CHAPTER 8: تِنْ-أَهْ-بْرِيزْ-أُمْ
The three mysteries of the chapter;
ΠΙΠΙ
ΣΥΜΟΙΠΛ ΥΚΥΣΤΕΚΑΙΠΚΡΟΣ
ΣΑΡΧΑΙΟΛΟΓΙΑ ΤΟΥ ΑΠΕΙΡΟΥ
The Lament of the book;
ADUNQUE m’ hai tu pure in sul fiorire,
morendo, senza te, Fratel, lasciato,
perchè il mio, dianzi, chiaro e lieto stato
ora si volge in tenebre e martire?
Gran giustizia era, e mio summo desire,
da me la strale avesse incominciato,
e come al venir qui son primo stato,
ancora stato fossi al dipartire.
Che non avrei veduto il mio gran danno,
di me stesso sparir la miglior parte,
e sarei teco fuor di questo affanno!
Or ch’ io non ho potuto innanzi andarte,
piaccia al Signor, a cui non piace inganno,
ch’ io possa in breve e scarco seguitarte.
ALIEN
And now, alone, you become omni-trix, empress of occident and orient with ores of orichalcum pouring in, to praise in panglyphic your Godliness; does not your baldachin seem darkly lit? Your lurid arras dull’d to wanny films? Thy sable throne, where melancholy sits? here you remain bereft of audience. thou’rt the moon-aquitaine’s embodiment reflected through a stagnant watry-mist, with shifting shapes, in a word, now obvious;potpourri-popery and party tricks. fading as the wave-gods of orpheus, indolent on the foaming starry drift. the time for play has gone, the poppy-filled field sere’d, the man’s fall’n from the lofty cliffs, And I, escape hence as departing wind to plead to god for which I’m sorriest;never thy antagonist, I thought we’d win a paradise triple-twinned, barring this;dear God, your safety is my parting wish.
HOTHOUSEHELL our hydra hegira comes to a HEAD! My name? Call me une and unette, I, un-et minus the et of brother and the et of an E.T, and, unfête the opposite of unfettered, no pal-o’-Vér’té in this palo verde, and hothouse yes, this pile of verdure’s a thing of pelo muerte, my hair, frizzle’d in a soak-sweat fricassee, and, oh my god oh my god oh my god, everything here’s aspirating, I mean everything’s breathing, the lights beating down on me and from where I drive past these closed windows and through the heat-glare of heater heat’d AC (broken what better should I expect my life is a Jinx, now that’s a word that binds this life, jinx, jinx, jinx and now just one jinx alone and by herself.) every thing, the ground’s a masochist, I see it, the pervert, lifting his saguaro cacti fingers towards the pale, pulsing sun. And the pores of those cacti between and behind the lines and spiky spines, I see them breathing in the heat and breathing out an odor with the steaming breath of a hushing pervert, so also seems the ugly trees and few flowers, as the breath of a bronchitite asthmatic on an empty stomach with unbrush’d teeth, reeking with the ordure of the sun, is this how the worlds chew the cud? Taking from the stars what entrance of purity they can, swallowing it down the chloroplastic mouth, regurgitating it slowly past the tongues of petals, then swallowing the vomit of oxygens and dioxides over and over again? I Would if I could wipe off the puke of the air. regardless it’s still praecox pre-cock’s-a-doodle, I still see him in me, for which I am impressed, carbonless copy paper the image of my brother doubled, the image drawn on him, being so pressed, remains faintèd all along my surface, besmirched by a smirch, in this heat the thoughts escape me, my head is light and bloodless, so many times I’ve nearly fainted.
Which way is he? Driving “Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well.” But what’s a motorcar to do with a nun? What’s a nun to do with a sun? What’s the sun to do with the pulp of amnesia, which i, frowning, bite in sobbing? Why bite? Amnesia is the tree near the lake of memory, its pith of cyanide is an executed’s peace. But what to do with this belly-ache? If love is milk then it has soured, spoiling on the side of the road, and on the road? This basterna’s a bastard, no, the bastard; in bastardry’s a melange-malaise of mingled bloods, stuff on stuff on stuff. Tree here, rock there, boarded town then soon a desert again, it is a molasses of moments, and nothing’s sweet about it either.
Sulfurous mileage, like a fatso’s fatso stuck in the bed, no, worse, i am stuck in the folds of a fatso’s fatso, couched between the last food-stamp-crumbs and burgeoning maggots, but all of this is skin deep. I know myself, always reliant on good instincts. I‘ll shout
SISTER
I HAVE GOOD INSTINCTS, ILL FIND MY WAY OUT OF THIS CRAYON MAZE.
This pain and depression, it is not me, my hands are covered in gold bangles, I wear a Victorian dress, I have tiaras, my waist is so small I could drown in a teacup, this place not me, not me, I know who I am, I have my good instincts, distress circles me, its face melty, like lumps of ice cream too slowly licked that drop of needles from the body of distress, I turn the air higher so why does the heat increase? My hands sunk in the gelatinous body of distress, I’ll turn over the head-dirtied pillow to its cooler side, I have good instincts, I’ll be as reticent as these rocks, these rocks which seem empurple’d with my brothers blood, no. It’s just plain, plain that this soil and these rocks are nothing I’m fond of, they’re the fond from a lava panned from the volcano all the way across these sad little hills.
THE RAY-BLEACH’D SIGN
“Death Valley”
Said the the ray-bleach’d sign like an epitaph.
SISTER
I’ll not die, I’ll find life here, you can’t trick me, my brothers here.
THE RAY-BLEACH’D SIGN
“Death Valley”
Said the ray-bleach’d sign like an epitaph.
THE CAR
…
…
SISTER
keep going! You can’t stop here please.
THE CAR
“Roar, crank,
Crank, crank,
Roar,
…
…”
SISTER
But there’s no one here, it’s nothing, sheer cut nothing, too revealing nothing, untasteful NOTHING.
This is what salt is? Just flat salt on one side, dunes of sand baking the other? My shoes ruined by specks, my face winnowed and cracking from the upshot of salt wind?
FLATS
shhh huushh
Shhh huush.
SISTER
Even the sands tell me to hush? I won’t be quiet, it’s all I have left. And where is this reservoir of water? wasn’t this some place of milk and honey?
FLATS
shhh huushh
Shhh huush.
SISTER
Say something different! Every step its the same, more flats, more empty heat, more dissipating and more quieting, answer me, wasn’t this some place of milk and honey?
FLATS
shhh huushh
Shhh huush.
TIREDNESS
Close your eyes
A land of bilk and hungry (close your eyes) more like, I still trust myself and won’t be put to and won’t be put to sleep, my faith in myself is (close your eyes) I won’t close my eyes, I think I see there (close your eyes) I think I see (close your eyes) a little road and maybe there’s (your eyes are closing) a town far off and the aliens are there not just one and all of them and my brother and our old house and his bed and my bed and my cat and candies and bed my bed and my pillow and I faith in myself eyes closed I have faith to walk with my eyes closed and my feet in good instincts will go, I have comfort in myself, I am like in my bed laying down, going just where I need to go. I am there. Eyes closed.
Like a cat stretched out in the heat of the sun, I said my last
SISTER
I wanna be one of the married daughters too.
Well what else could happen to her, no point in holding back the point I’ll just spit it out, and then I died.
Yep,
Dead,
Gone,
No more sister daughter never a wife no more speaking no more talking, that’s it. Shows all over.
Well kinda,
the weirdest thing happened, it felt between waking for the first time and also being a double layered dream, a dream within a dream like a person who, sleeping love-lost in their bed, feeble and fevered, sleeps, dreaming of a big field and an even more enfevering sun, hiding themselves in the very dewy oakes, and for fear of serpents, drinks of the fresh dew of the biggest oak, laying themselves down beneath it, sleeps a more delectable sleep. Finding themselves now in a place of extravagance and dreams of dreams.
Well something like that, for me, it’s like I took off for the first time a heavy overly bright VR headset, (full dive FMD) but like is the right word, it wasn’t, it was like, because I removed something from my sight, and it was like, because what I seen now seemed like eyes made dark by light, like when you look into the sun too long, go inside and can’t really see anything especially if someone turns the lights off, and in that same way there was a different illumination, the luminosity which illum’d was more pervasive, it was the darkness of the world wrapped around the crystal glimmer of a jewel in a dream.
Yes I think that’s the best way to describe my current predicament, I am trapped inside a jewel inside of a dream, but that jewel is in the shadow by, I think, the shadow cast by time itself, like time looked back on itself, its head and back hiding the light from its bottom half, covering itself, and that little pocket of shadow time grew deeper and deeper since the beginning before the beginning. Every day gaining age and darkness and depth, falling deeper and deeper into a time against time, a time hidden from time by time, the accumulation of the past I think. That is the shadow covering the little jewel, my prison, is it a sarcophagus?
I don’t know, I guess a word is dolorous, there’s windows to look out, it looks for a moment like a city all in very dark iron, but then, did you ever take your thumbs and, closing your eyes, press them against the lids, finding symmetrical patterns spiraling in your eyes? I see those patterns with the eyes open here.
Another word is limpid, but, as a word meaning movement, movement is limpid. Is it a sarcophagus? When I move it’s nothing moving, there is a change of scenery, but no face no little nose, no puckering lips, no heave no chest no arms or legs to stretch, it is limpid.
“Neither here nor there” is a sentence, have I been sentenced to that? Is this a sarcophagus? There are walls here, some shorter some longer, and corridors, things like porticos and tunnels, but, I go to the wall and first it seems some 6 feet from me, then nearing, 60 feet, then 600, and with each step towards the wall the further I am, but when I walk backwards I do near the wall, and when I am close to it, I do not see matte but a reflection, but it is no reflection for I do not seem to show a face, instead something like a changing face creeps out of the walls as if trying to push past me, likewise the tunnels and corridors when traveled down appear first a straight line, curving some, then straight again, until a change happens I cannot say when, suddenly I am not walking down, but falling downwards in perfect vertical fall, and when I walk backwards the end of the tunnel seems to increase in light but I near deeper and deeper darkness.
And there is a center to the place, a stone bed, a single turquin blue marble cut, in four sides I see depicted; a branch where two birds have just flown from, a scene from an alt Dante’s inferno where Dante sits on his knees, Virgil behind him forcing his eyes open to look upon a giant Medusa head. The next, three sages around an amphora of wine being prepared by Helen, who pours into it a potion labeled “nepenthe”
But on its fourth side, a hanging cresset lamp, with its chain broke, the cage of fire broken on the ground and flameless, and all along its ground was many broken flame cages.
When I move myself to its center, I see something Like my body, laying asleep, it is a sarcophagus pure and simple. But when I lay in my body, I can look to the roof of the place, which is a dome, and on this dome I see an uncountable sequence of me which seems larger and larger wider and wider the more I look it out, and each of these bodies seems to follow a spiral design beginning from outwards going in, the most outward seeming one, I see myself little more than a piece of putty with little prints of eyes and rudimentary limbs, but with each successive iteration, the next me has more quality, more detail of design, first a thing of putty, now a simple flesh, then more detail than any mirror has ever shown, then clothe in greater and greater beauty, soon my me seems unrecognizable, the final iteration so beautiful, I see in her the green of the alien by her dress, I see in her the face of my brother by her affections, but in the center of the dome, the final iteration points to the upward darkness of its center.
With a lot of concentration, I can make out through the dark of the crystalline light-darkened dome’s little hole, an upper seal closing the dome, and upon the seal I can barely make out writing; “Nisciuno aspetterraggio maje quant'a mme.” “No one will wait as long as i.”
VOLUME END.
DECORATIVE SONG: FINALE GOODBYE
Goodbye! Goodbye!
It was nice for a time!
Goodbye! Goodbye!
It was nice for a time!
See you, when the moon is larger than the sun,
See you, when all you’ve wanted has become,
See you, when its gone and everything’s undone.
Goodbye! Goodbye!
It was nice for a time!
Goodbye! Goodbye!
It was nice for a time!
When, days, are, dumb,
And you want a bit more fun!
We’ll, play, and, run!
To the place built for us!
Goodbye! Goodbye!
It was nice for a time!
Goodbye! Goodbye!
It was nice for a time!
https://vocaroo.com/1ddeFYlmgr4N
