It was while I was looking for the right funerary method when I realised how far I had gone. I chose a Sky Burial and remembering something from childhood my consciousness stirred. I was aware I would one day lay down to die, a day of my choosing and an act of my will. Of course throughout my teens, 20's and 30's I struggled with this concept. Teenage years buffered with morbid obsession of suicides taught me death was not that easy. The 20's flew and I was so full of life I felt truly immortal so death was never an issue. The 30's brought the encroaching awareness of ages to come with its temptaions of disease and decay ever looming. How could I purely and simply lay down to die? But I know I will and that is all I can say. I find the imagery of the Tibetan Rite moving and beautiful. To surrender to the elements and play with the vulnerability we suffer at the hands of nature inspires me. I fear however I will rot and decay as countless others have done amongst the bricks and mortar which suffocates me as I write.

Maybe its the rain that turns my head like this. Maybe its the rain.

There they are again those linear forms with curving alliance to symmetry both vertical and horizontal. The fog hangs in the headlights dispersed by speed, the fusion and friction of rubber on tarmac grips the road, iron clad hooves on gravelled path. Is time linear like this or circular driving monotonous revolution on revolution as we sit in the hub watching it all spin around us? These horsemen ride the road with fourfold hooves, their galloping acceleration driving their hatred into the rain.

I silence mind before breath and that changes time. The wheels lock with the brake and time changes and descends into slow motion graphic display. The brake is afterward though not before and that is the sign of this madness. The veins of this country pulsating with carbon monoxide death, this is the weave and the web of it all. This is the motion and fluidity of liquid carcasses, faceless and void.

Parallel scars carve in tarmac marring this earth’s pretty face. Violent and luminescent blind and stagnant sight into vivid focus of dreams beating out monotony with her whip; we are slaves to the road. The carnage when the veins rupture chaos into linear orbits of hollow eyes sightless by the hypnotic monotony of motorway lights. Fighting order, smoke rises from heated concrete reaching upward for release from the grip of this hell. This shell we call civilisation stripped of light and plunging into darkness and chaos remains in the pulse. The beating and the rhythm of the wheels thudding out the duration are marking the patience of time and the distance. It speaks to the heart, this is beauty, this is freedom, and dammit, this is liberty!

Aphrodisiac for the veins injecting daily a drug that squeezes it’s venomous serum through my rigid body. Rigor mortis descending in corpse like beauty I find ecstasy in pain and that is the drowning inside of me, I die and I fall.

Layer on layer liquid floating in sliding chaos of non-reality. This lie is mind absorbing the day. Excelling in sanguine beauty lifeless stigmata throws me into confusion. Taller than the earth’s roof I reach for the absolute, the divine and He is defined in rising columns and vaults which span the soul. This is my dream, it is what my eyes see, and my ears hear. I fight it day and night through the blinking twilight of insomnia, I fear the fall into abyss so deep it will absorb me, consume me and violate me.

The air rapes me, stripping me naked and with its whipping the stranglehold of loneliness throttles me until i cannot breathe. Nakedness bleeds from my eyes and flows down my face stinging the raw flesh burnt from me acid etched in tattooed illustration of age and experience. Those futile tears sting, the water that burns and scalds. I do not shriek and I do not cry the anger turns inward as always to scar me inside. Always scarring and always screaming for life.

Loving this cruelly as to bleach the sibling heart and bind the value and the promise of praise. Each bleeding cut, one for each tormentor, each torturer, and each friend. Slip into the breed, it is what you are. My strength and will is to cut the skin, peel it back to reveal the vein and then I will crawl into your mind and you will see me for whom I am, what I am. This is Leviathan! This is mine.

Do you feel me there? Deep inside your thoughts listening to the sensual curve of your ideas. Are you laughing at yourself? Do you silently say ‘that is not me it is her’? Laugh and mock yourself into desperate annihilation of will. It is my will to see the living and thus find a reason to live, no longer do I walk among the dead now I see something more and that is paralysis of fear. It screams insanity at the door of consciousness but the coin tossed always falls to the head, for fortune’s sake, it balances on its edge.

This is my will to live among the living, breathe their air, and see their lives create patterns of distinction and success. No longer among the dead carcasses that haunt my life and hide in the shadows of mind’s reality. I want something more and that becomes my paralysis, it screams night and day that insanity and that fear. I am screaming at a door nailed shut but the soft whisper of reason seeping through the gap between door and frame. I toss a coin for this reason, this sanity but its face is blank.

You stop the motion and we stare from the heights at the pretty, flickering tungsten lights below. "Tell me it is I and not you that feels this. Tell me I am the only one."
Your reply leaves my heart in forced surrender, "I cannot do that."