Barbarians at the Gate

Write write

Keep writing

Lest I sink

Into theatrical destructive fantasy

I have no feeling toward

My imagination, which has me dying

A thousand different ways, palaces of

Destruction, fading to dust every single second

Reborn into something more when I am affected

Why does it mean so much

It’s a complicated question

I guess the first time you get that horrible feeling

That life is so utterly painful and never goes according to plan

That plans inevitably backfire anyway, so even if it worked you are

Left shaking your head in bemusement at what could possibly go wrong

Or that the right doesn’t feel as right as it should be

Such is the arrogance, pathos, ignorance, misunderstanding

Sign language and shattered vessels I love writing about

People swept into a moment they barely understand

Doing what they never expected and thinking about it

In the aftermath as the conclusion plays out suddenly

Beyond the control of the box they drew themselves up in

So what is it, what was your pressing question

What did you want to know, by interviewing me

Did you see some kind of spark of life beyond

Even my interior sight, where I think I see so far

And so deep

Within my own mind

And the unkindness around me

Where oh when did it begin

Maybe it was alone in my driveway

The old house

Listening to them scream at each other

As a kid you ask yourself if

Things are going to last forever

Happiness at the end of fairy tales is eternal

Sadness at them fighting seems like it might

Last forever, so imagination is my refuge

I talk to myself and wear a shoelace around my neck

And everyone on my block may think there’s something off with me

I might be caught by the girl next door acting out invisible action movies

On my deck, all that stuff happens, and it doesn’t bother me long

Because the invisible world makes me happy. And you grow up and

The world presses all this nastiness onto you.

And I ran away so deftly before my teenage years,

but eventually the venomous monster swallowed me too

the hopelessness disease

the culture free suburb where I came of age

with the movie posters at the bus stop and the imitation Chinese voices and the racism and the hatred ignored and pushed aside but said with pride by those who did deride.

And it’s a respectful thing, to be hateful at the barber-shop. It’s respectful to be afraid, because all the afraid people on television are successful, and the afraid rappers make rhymes about killing people and get the girls and the riches, and the commercial says this product will ease the pain.

You drink to numb the truth, because the truth is we’re all alone, sometimes. Sometimes there’s love and sometimes you’re bothered by something that won’t go away.

Whether it’s death or rejection, the pain finds you. And our society has no solution for the pain aside from consumption. So off we go into the rich galaxy, pilled up and high, dissatisfied.

I heard salvation in music, the same way the invisible world was like a warm blanket. I saw God at the end credits of movies I loved. I recognized I was sinking, and I hurt some people, like you often do when bleeding from the eyes. I regretted and tried learning from the regret, but now there’s just this hostility that creeps in. I’m too short, I’m too skinny, I’m not an alpha male. Why, why, why, why? Why? Why am I never good enough? Sometimes I think we’re all running around blind. Sometimes I think it’s all some sort of comedy, best viewed from the distance. Oh, but I can see my senselessness. I don’t always get sucked in. Patience, forgiveness, love, and understanding will rule my life. Even if the barbarians stay eternally at the gate.

My invisible world.

Why does it matter? Because it set me free, free of charge. It did not require a debt. It did not lead me down an abyss.

Laugh with me, at the foot of the great hole that sucks our soul.

It’s all imaginary, it’s all in our heads.

There’s nothing really happening, aside which we believe. What we believe shall define us. Let us be defined by the goodness. Let me be free of the harm, the harm inside, the harm outside, the harm that is not my bride.

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About mw2828

I am a writer currently working out of the New York area. https://mythandmist.wordpress.com/ View all posts by mw2828

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