Night of the Penguin
I turn around and see that my cousins and a couple of friends were years older in school uniforms walking towards me. I realized that I was either in the past or they had moved into the future. Walking through a seedy place, dark, dusty, post-industrial attractive and robust. They leave and then I’m walking alone. Invisible steam hissing, majestic cavernous rusting machines explode biting fragments of Bakelite. Gargoyles imbedded on the outside of ancient rooms.This marked the beginning of my integration of this potentially disabling biochemical relapse into sanity. Left with this seemingly irresolvable dilemma, byproducts of a childhood torture flake off, powerlessly floating… so many moments of silent abuse – one after the other – looking with longing eyes… hacking away until the heavy stupid limb breaks off and snaps. I felt powerless to prevent this cruelty although I knew there may have been a way if I have intercepted.
I was electric with emotion… my elation was only equaled by my hopes. Falling deeply in love with the idea that someone is desperately and hideously screaming a dualistic cry out for freedom.
Just as I was coming to terms with the futility of getting close to God – the God of justice, I then attempt a curious sense of emptiness knowing this had happened. I wanted to help him… I guess I don’t.
By the Christian Church lay eroded stone figures and faces. Under a damp grey
canopy protruded the gutted corpse of a penguin, hardened flippers at right angles to its stiff body. The minced clotted inner organs outside the skin next to it in the packet sold on the black market. Wealthy Eastern European men secretly use Penguin pellets as suppositories hoping to deeply feel the tiredness which can be seen milky in Eskimo eyes.At times of massive insecurity as I have just experienced, I become obsessed by male flesh while God still talked and flirted with him.
I walked away from them and saw older well spoken people and others including some in 50’s airline stewardess uniforms attempting to walk up a very steep incline – a path without steps. The older people climb up and applaud at the top, full of surreptitious wisdom of experts in a myriad of esoteric topics of total irrelevance. This makes up for their reality which is devoid of any intellectual experience, just full of ritualistic love making.
The destructive relationships in adulthood are a split and it is extremely unlikely I am ever going to change – I am a sculpture on standby.
I climb horrendous piles of iconic research articles –and I struggle to hold onto rocks and with much effort make it to the top. I assume He has the power to divinely intervene and change this, especially given my precious external and internal realities which are incessantly peripheral today.
1st journal cut up experiment using
random pages from years of journal writing dating from the 80’s
Industrial landscape: http://greatvisualtruths.blogspot.com
Gothic Church pic: St. Francis Xavier Roman Catholic church on 6th avenue N.Y http://meanderthal.typepad.com
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