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It’s the rage and tenderness of our history that keeps me up at night, like when we used to meet under bridges or estuaries with only half a breath of air in our lungs, the quiet corners of this life bleeding in from the edges like broken wine bottles and condoms, noticing that
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blood looks almost black by moonlight, and the same can be said for cum too – clinging to blades of grass like tar, realising that there are always two sides to everything, like how when we invented the car, we also inadvertently invented the crash
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and under those bridges and estuaries the night opened up for us like a man falling through starlight and our knees were cut up from glass and sharp rocks, some substance pooling on the surface of the water
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and in those moments feeling a certain dizziness, a knot in my chest and a cold rush of blood to the head that i viewed as a curse but in later years i’ve come see as a tool to separate myself from a brutal world that’s becoming more & more hostile and more & more violent
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and understanding that the ancients believed that light came from behind our eyes and that we cast this light onto all the things in this world wherever we looked, and i wonder: if we closed our eyes, or if we died, would the whole world go dark forever? i yearn for these answers from a universe that’s fraying apart at the edges, and so i’ll begin by plucking them all down
Featured image, excerpt of Hypnosis (1904), by Sascha Schneider.
