We Have Incriminations

 There was nothing more. No one suspected anything. Nothing. What was there? And no one asked why. It was reckless but no one cared. This trip was different. It was strange, but he was glad to be free. Natural.

The roar of his ego telling him, “You’re beautiful.

You’re bright.” If he screamed, it was unheard. If he screamed again, it was thrilling. The roar telling him, “Make your millions; drink your champagne.” Slowly he moved from the corner, out of the shadow, out of the smoke of a furnace funhouse. 

There was more to it, of course. The smell of secret money inextricably entwined, enmeshed with every aspect of his private life. Love and mercy disguised. Call it spiritual legitimacy but it’s nothing but power. Take advantage. Get even. Double life. Double standards. Predatory addictions will not let go. We have photographs. We have incriminations. Behind the savage scenes. Subtle hints and controlling forces, blinded and blinding. He has a lot to hide. 

All This Was Done To Fulfill What Had Been Spoken by the Prophet

In the silver shadowed evening I am returning home. It is late. Under the mirror, under the eerie ambiance of flickering fluorescent lights I am losing myself, like any one of the many millions suffering from demonic and unclean spirits. A sense of rushing through a darkened tunnel. Pale face and half again. 

The plastic power of indiscriminate destruction, psychic visions. Pain is pain. Deeper sleep and everything lost through insecure violence. But with a word, one passionate, joyous word and the vibrant sounds of laughter. 

All who were ill, all the nausea, all the lethargy and memory lapses like fat flies buzzing back into the void. All our weaknesses, all our disease - from the crotch, the belly, the spine. We were clinically dead. Spiritually dead. Drowned and fired. Now new light. Now new life.

The Kingdom of Heaven Is Hers

 

How blessed are the poor in spirit; the kingdom of heaven is hers. 

She was one of those lovely things I’ll always remember - a beautiful girl with deep chocolate eyes. When she would laugh it was always too loud and she was always reluctant to speak. She left her apartment just after dusk and she never came back. 

How blessed are those who mourn for they will be comforted. 

Fast beat driving - heartbeat slow and irregular. Snatched from the street. Unmelodious chords in the parking lot. Friction sounds. Grinding telephones and no answer. 

How blessed, the meek. They will inherit the land. Her mother told her, “Be careful out there,” and “come home safe.” Now she refuses to take solace. “Prayer never works.” She stands at the mirror in a curious combination: half in a trance, half aware. There are only doubts and goodbyes. Cold black holes that never go away. 

How blessed are the ones who are hungry and thirsty for righteousness, for justice. They will be satisfied.  

You can never forget the way blood glistens in moonlight. Do the dead stay dead? Is this the way the world ends? With unanswered questions? 

How blessed are the ones who show mercy for they will have mercy themselves. 

Something has changed. Power rising. Red roses, white, yellow, pink. Eyes full of light. But still the thorn, the prick, the blood. The investigation continues. We don’t know and what could we say? 

How blessed are the pure in heart; they are the ones who will see God. 

From November to January we wonder. Dreaming. Imagining. Hoping. Fearing. Freezing. It’s all too much and too hard to bear. I don’t want this, any of this. No relief in nightmare. No weal when I wake. 

How blessed the peacemakers; they are the daughters of God. 

She was weak and unsure. Too delicate for this world, more suited for the next. This was the flaw in her beauty: she was afraid of her voice. In a flash, open slightly. Two paramedics in a whistle. Alive, now dead against a background of twilight stars. Ethereally beautiful, eternally young. 

How blessed are the tormented, the persecuted, the beaten and abducted. The kingdom of heaven is hers.

I Was Possessed by the Devil

 

So it was a nightmare, that moonless night just after we’d moved into the house. Strange things. Demonic things. The sound of children speaking vulgarities in the dark. I remember my mother leaning over the bed as I was rapidly shaking. Shaking harder than before. 

I was possessed by the devil. 

But the words had no context and the sounds had no meaning. You know how people will fabricate stories. Try to understand. Try to appreciate the situation. Can you feel those fine hairs on your arms and the back of your neck rising? Tingling? 

“He’s asleep again.” 

“Again?” 

“Still. He’s still asleep.” 

Despite the vibrations. Despite the noise, I am still asleep. Light is blazing in the rain spattered windows. George Bush and Ronald Reagan are on the television whether we like it or not. Permission was given, that is the first. Second, external spirits will infest the place. Then comes the oppression.

Where is the life I had before? I thought it was there, but I was wrong. It disappeared. It fled into the dark as I was sleeping.

Late at night, even now, I still dream comfortless dreams of something watching. Something is there. Nothing is there. Nothing is there except a voice. Voices telling me to go out and to do. Something is there. Eyes that are not eyes. Voices that are not voices. And my pale face in the dark. A garble of voices, still meaningless. 

Instructions for an Auto-Appendectomy

Performing medical procedures on oneself without proper training and equipment can be extremely dangerous and life-threatening. It is crucial to seek professional medical help and consult with a qualified healthcare provider if you are experiencing symptoms that may require surgery or medical attention. 

However... 

The first step in an auto-appendectomy is locating the Sephirot within the context of the inner Tree of Life. Look for a small, tube-shaped organ located in the lower right side of the abdomen.  Warning:Trying to locate the appendix on your own without proper training or knowledge can be dangerous and is not recommended.

Do not take your eyes off the organ. It may shift unexpectedly.

Keep moving. Keep seeking. Always be alert for opportunities where they are least expected. Perhaps you will dream of beautiful women. Maybe you will experience a vision of the future. Be sure to ask many questions. Only when you have received all your answers will your blood be free. Follow all safety protocols for blood cleanup and disposal. 

Cauterize the wound with a plastic, disposable lighter.

The Halfway Point

Twelve people went missing in the night and we just sat there with our phones and our bloodshot, bulging eyes. Somewhere they were weeping, pulling away, screaming at cold flesh shadows. This was the halfway point: there would be no escape for anyone. 

There were mutant, albino rats miles below the surface of the streets. Strange creatures with blind, black eyes and wide mouths full of teeth like whirling blades. 

The hospital was waiting for this, medics bent over us with their faces covered with surgical masks. Pulsing arteries and dropping, throbbing hearts. The whiplash of worry. This was not science at all. It was one of those brief exchanges, full of important and meaning but we failed to understand.

She Says, “No.”

I fall back into the chair, one of those cold, comfortless chairs that you find in any underfunded government agency. I am frozen cold, too cold and I apologize. “I’m sorry.” “There is no need to apologize,” she says. She is dressed in black, black as a raven on a cemetery fence. I whisper again with new urgency, “I am sorry. I am so sorry.” She says, “No.”

The shadows cluster in the corner of the room, in front, forward. Her grey eyes lock in place and fix on me and I know. I know her deformity. I know her disappointment. My palms are damp with sweat. The room is warm and hushed - though I am still cold. The doorway to the hall outside opens and she says, “No.”

 

She slides into the second arm-chair next to me. She wants to co-opt my emotions. She wants to corrupt my sympathies. My pulse is fluctuating: seventy, ninety, one-twenty. Spiking cerebral hemorrhage. I am dangerously high. Sweating profusely. Hypertension blood pressure, danger of stoke. I am swearing profusely. But she says, “No.”

I cannot believe that it is her making these noises, these ominous noises - like a medieval messenger, rocking from side to side. She is speaking to me with some unknown tongue. Her fragile eyes disappear. Vanish. All changes. Dropping, cracking, hitching, shuddering. She reaches out to me once more before she is gone and I say, “No.”