Freedom of Failure

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The age of internal apocalypse. The scandal of undressed angels. Whatever gets you off is fine by me. Life gets behind you, but it’s okay to let it slip. Times arrow is never straight. The faces you leave will always reappear when you’re least expecting them. Drown your sorrows. Dislocate yourself from doomed devotion. Separate those clocks you keep hidden and dissolve them in mothers milk. Failure holds no fear for me. It’s not trying that holds my head under the water. Years spent going through the motions. So many days repeating the same mistakes. It’s just a matter of taking a step back and breaking away from the daily grind to see what’s there. All that desperation. That anxiety battled alone. Drinking into the early hours in an attempt to find faith. So much neglect. So many lovers left hanging while I searched for answers in all the wrong places. But there’s no regret. We do what we do. We stay true to intent and keep it alive with whatever we have left. Kill your darlings. Roll another cigarette while a car crashes into a pharmacy. None of us are innocent. We may mean well, yet underneath it all, we yearn for something to elicit the flavours of tainted fruit that hangs just out of reach. Amber. Paris. Seduce me with silence. Nudity leaves me numb. Too many people. Too many golden rings. Telephone conversations with killers. They pluck needles like feathers. Ancestors in Welsh mines buried beneath holy rubble. Scar tissue while watching the news. All those holes- those empty minds as the land sways this way and that. Stick it in me. Reduce me to a giddy child. One of your own. Towers of tidy feet. Always marching in time, they yield only loss. Hit me. Fuck me. Cut my hair. The space in my brain where resolutions no longer compete. Just a boy. Good times in the dirt. Dirty women as the curtains burn with jealousy. Eat dictionaries and piss out the alphabet on demand. Learning curves make for disaster every which way you turn. Crows nibble at tender fingers. Take a bath. Strip down. Smear it on my mouth. Freedom without. Grasp the temporal lever and use it like just like you used to. See me as I am, for this is how it is.

Categories: Uncategorized

2 replies »

  1. what’s your inspiration, as a writer? i am just curious. your words often take me to hidden corners of my imagination. other times, they seem to echo my days. as if you are a fly on my wall, or in my ointment.
    so what is your inspiration? where do these brilliant words come from? the heart? the head? LSD? or some other sacred and yet unholy place?

    this is a wonderful piece. some HDR imagery here. thank you for sharing. you should write a screenplay. for that movie we may never see.

    • Your words of praise are very kind and flattering. I appreciate them dearly. Inspiration for me comes from sadness. The joy of melancholy. Listening to music with a few beers, reminiscing over old times. Picking at scabs. Sometimes I visualize things whilst listening to certain songs and it brings me to tears. The madness that I touch upon is what goes on in that private place. I’ve never been able to nail it, just circle around the edges. I’d like to think I’m getting closer though x

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