We can’t see through the mist but we can hear rumbling sounds of fog horns – or sirens ? – and just as we disappear from view, the voice of a preacher inciting us to give an urgent but undefined commitment
All our underworlds are dying or useless, either in blissful ignorance or in the violence and cruelty of ghetto culture, but between suppression and stagnation there is still enough space to cultivate our own concealed jewels, revolutions always slowly seeing what underlies the wounds
our insides once touched always keep a tight grip on finger tips even when closing and growing
in her smothering snake like forms that move from nerve to nerve
she lies
she turns
she encloses what i need to understand
there is a very long way to go inside to see where we have touched, and it starts here,
when she holds
when she is still and clammy like stone
when she giggles
and when she is vulnerable
she makes me feel fragile
i feel sad sometimes and this is why doll is born
i miss you
fingers that are long and gentle which grasp for love before they grow cold
tears that cleanse tired eyes
i miss waking up with you and carelessly giggling in an embrace
i can’t find any freedom from feelings
it’s been a while, still, it seems a short time. i wish i could forget everything is slipping and look upon the images inside without thinking. perhaps I ought to leave them now these things won’t die, and if one day we woke up to find nothing would we still feel anxious and distant or would we feel calm? you can’t see everything nor pass judgement, you can’t fill the dark holes into which hope bravely descends or understand the thoughts which cannot be glued to words, the space filled by our bodies and residues of dreams, constantly growing and falling apart
transformed into a doll without flesh
our hearts flutter
fear of death
fear of being without somebody to hold
fear of objects without life
today, i am sorry, i wasn’t very happy
nonetheless here is an explanation:
we were walking through the woods on a sunny day
(we were in love)
when we came across a small ditch
heaped up with bodies slit up to their mouths
they had been aligned, as far as they could hold
together
so that anyone walking past would be met
with the sight of white eyes
my thoughts turn to violence and fear when i get caught inside
and i think of small glass containers which would hold me
at death we hope that there will be peace
and when old people cannot speak any more
let there be peace in their numb bodies
to stop morphine worms breeding in their thoughts
the body is tending towards a helpless state
which is a loss of feeling
feeling weak
fluids spurt out from the inside
soak up into the blooded water
the lungs are choked
the skin is drying up
the body is falling apart
only held together by the force of the blood rushing to the penis
everything is suspended without being conscious
collapsed
the worms have been contained in a clean metal tin
but that doesn’t stop them eating themselves
force fed with the drug of masturbation
which allows us to feel our own cells
releasing everything and then discarded, separated
leaving a shell
so lie still
i can hear the blood in my heart
i felt my blood was septic
i can hear my breathing
she is shy
is pain
body
heart
pushing blood through limbs
in my dreams full of desire
embracing
we do not think
also though i dream of death or the inevitable clutching and loss
terror and gentleness seem so close
the way a baby’s small hands wrap around my finger
grasping
smooth soft fingers holding on with all their strength
the penis inside the vagina
sharing
smooth soft flesh wraps around inside where there is no light but warm liquid
contained
there is a vessel upon the shelf
now there is spilt liquid upon a stone floor, please protect all children because they have to live
explain to me (if you want to)
the deformities of our babies
the cold rooms of our mentally ill
our thoughts, rest in open spaces
and if their is a soul, or a cause and effect
tell me what happens to our armless and legless abortions
with their disjointed eyes and blood that is the same as yours and mine
tell me what they feel
this is what doll feels, a blood repellent lead form in wax solution
blood rests on the surface as small particles
vaporise before they can be touched
into the air and gases
which are drawn into the lungs
forms more alkaline than wombs
close together and penetrating inside
a healing heart in a dying body
sweat separates our bodies
in this warm space where love lies, but also
gases, a birdwing, a pool of semen
mercury
inside the body internal organs and forms
mechanisms
wire frame
so complex that desire and thoughts are constructed and self sustain themselves
impermanence
of all forms and solids
and all gases
and all elements
body which feels the cold
loss
happiness
warmth
sadness
chain of body forms linked
internal
breast to womb
rib to colon
self reproducing body form
not possible to separate the elements
the limb from the vessel
full of fluid
from the gases
to the tubes
fluids passages
transformed solutions
without fear
enclosed
glass
metal
dripping liquids
simple objects
whole
still-life
stretched
linking breast to breast developing in the womb
and passage of fluids into the blood
which dissolves solids in the belly
which strengthen bone structure of rib cage
from a fibre-like material laid flat a body surface is formed
twisted into strands to form blood vessels and hands which join and merge into the broken surface, a surface of tiny holes
when formed into a mask the surface replaces the skin of your face so that you can see inside, deep inside me
our skin surface is also made of holes
fly eyes
spine
skull
loneliness and animal skeletons
a dead bird, tonight on the street
later –
found it still there but
as if a child had run over it on a bike
internal organs out
there is nothing that can be done
third time –
the bird body has been cleared away
there is a stain on the pavement
a small piece of organ
all around, on the waste ground
at the end of the road, on the kerb, there is rubbish, dog shit, drink cans, debris
blood pours into the vessel
ugly heads rise up out of the skin
dog straining at the leash
making it erect, strong
internal pressure building until it seems
the body will split at the genital opening
which if opened any more
the organs could be seen, touched
until it bursts free
flailing
violently charging forwards
blood
other fluids
unstoppable, until it drives itself to collapse from exhaustion
limp and humid
mouth open, tongue hanging out
belly flat on the ground
wet material clings to inside of skin
of thigh
gasping, legs flopped outward
eyes watery
mad and vulnerable
the smoothest and palest skin
which reddens at the touch of swelling lips
on t.v news someone says:
[a six year old girl] blood was running from her nose
she was split open [she had been raped]
she wanted to kill herself
but we managed to stop her
formless thoughts
so much pain
no room for desires
penetrated split and dissolved
death of a rapist
always alive
penis erect and leaking
but snapped off
lifted up her skirt and penetrated her skin
mindless, brutal, broken nose
broken face, ripped ribs from his lungs
uttered
speechless
guilt
gut
as if all we could ever wish that thoughts come to an end in slaughter
flea bite
horror
victim beaten about the face
mutilated, for money in a safe upstairs
small child
young woman
an eighty year old
weak
down
barely breathing, clubbed
hands broken
eyes bruised until black
cannot see any longer, blind
pearls
rib cage
thigh surface
eyes in skin that cannot blink
crinkled dress material
silver ring
sweat
illness
stretched
body trapped in body
organs trapped in vessel
loveless dying friendship
craving for indigestible pre-processed food
that lies in the intestines for days and will be shitted out rotten and choking as
pig ripe for slaughter
sleeping body
lacking a single touch or
a single kiss
lacking warmth
lacking emptiness
automated
body without support
two bodies lying next to each other in bed
barely asleep
still
separate
as if we are incapable of communication
or tenderness
warmth of flesh
curving around cage and breasts
legs wrap around
joined
moving so slowly under sheets in darkness
with no centre to thoughts
no centre
love slowly move
together round
up and down
inside and outside
whilst asleep and gently breathing
calm
finger barely touches flesh
parting
air space
warm trapped air
out of sheets
warmth
in a green place
and yellow, bright transparent blue
a jungle
full of clear moisture
small animals which cannot be seen under the lush surface
living
breathing
small animal families
with small eyes
black beads
and gentle feet
that grasp and protect
and enclose warmth inside the cold
please protect each of us from the cold
inside her body warm pregnant blood
warm breath and lips
open and safe in warm air in dark under sheets
soaked with sweat, condensation and special smells
dirtied dank sheets clean to lovers in winter’s night
all sound inside body which cannot be heard except breathing
my ear upon your breast
ripples
heart beat
eyelids and lips and smile
eyes
temptation brings ugliness down upon the weak hearted and tender
white flowing dresses
uncovered leads us into dismal thoughts and shivering sleep
for those to whom promises mean everything
end to pretence and insecurity
dying hands and reddened knuckles
babies eyes
tears
lying by the fire
fine hairs resting over your face and neck
smooth hollow of thoughts of love and closeness between breasts
upon which gently falls a gaze
and a breath
a sigh
a sleepy eye
her eyelashes and warm skin
small voices and contented
head resting against her arm upon body close to sleep
seems far away
no words can bring closer
so quiet and waiting for the end
another time in a wish
in dreams to be closer
close together
close the door
wrap us up in the almost quiet room in the house in the night
until morning and parting
and light and laughter
holding hands
kicking sand and falling in leaves
in a city of leaves and poor broken people
struggling to eat and love and sleep in peace in night
babies in this world
small lives bombs shake them in their wombs
and drugs poison
warm thin blood but strong hearts
winter and spring time
hold my hand and let’s run
laugh and fall into a bed of leaves
i will protect you from the frost
but can promise little else my love
not even love letters for you to keep and fade
words which curl up on the edges cannot outlive the memory of the wish
beaten but never forgotten
not even when we die
although friendships die
inside of this room
food which lies rotting
hunger of the belly
taut belly and bones under chest
love sleeps alone tonight
sleep and drunken dreams
same flesh and beautiful smile
face of warmth and vulnerable
quiet
lips and eyes meet in a centre which we drift around
wishing
and loss
which must be faced
in tears and fragile hands that rest upon her dead loved body
her gentle hands
mothering hands that have held and loved
unspoken
respect
her face
closed eyes
blue eyes
i wish you well and will always remember you
i hope you are well
and that you meet kindness and happiness
always
since summer time we have always laughed and are hopelessly carefree
but winter is upon us now
our small bodies
what will we do?
perhaps we shall play little games
and sing and dance
holding hands around a circle of flames
laughing
believing in that the night will never come to an end
all together
we sing and drunkenly fall over
in this night that will have no end
until we fall into sleep and share our dreams and nightmares
huddled together for our fears shared
little animals
small and warm
so close
never far away
we share our fears and hopes
our big wishes for such small bodies
and we will always live and laugh
for happiness
for our companionship
in the face of evil
of suffering and pain
and death
that separates us from our loved ones
but in this night
holding each other together amidst screams
we know that we will never be alone
our memories and our feelings
we give our dead hope full of kind thoughts and happiness in our tears of loss
and will never forget
body aches because it is full of chemicals and cancers
it is tired because its mind is enclosed in a cell
but even in exhaustion it feels hope and struggles to maintain the life
it destroys itself, but wishes to turn that which is dead into something living
pale and thin, but sometimes my eyes sparkle and record momentary transformations
something is moving inside to make all this happen
particles
fluids
bird wing
sadness
love
warmth of bodies under the sheets
but she suddenly feels cold
i dream of an embryo falling into cold depths
skeletal
inside the flesh and the desire
inside the crack
inside the broken heart
inside the faceless child
from inside flows blood
bleeding heart
bleeding vagina
bleeding animal on the slaughter walls
blood on the sheets
bleeding heart seeping into the stomach down through the bleeding intestines out through the bleeding womb
the cook cuts meat with care and delicacy. he cuts out the fat and gristle, tenderly coats the flesh with oil. he closes the clean oven door
slit open to feed the bleeding mouths
bleeding crack in the slaughtered animal torn apart
pain and sadness and blood of the animal under the butchers knives
eyes staring through watery membrane
animal crying
alone under the knife
and the hammer that crushes the bone of the skull
and the tenderness
and removes all hope and life
as i write this i see the face of the doll
but also i see the face of my love
i cannot tell what she thinks and knows
i wish it was obvious
that i care for her
doll, i realise that she is plastic
not alive
but she is real
only doll understands my desires and fears
but because she is plastic
she cannot speak
empty shell
empty state
doll, if she were alive
would feel the instant leading to the conception
the child, mother and father still connected
doll, if she were alive, would feel what we feel
separation
between thighs
when doll is in the concrete cell i have built for her
and she is burning
she feels no pain because she is simply a doll
plastic
she cannot speak because she aspires to a beauty that is false
doll is wrapped in bandages
sleeping on a bed of flowers
but she feels nothing
because she is neither alive nor dead
she is plastic
and false hair
but i care for her
and when she is on fire
do not think that this is pain
doll knows that she will never die
(do you also feel what she cannot feel?)
doll speaks what you will not say
doll undresses you when you wrap up tight
she is more naked than you will allow yourself to be
inside her plastic skin
a chemical which heals and gives us life
but so fragile it cannot be isolated
when i look at her face
i see the face of a plastic doll
and i want someone to understand what i have done to her
doll’s body records patterns and forms that heal what her chemicals cannot heal
and which allow her to live
feel love
grow old and weak
and feel pain
doll gives form to that which turns inside
formless babies
with eyes that see the inside of your smooth belly
a skin for living from found materials outside
to understand what is human but is without blood
doll lives a silent life
with no ears to hear the sound
no mouth to release the groans
of bodies making love behind closed doors
an embrace that brings the hearts closer
when i cannot see the warm blood of her heart i come home to question doll
who is without blood
if doll could love
she would understand what we do not
we play games and back away from embraces
when i listen to her speaking
i am looking through her clothes
with eyes against her skin
i am listening to her breathing
her heart
eyes closed
i can see no form
i hear nothing
i feel warmth
all i am trying to do is make my love for her clear so that she can see
but she does not tell me what she feels
doll’s body records for every warmth and closeness a loss
a loneliness
a cold space
doll burns to purify the air inside her
i wish that this was obvious
that she would understand
that there is everything inside
look around you – what do you see?
look inside yourself – what do you feel?
there is a small droplet of dried blood on the inside of the shell
there was life here but now there is just a plastic skin
is there life in that which is inanimate?
is there pain in that which does not feel?
inside doll there is love
horror
suffering
and unseen truths of the doll body
feminine blood and male blood
and without speaking sometimes i know that she is lonely and afraid
but we never say
and so it is all a terrible waste
the young girl’s dress
chequered flower pattern matches the tiled wall
on which hangs the freshly slaughtered body of an animal
and on the floor
a mannequin contorted in the struggle but also as if it is still alive
the old woman holds a doll by its arm
she looks out
the doll glances sideways
the remains of the mannequin head pointing upwards
the calf head hanging
barely connected to the blood of its body
limp and bleached white
the girl’s doll is pure white and naked
there are symbols on its body
the curve torn apart
vase shapes in the form of breasts
stains on the walls follow lines along the varnished disinfected surface
formaldehyde used in solution as a disinfectant
combining form
the termination of chloro-form
all objects flattened into a uniform orange mist
suspension of disease
unease of the mind of the doll
behind the face of the doll
all smooth moulded eyes
dreams and thoughts of the doll
feelings of the doll body in the doll mind
small child hands with fingers moulded together
plastic body wrapped in bandages, prepared
the body pushing its internal tubes outwards through raw and tender openings
sterilised
the plastic doll
connected to plasticine shapes
fixed by glue that almost dries clear
to the flesh of magazines
of women
holding their breasts out
without thinking the worms eat through
archetypal forms
automatic legs spread apart
so as to automate the hungry cock
the belly and the vagina of the doll
replaced by a breast form
an eye looking inwards to an intestine
because of the impossibility of showing the blood or the flesh
everything seems so unavoidable
section from doll
plastic skin
open plastic pores
and entrances
all desire and thought
all sex
externalised
suffocating in the skin
the hollow inside
an empty space untouched by rape and brutality
and spilling of liquids on smooth plastic skin
the doll asleep
steady breathing in the airless interior
calm
but dreams full of fear
contained in vessels
is there a horror that can frighten our small bodies
is there a fear that can cause hurt
or a violent hand
and memories that cause pain
inside there is a small space
which is a room within a room
in which their bodies sleep
doll is enclosed in a liquid that preserves her
doll is enclosed in a vacuum in which she breathes
doll is enclosed in the guts of a fish that feeds her
doll is enclosed in a solution of semen
doll is enclosed in water from plants
doll is enclosed in barbed wire
doll is enclosed in a cell, her skin touches all sides
doll is enclosed but her insides are outside
doll is still a doll
untouchable
doll is cast solid then shattered
doll is melted then reformed
doll is burnt, her gases fill the cell
doll is enclosed in a liquid that slowly dissolves her
leaving only glass eyes
doll opens her mouth to reveal…
doll spreads her legs to reveal…
doll holds out her hands to offer…
doll opens her body, and stares inside
doll is hungry, her eye sockets are empty and black
doll is asleep, her eyes are closed
doll is looking at you, with vacant plastic stare
doll is looking inside herself
doll, do you understand me now?
glass vessel shaped around the curve of the hips and breasts
containing flesh preserved
the glass jar of the nightmare containing bone and blood and gristle
kept in a clean white fridge amongst the milk and food
and also there in the empty street
a glass jar in the middle of the road containing a crushed piece of what was a limb?
the skin torn off
like meat hanging from the hooks in a shop window
without the skin
suspended in the solution in the jar to keep it fresh
that twists the stomach
and is always there on the retina
splayed dog cast on the dirty concrete
i believe in trust and happiness
but there is cowardice within the flesh which must be dissected out
all the hurt of loss, we can trace it back to moments of doubt
failed memory
embedded within the flesh
dead dog on the pavement until it is cleared away
the dog tumbling under the car
lifted off the ground like a rag doll
all four legs flailing off the surface
a dead space
the dog tumbling underneath it
then there is an inert body on the road
the cry of the animal as i lifted it to the pavement
and i cannot touch it
the memory of the dog alive and the dead dog are inseparable
a delirious dead space 3″ above the road surface
dead fluids draining onto the pavement
an incomplete pain is the most painful of them all
disease of the skin clutching to the bone
the plant is dead
its leaves are dry
mouse is dead
although you did not hear him die
there is darkness, thick smoke filled air
a doll that bleeds
there is a burning of roots in a special place
mouse is dead, but there is still the body
inside the flesh that could not be killed
inside the flesh that could not be made porn
there is peace in this warm room
hands rest naturally on gentle thighs
bodies in this night
i wish that they sleep with quiet dreams
material shapes around her warm breasts
smooth stomach and into the unseen
and arm resting on curve of the hips
she is lying facing me, she is looking into my eyes. her lips are parted, i reach out to touch her skin
she has spread her legs wide, so i can see. she shows herself, without feeling
follow blooded white of bone into the inside of the body
onto the legs rests the pelvic bones, which enclose a space
a chamber dark and red
full of moisture rested under weight of smooth flesh
moulded around curves and hollows
and lace support
upon which rests a doll and a severed hand
and inside our wire-frame bodies
there sometimes seems to be nothing, other times something solid inside
she absorbs our pain
bodies cold and clammy lie discarded in ditches
from the stomach to the vagina
fire, alkaline, wish
and when we touch we would feel
inside of ourselves we can be happy and we can be close together
we can be without fear and pain and unhappiness
but there is something we cannot see that separates us
a cell, an empty vessel, a mirror
stretched gut tears
gentle hand
stroking her smooth body
i wasn’t thinking of anything
with my finger inside her
except, i just want her to feel pleasure
and my blood rushes
there is something incommunicable
about being inside someone
there is something moving inside, something gentle and receptive
sometimes i do not know what i feel
i fear a pressure
a tiny hand holds a birdwing, placing it in the birdnest, because that is all that can be done now the bird is dead
i dream that we are lying together and we feel no doubt
i dream that one day i will travel to a desert, where in places symbols are engraved in the sand
i can see very clearly empty windowless rooms with thick heavy doors whose hinges have long since petrified, leaving the doors slightly ajar, but impassable. smoke filled air in which nightmares are held in suspension, warmth and blood light with no source drifting through imperceptably slowly, translucent and ghost-like stairs which wind up and down in all directions through the levels, shadows under which ashes shift and slip between the cracks, crumbling stone walls whose foundations descend far from sight
this was my home, i found peace here, a very long time ago
and in the cellars where there is neither light nor air, there will still be rows and rows of containers stacked up to the ceiling, perfectly sealed and never opened
when we sleep sometimes our bodies curl up into a foetus form, and if we could remain conscious whilst deep in sleep, we would feel an invisible warm blood on our skin and see our thoughts rise like bubbles from breathing in the depths
doll is what i found,
briefly before returning her to a quiet place
i wanted to explain
the space between us which causes pain
i made a map of this space
but now it is being torn apart
its pieces lie all around like a shattered vase
like the doll it describes
and her feelings it created
it is broken so that it can be put back together again
although she was not so easy to mend as i thought
in fact it is near impossible
if we wanted to keep things as they were (as we had wanted them to be)
and let memories rest in peace
which we know can’t be done so it is just a question of arranging the broken pieces as best we can
if we look to chemistry to heal what we cannot heal ourselves
as if we were children back in school, trying to understand periodic tables of elements
we find that some elements are stable, but together they are all unstable
their order is one of unrest
and compression
when she strains to see inside of herself she sees blood
and impenetrable elements
feelings and memories
remains
inside our bodies there are tight knots which prevent us from saying what we feel
even in love and happiness
i did not speak when perhaps i should have done
ugly heads might raise up out of the skin and ruin everything
and in a chemical cell bodies lie helpless
i felt i could not change doll text any more, sometimes it feels sad and happy
today also i was happy
a sense of impending completion
many feelings, i know this is where a fundamental strength of simplicity lies
which i can see growing inside when everything else has been artificially numbed
doll would know, if she could, that she will never die
her hands reach out in their moulded lines
and even when still our bodies are like babies
moving inside
it is not enough to know all pain and happiness
is internal
please say something to me that will bring us together
between hope and guilt
doll words lie
and doubt is because we feel a pain
between our actions and the things which we want
to measure ourselves
define ourselves
what are we? from raped body to vicious dog
what have we done? there is something else:
although she cannot speak, when i undress her every month she knows exactly what i want
she wears a different face each time
she strips for him, she is so brave
but tonight he doesn’t want her to pretend
he just wants to love her …
last night she wanted to be held but he held back
and when she feels she sees a tunnel
crawling with fear
he could never understand
because all he sees is darkness inside.
words are placed upon her lips by machines which imitate our thoughts,
we understand how necessary the manipulation is
but in exhaustion we are lonely and feel a strange guilt
i needed your warmth
but i couldn’t give you everything you wanted
perhaps because of this i grew sick of ideals
i am sorry for hurting you
‘i love you’ i never said, until the very end,
i didn’t want to reduce it, i didn’t want to fool you
i wanted trust
i feared closeness becoming cold
i am afraid of death,
it brings to an end, for now and for perhaps a very long time,
all the good things that could have been done …
we cannot see any blood
but i can feel my body swelling
i see the flesh but it is not here to touch
i understand now that we can touch without the flesh having form
and feel without doubt
with ever increasing evolution
pornography invades the body
winding barbs into the arms and the legs of my hollow toy doll
sleep now in the arms of make-believe angels,
Faith and Compassion
i took just a little poison
drip by drip
but she had swallowed the lot
i know that she had felt so much pain
i wanted to heal both of us, but found that when i turned to kiss my sleeping pretty angel,
i gave her love as best i could
but also a hoard of demons, against which i had no antidote
i wanted to show beautiful curves
into which our bodies fall without their skin
i felt that if i could counteract the endless pornographic addiction
something would be created that was purified
of desperation and longing,
images that unify
we have between us only strategies of description and honesty,
blurred vision
self-immolation
our feelings are fixed and battered
but there is something deeper that we need to uncover
underlying this veneer
with depressing regularity it falls to pieces
at the slightest touch of reality
i walked for miles even though it was raining and i felt tired,
i should have been inside in the warmth
but i couldn’t rest.
the girl behind the counter saw the glossy cover
perhaps sometimes she had looked inside,
still,
we shouldn’t have felt ashamed
she is just like you and me, in the end
she shows her body
but she cannot see who is looking,
nor really understand what they feel
when they are alone with her
she is unaware of what she is doing
but she is well aware of what is said about her,
by people she will never meet.
Diane,
our acts of kindness are bred in our minds somewhere inside
from seeds until we lay them out
hoping for understanding
violence seems random and invisible
our elegance is full of ruin
and unexplained madness
our moralities are diseased and our hopes are false
we do not understand.
our works of beauty contain images of ourselves as we will never see
until it is too late
and we are knifing ourselves
beating our loved ones
murdering our friends, and we are dead
kept alive within by viruses born of torture and animal tissue,
she was bleeding tears, her eyes were torn from the inside
very frightened, when we are cruelly obese
when we fill our guts until they can hold no more
in claustrophobic carriages made of rotten wood,
they were crying in the streets
in churches full of pure water, and our limbs are mechanically emptied
bloodless
full of seeping fluid. a face with sunken eyes and bloodshot stone skin looks up and sees what we cannot,
abiding warmth inside our cold hearts
is it outside of our gentle and hope filled dreams?
in a room somewhere now
a young girl is tied down,
petrol poured on her breasts and belly
a lighted match between her legs
she is about to be raped
her child split,
is it stronger than what we believe in?
in a quiet stretch of countryside the sound of the plough preparing its fields,
soft and heavy
earth
breathing
blades, tended and prepared for seeds
inside of ourselves
still warm fluids from our birth
there must be hope, there must be beauty, we say
but in truth,
we are willing to do so little
our hearts are peaceful but needles puncture
if our hearts were pure our cuts would heal … i see a homeless girl die with her baby inside
in flames
and a field full of bodies churned up and minced
it feels worse than slow decline, to see inside
a mind in which disease is unavoidable,
if we could see outside of ourselves
under a strange blue light
always a great danger that if i don’t find some peace, i will destroy it all
cruel and vicious, immune to guilt.
give me images of starvation,
cruelty in deserted bombed cities
give me a broken relationship,
the cost of sanctions given to us as photographs of dying babies, slipping through our gut-retching anaesthesia
something inside broke
i can’t say exactly when, wet heavy threads just holding
sinking bellies and breasts
something somewhere must have gently snapped to explain why i feel as i do …
our hope is absorbed in images of horror
our art is poisoned and reflective, in starvation we are only making things worse
but we are trying to be honest
paintings made of resin
and more hope than could possibly be contained,
in these flat worlds of mangled bodies and abstracted feelings
a smile from someone is all it takes to protect me from doubt
in the warmth between layers of oil images
our most intimate thoughts
feverish babies
with red infected skins
i wanted the doll to live
its beauty is cruel, if there is any hope then you will see through our differences
believe in me but not necessarily forgive me
believe in me and i will always try to free
intensive care
it is not about finding love or friendship,
it is to be able to construct images
whose clarity would otherwise drive us into suicide, but so carefully prepared we can look upon them and say;
this is true, this is what we are.
there are stories 2000 years old of a great being who had once been human
but who then realised that if we examine the mechanisms of thought, the movement from one to another, then we will find within ourselves that our humanity is nothing more than a fragile shell
we are deluded in thinking that our love is calm,
as the mist clears above the raging surface we could see ourselves
huge sparkling cities of violent insect thoughts
when we are being crushed under the pressure of a million tiny fears, and it is difficult to breathe
it is difficult to move even our finger-tips off the surface
our eyelids are heavy like lead sheets,
it is too late for wishes,
how much are you willing to sacrifice, how deep into the dark waters will you go to be sure that your beliefs are not diseased?
how close to the time are you now when you must finally define your will to live?
i see a hole in the ground
that leads many hundreds of feet into the cold depths
the soil here is thick and clammy, if demons exist then it is here that they live
in moist air
immense dark caves
there is a little light,
reflecting off their huge round eyes, enough for them to see,
when we are asleep and curled up
our warm bodies under the covers but our dreams drifting into spaces where the air is heavy and tight
in warmth
in a heavy flooded cell
inspite of everything,
my hopes give rise to promises
uncontainable medicines, often almost believing that i can come close to synthesising some of them
in the night-time, i drive myself to exhaustion trying to describe the beating of a restless heart
lying in bed listening to the constant gentle hum inside,
i see flailing hands and lost bodies floating, but such a long way away
they go down luminous and minute once more
into a huge black depth
a single wish takes form
that we were together, and that our engines of fear will for just a moment fall silent
i will let your loneliness out of its carefully guarded cage
i will help you take apart your defenses
so that you are no longer immune
and when we are close, joined
i will give you medicine
i will hold you and give you all my strength
i will heal all your pain, if you promise me
you will mend my open wounds
you will kiss me in the dark
you will never leave me,
tell me that my dreams are safe with you
they feed, beaks glistening
torn and separated
they swing around over a bright yellow desert land,
a beautiful young girl holds out her hand, a small lake of deep blue water, a sun high in the sky
burns our skin but we lived there, we were happy,
and when father gave us our first stone, we all looked up
our mother had tears in her eyes
we understood but could not explain, that these stones were special. i realised when it was too late and i was alone, these hearts were kind and loving in a way that has made me what i am, many years later when i found these stones hidden deep inside, they were still sparkling
we can generate warmth
in a deep core our elements are inflamed
but these jewels absorb and reform suffering and unhappiness,
warmth which would otherwise leave us when the winter comes around again.
~
compiled from fragments of text written between 1990-95