Fey and Ineffable..
Darkness.
I think about it
Where is there darkness?
I don’t know what to say.
Don’t come in with a story.
Just let it come…
They came. The tears came fast and at last as I went to sleep. It’s that time. The moment I have to let go. There used to be a monthly conspiracy between these tears. So much so that I wonder if men have a cycle. An ineffable cycle. An introverted yin of erection. A need to cry 10,000 year old tears from 10,000 year old shamans.
I’d think I haven’t cried in awhile which signaled that the tears were near. When the time comes, I stop. Heave breath. Weep. Hurricane passes. It’s a buildup, sometimes feeling it was trash collected from others, sometimes feeling like dark empathy. Death. Cyclical, cyclical, cyclical death.
I’ve rarely had these tears over the past couple of years. Living in a tent. Living in the street. Feeling like an animal. To not cry scares me. For all these tears, I feel grounded. Human. Home again.
The basketball game. Friday night. Sac-Joaquin Section. St. Mary’s was in. The possibility of a state championship. I’m 18. Game start in 20 minutes. I stand outside the gym. My blue 501 jeans are tight but not tight enough. The tip of a twenty dollar bill peeking out of my right pocket.
I feel myself being entered. My atmosphere. A slow sliding of the bill out of my pocket begins. I feel myself being entered. Something behind me. Being played against my own momentum, degrees of direction, blind spots. The crowd surrounding me being used for misdirection. I feel myself being entered. Bill moves slowly. Feeling it. I’m penetrated. Momentum everywhere but here. I feel myself being entered. Ineffably entered. Stung with paralyzing venom. Going to sleep in the snow. Drifting off on waves from a morphine drip. Venom. Spider’s venom. A web. Silky opaque filament being spun around me. Black Widow. Yes. Black Widow. Stay away from the piles of old wood. Black Widow.
I feel myself being entered.
Twenty continues move. It’s found the sweet center of my pocket. It’s found the path of least resistance. Blue denim resistance. I’m mesmerized. Mesmer. Con-men. Landed gentry. Nouveau Riche. Hypnotized. I can’t explain it. Something is in me. Not my body. Halfway between here and there. It’s a hand. It’s an arm. Ineffable mastery. I can’t turn around. I know and I don’t know. It’s happening. What is happening to me? It’s so quiet even the silence trembles.
Tension goes. Arm leaves. Vacuum behind its trail fills with the stink of confusion, mistrust, and distrust. Mistrust and distrust of my body. Mistrust and distrust of myself. Not knowing why. Not knowing why. Not knowing why.
I turn. I see the pickpocket walk away. He was in my atmosphere. It took all of a second. He’s not the only one here working the crowd. Others are being penetrated. Others being mastered. For some reason I feel ashamed.
I now see this happening everyday.
Everyday. All over the place.
Fey ineffable penetration.
Fey ineffable rape.
Maybe that’s why I wait.
Why I want to cry every month.
Why I want to be alone.
