The Violence of the sun

The sky shone vibrating across the meadows, molten solid, from the fermenting, the rotting of the plants, the silent shrieks of the land fills the air, ever suppressed by the nauseating, choking, overflowing presence of light. The rays, like mercenaries of their home, in a mad suicide attempt to pile their bodies so high so thick, so intense, as incense, that no cry, tears or sobs may escape their invisible tyranny over the land. Suffocating, peeling their very beings off their core so as to be able to take it home, yet leaves it both, on the ground, like a used towel in a brothel, their truth but a scalped, skinned soft shell lying on the ground which itself is but burnt skin, ever drying, fading, like a dementia patient, experiencing the gradual decomposition of their own mind and conscience. And the core, lifeless, less significant, and alive than a stone, by itself nothing, only an integral part of something, but alone, abandoned, only potential, unrealized, never fading, always nothing, a whole world cries. A world of cries, never to be heard, so as not to be, the sun, always, ever forward it rains.

From my cave I watch, as life strangles life, into death, it embracing life into the lifeless as life itself never would, how strange it is, life’s love of itself, it’s continuation and propagation, this is cruelty in its essence, not just towards others, but towards oneself. The sun sets, now, all those in pain, may find respite, calmness in the dark, all the dead, may calmly feed the sickly pleasures of the scavengers of the night, but finally, lifelessly, painlessly, a state life never allowed them, a luxury, life does not permit.

Consumed by thought in the entrance of my cave, I noticed not, a living curse approaching, beautiful to the eye, on others, I scream in the silent calmness of the night a beastly curse, of terror, of myself, of the moon. Insipid rays, illuminated for a moment, my body, myself, leave me alone. In terror, I jump back and start running through the caverns of my cave, like a wild beast, the moonlight invading ever further into the caverns, I bleed, I hurt, I am beaten by the chandeliers of stone hanging from the ceiling, yet whose light I can tolerate on myself, I run on and on, only to be finally somewhere the rays won’t ever catch me. I, in my confidence, like I did not just act like a beast of the woods, not that I would say I am not that, yet I would prefer, hmmm of the caves perhaps, in my faked confidence which I fake to myself to keep finally from the wretched fact that it touched me, the violence of the sky, take my steps slow and upright as never before. But fall on the ground and start vomiting, the light, it touched me, there is no me, I do not exist, It, with its touch poisoned me, cursed me to exist. No, I will disappear again, it won’t take long, I’m sure.

The urge to vomit, the disgust of being, not the reality of the outside, but me being a part of it, the outside bothers not until it tries, ties pervasively, perversely. Digs into the flesh and soul, with the confidence of a god, so nature does to nature only itself, itself.

Out of frustration, I start walking slowly yet submerged in thought. It will only take a minute, I will fade away again, everything, only is as not alright, as it used to be before. In a stormy sea of calmness, without a moment's notice I fall, I could not see a thing in the darkness of the caverns, which only seems to darken. I might die I thought in that second, right before I submerged in something other than my thoughts, suffocation. Could I simply drown in this place? Evermore comforting than any place in my mind, the silence, only intensified by the distant sounds of the underwater tunnels. The water seems brighter now, almost like a ghost, irradiated by a silver light, I open my eyes to the horrific realization that the moonlight somehow seems to reach into the cave. I look up to the ceiling, the chandeliers of stone, now, instead of water droplets dripping from them, something ethereal seems to be flowing from, through them, as blood from the wounds. A silverine liquid, shining moonlight, and shone it did, all over the cave, infecting each and every part, each and every single thing was its domain now. I submerge and scream underwater come up for oxygen, unbothered, like nature is to us, like our galaxy to our sun, and our sun to us, indifferent, incapable of its consideration even. I most certainly, insufferably, am. A cloud gathers in the cave, a silver cloud turning into a vicious smile of a round face. The face of the moon that is, smiling, like a bear with its prey, even as alive, a certainty of possession, this is what a prey animal sees right about the time of its death. I wanted to drown, not drown in myself, in water and not in a demon of the cosmos. So great as to be completely empty, I am, most certainly, trapped. Resignation, to float to bask in it as a game, its lights, simply because you must now. To drown in a sea of nothingness, in a strange cave, in a strange way, consumed purely from the inside. Despite all else, now, happily laughing at it all, it will never keep me locked away in this prison, of myself. Soon enough, all will have mattered not for me. Clearly, my role will be that of a terrorist of the mind, the cynical, actor. It seems all the rivers, are simply here to be dark in their reflection, always at night, so that maybe, one accursed day, someone drowns therein for no one to see. The moon like lava, flows cold into the cave, in its frosty light of madness, there is no place for calmness. Desolation, the defining feeling of being so conscious, of being so alive, all to the highest degree, not as a choice, but as a must. As an outside being forcing you into this state, all appears even though on the inside, it is not an act, a non-act, of being, being outside, the outside as you, as you experience it. Fragmented, I fall to a corner, horrified by my innards, and horrified, of my awareness of it, with almost loving, dying eyes, a stare at the moon inside the cloud, in its disgusting nakedness all around me, flowing ever onwards, inwards, now permeating me, as the real me, as the me outside of me. Horror of being spare me, calmness and death comfort me. Not even the thought of nothingness gives me peace now, even these old, conquered concepts, slayed enemies, identity, form and thought all collapse in on themselves, everything of me illuminated by awareness to the point of making them invisible, revealed as nothing to be illuminated. I flow, with what, I care not, my body never resting, my mind never ceasing, to scream in pain out of an unlocatable, all-encompassing pain and discomfort. They screech so distantly from the other side of a tunnel filled with heavy gases, alive, before though formation, all of it lived directly without narrative, without cure, so distantly, hauntingly claustrophobic, this pain, a prison inside of which my castle stands. Or a hole rather, a cave perhaps, how ironic, a microcosm of mimicry, or rather the truth, the essence of life can never be escaped. Drowning, how ridiculous, by now I have drowned a million deaths, yet here I am, ever feeling, ever fleeting, ever in pain, forever may be. Now half dead, floating dazed, in the sewers of this cave and my mind, drifting ever away, into a nothing as a most radical being, formed but formless, mouldable yet always the same, a drift in my own winds, in my own clouds, now the pain is gone, I open my eyes, and see, all around, I am bleeding out, the ceiling a starry night beyond comprehension, in which the moon floats dark, in its place. As my blood, spreads around, always calmly, in the darkest nights, yet now, on the face of the water, a reflection of the sky, in its dark and light all the same, around me, a flower of blood, the stars shine red, and radiate the rot. The beauty of rotting, the only true growth, the world a reflection, a giver of shades. The shade of this existence, nothing, but a shade it is as well. To act out your death, as an actor to yourself, a banalization of death, as well as life, yet inevitable, like all else. I notice I start sinking, in my blood, a carnivorous, bloodthirsty flower of beauty, through my blood, and in its reflection, the labyrinthine maze of mirrors, the self, itself is but a grotesque, radiating its light in incomprehensible ways that seem impossible to even conceptualize, my previous dread left perhaps, only in fear of its master’s arrival. This, being, as a state seems to take pain only to see if it can carve a new one into you, deeper, with a better knife, meat is but, all, that signifies its disappearance, corrosion or corruption. In the garden of nature, which it created in its vast madness, reside the most peculiar of cemeteries, some of which almost seem to create death, only so that it may suffocate another one. Infinite graveyards, expanding, always by their very nature, from their old stones, new ones are created, from their own dead new life, forever to be hunted in a new existence, on the eternal hunting grounds, the gardens of nature, peel themselves to the core, so as to satisfy, and entertain their mad ruler. (This is not a finished work, obviously, but I would appreciate feedback.)