:: stumble ::
a bomb has been dismantled and in it's place a plague has begun to grow._it hasn't quite yet started infecting the small bulbs and wicks that light up my nights as soon as these eyelids shut out the world._but it will._ pretty soon i'll watch the slow decay and festering of my interstices, of that safe place built for me throughout my life; i'll watch those images so craft fully put together in between waking hours dilute into salted strands dripping down my face._not quite yet, no._the confirmation of the existence of the cause for such fears must be to all lengths put before me to give way to a racing heart and sweated palms and trembling legs and unsteady feet.
one single finger has within it thousands and thousands of interconnected crevices with which to cling to the outside and differentiate the toucher from the touched._a finger throbs with a rhythmic sway, obedient always to a heart._a heart contracts and expands with exceeding rigour to the pace set by millions and millions of webbed structures spitting out the smallest amounts of what i would not know accurate to call existing._and those structures, ruled by some strange force i cannot grasp, i cannot picture, i cannot dive into, make that finger and its counterpart cling making the toucher and the touched one and the same for a little more than a mere second._the pulsing sound surrounds all there present, it crawls inside and makes its nest, it comes and goes without paying heed to the hectic swerving of those hearts and brains and minds and souls._all that's left are aligned crevices in the middle of that day that has never come to me.
the infectious agent must reproduce itself a great number of times in order to cause this slightly feverish state to worsen._it may very well not have anything to do with my will or my strength whether it does so or not._i might just be subjected to whatever speed it decides to give to the decay of delusions._ the copies of it self need not to be exact; mere traces of its essence are enough to flood my veins and cloud my eyes._it has begun.
taking a step not only implies the synchronized tensing and relaxing of numerous muscles and tendons._it also necessarily supposes an impulse directed toward some determinate thing._when the first foot is lifted, as if by magic or divine intervention, the weight of the world is taken from the shoulders and eyes are allowed to simply focus on that object of desire._those pupils enlarge, hiding the coloured strands that compose the eye; capture light, both from outside and in, both from what's not seen and what's wanted to be seen._and then the encompassed movement of that whole makes it clear how that unclear way of touching of two pupils in two eyes in two heads directed by too much of what i don't understand is the motor of it all._and then freckles and pupils and crevices and lips align and my eyes close dry from the fever, wishing to not see what is seen as wished.
coming in through my ears::Liverpool-Chelsea
:: dare ::
if i could, i would._wouldn't you, please?