it will pass 5


... never wanted to be the scribe ... had not trained to write or even be a listener ... it all came to be much later ... after the banishment ... couldn’t keep my mouth shut ... delivered words with a snake tongue ... it wasn’t terrible but led to a time away ... returned after the self imposed exile to the imagined home ... took some time to read the land ... run the rivers ... ferry over the straights to islands and backed onto the blew treez prairie ... a sorrowful canadian dropping down station to station ...

... oh but that glorious age of eerie exile ... running amok in the sunfield room at the top of the stairs ... a place deserted by priests searching beyond the holy theatre ... part of a desperate group of renegades ... howling, twisting, fermenting traditions ... something fishy and playing along through bottoms forest dream to the robinson crusoe nightmare ... radicalization of ritualization … gesture transforming …

... before that were farm field tricks and furniture factory with guest workers, drunks and madmen ... learning to be sly ... no time for the future within desolate excursions ... round the ring … circling the belt ... into the woods ... over canal ... roaming the dramatic centre ...  once scribbling a false dialogue of histories part one and part two ... forging a garden of delights after  hieronymus bosch ... into the filth … escaping the drug infused streets of red trees ... poisoned awakenings to dikes ... imaginary flight ...


unknown

... too many wild black widow frenzied stool fights ... scattered needles ... tram rides to nowhere ... angry tirades of sacrificial stripping the futile emptiness of body memory fulfilling guilt and loss ... why oh why did the guttural noise shatter the devil into a million pieces fractured so completely never to be assembled ... a mosaic of a protected white mountain of no return ... pinning hope on the flight …

... i embellished the terrorist duck until unrecognized could begin to break down thought ... never conceded to possible beginnings ... always believed till it all ended ... was now the scribe transcribing the dream of a nameless dreamer ... the you ... 

… if you don’t understand something than stick with it until you do … i felt the animal deep inside stir … the mask growled … no matter how vivid a memory i knew instinctively that time was stronger … the mask hangs in a place visible each and everyday expanding the intrinsic meaning of a shrine … the  mask or should i say masks … the mask on my wall had another similar mask on another wall … i had seen it once but no longer was sure where it hung … who possessed the mask now and where was it …

… wondered when the next scribe session would be … in the mean time … wait ...


::Note:: … memories are strange …

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