De Anima

Walking Toward the Rim of Numbed Despair

Closer and closer I walked, closer I walked on the trail toward the rim of My numbed despair. Her gaze transfixed on Me, and Mine on hers.

I was approaching the boundaries of those familiar feelings that had desiccated months ago–back when I could still feel the moisture of My fresh diagnoses on My cheeks.

But I was devoid of fear because I had already died a hundred times in the depths of My idleness–envisioning how My ashes would scatter in the cool ocean breeze of the Pacific, sublimely, and the looks of grief on all the passengers on that sunlit deck–on afternoons when I lied in bed with closed eyes, aching knees, and swollen hope.

A Beelzebubian Breeding Before The Great Unknown

Again I stared into the expanse of My impalpable future, and again she returned My gaze, looking down at Me–into My chest cavity, which housed a Beelzebubian overgrowth.

The black mass nested itself in-between My lungs, prodding My heart with its breeding possession, and it reminded Me each passing day that My sojourn in this density was limited, and that I would soon return to hitchhiking the highways of The Great Unknown, alone.

Purgatory's Pet

I am confined in purgatory's cage, pacing back and forth, rattling an occasional bar or two. And as I stare off into the expanse of My impalpable future, I see her sitting perpendicular to Me, with parallel tits, chin up, and gaze transfixed on My thorax.

In two days I will find out if I live or die.

In the meantime, I will continue to rattle My bars in petty defiance, as teenagers in Vernon lose their virginity, bored cats devour baby sparrows in Altadena, and Terrence, the black vagrant on Sepulveda Boulevard looks for his other shoe.

Scarlet's Rapture

And in the last days, art was one of the first luxuries to go, or rather, art for commerce–after all, there were those who made an art of dying in the way they did–flailing their lopsided limbs through the air and shrieking in decibels that pierced unnerved ears below.

The gratuitous sky being who carried out the rapture was a bored conductor, and the mortals in this density were It's momentary orchestral diversion.

From My shadow lair, I watched with amusement as people squawked fragmented prayers and crossed themselves with vigor. Soon they would come to know the absurd and grotesque nature of their true origins.

The Empathic Tongue of Lasciva Libido

Half-asleep, and weighed down by lethargy, I somewhat awakened to the molestation of what felt like a female tongue glossing over My exposed skin.

Her empathic tongue initiated its route on the crown of My head, and proceeded to glide down, figure-eighting My orbitals with an undeniable consideration. I felt the moisture from her stroke linger on My brow ridge and underside of My eye lids, as I recoiled back to sleep.

When I awakened in the morning, I was stricken with horror to find My head absent of its lazily-curled locks.

I looked in the mirror, and to My dismay stood a pallid and befuddled salamander in the reflection, speckled throughout with benevolent poison that worked relentlessly on its enemy.

During that stretch of time, I had entered into yet another density of understanding that would thrust Me into the unconscious briny deep.

The Inevitability of Forced Demonic Urination

You are born alone, and you die alone.

Somewhere in-between, you are visited by the occasional demon, and the mark of your greatness will be how you respond to their prickly harassments.

The fact remains, they will pry your mouth open and piss in it. Whether you believe in the metaphorical or literal sense of the word does not matter, your mouth will be a urinal.

So what's it going to be? How will you respond?

Well, if you are a decent human being you will accept the fact that your bloodstream will be soiled by the misery of their malevolence, and find a way to triumph over your unavoidable fate.

We have a liver for a reason, so use it.

The Boy Who Breathed Fear Into His Lungs

The cruelty of summer had vacated the abiding night's temperament, and he was ready to enjoy the healthy air–finally.

It had been quite some time since he breathed with ease. His chest expanded with satisfaction, without the normal crackle that had plagued him during the heatwaves. That is, until a sinister breeze perverted his lungs with its hellborn gossamer.

Strands of spiderweb draped themselves upon his bronchi, and moments later, the hatchlings bursted open.

Baby spiders instinctively spun their web on the branches of his alveoli with industrious velocity, and his wheezes bore into the tranquility of the night.

He was afraid of spiders, and now his breaths were a breeding ground for his fears.

Kiss of Life

I awoke mid-melody, only, there was no troubadour, but rather, the Batibat who had transgressed the interior of My ribcage with the caustic clutch of her gargoylian malady.

There she stood, over Me, under My terror-stricken scrutiny.

I was ready to die–ready to become yet another lamb to the slaughter of her barbaric butchery. Yet, unmoving, she seemed uninterested in delivering the kiss of death.

Perhaps a simulacrum of compassion had unintentionally wafted inside her unloving lungs, and settled, albeit temporarily, inside her prefrontal cortex. I had no idea, but I wasn't going to try and figure it out then and there.

With a shaking and discombobulated bravery, I lifted Myself up to My feet and slowly backed away from her presence, backed away from the almost-memory of My coup de grâce. Mercy was in My corner that day.

Beyond the White Wall of Dread (Part 2)

At once, a transmutation of focus took custody of My blurred vision. I found Myself vis-à-vis another mysterious entity. She was sitting casually, legs crossed, gaze transfixed on Me.

The funereal fears that possessed My chest cavity were gone, but I still felt an apprehensive grip on the rest of My body.

"Do not be afraid, I am your guardian angel. I have come to give you strength."

The message was communicated telepathically, without a linear structure, but with an undulating force and energy that reverberated through My lifeblood, with crystalline clarity.

Her words were reassuring and warm, unlike the words from My previous encounter.

She led Me to a bed of bougainvilleas, where I could rest My depleted spirit. I closed My bloated eyes, and I could feel the grotesque weight loosening its clutch around My chest as She tucked Me in.

The shallow breaths dissolved and were replaced by the vitality and sustenance of divine symbiosis.

I was asleep, finally.

Beyond the White Wall of Dread (Part 1)

I stared at the white wall in front of Me, from My confined situation. After My eyes had been out of focus for a persuasive length of time, I meandered across the avenues of perception.

An imperceptible span of shallow breathing later, I found Myself off the beaten track surrounded by leering trees and clammy silence.

There was the scent of moss, mold, and mortality in the breeze.

Entities that gave the impression of nymphets pranced carelessly in My blindspots. Or maybe they were man-eating chimeras–I couldn't be certain, and I was too weary to look in their direction for fear of testicular impalement.

A beautiful woman was there, and She seemed to be contemplating something in a severe, yet nonchalant manner.

Relieved that I had discovered another human, I approached Her and asked what She was thinking about.

Without missing a beat She turned to Me and responded, "I am no mortal. I am Death. And I was thinking about you."

The Girl With the Nest-Neck

I rarely left the serenity of My shadow lair, but on those unavoidable days when I needed to venture into the local bazaar, I would see her–the nest-necked girl. She could be seen amidst the hustle and bustle in her usual conspicuous corner holding a sign that read: "Please Help. Need Money for Eggs."

I would look out of the corner of My eye, and witness the foot traffic overlook her destitution, never stopping to lend a helping hand.

I admired her courage and grit. Rain or shine there she was, like a bird-shit-on statue that people disregarded in their daily lives–eggless, but never beaten.

And then one day she wasn't there.

And then the next day she wasn't there.

And the next.

I haven't seen the nest-necked girl in over 3 years, but I still expect to see her there at her corner every time I set foot in the bazaar, enshrouded with an indignant composure that only people who've suffered the horrors of life possess.