawme of my hand as it had semed. and it was as rownde as eny ball. I loked þer upon wt þe eye of my vnderstondyng. and I þought what may þis be. and it was answered generally thus. It is all þat is made. I merueled howe it myght laste. for me þought it myght sodenly haue fall to nought for lytyllhed. & I was answered in my vnderstondyng. It lastyth & euer shall for god louyth it. and so hath all thyng his begynning by þe loue of god. In this lytyll thyng I sawe thre propertees. The fyrst is. þt god made it. þe secunde is þet god louyth it. & þe þrid is. þat god kepith it."
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