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letra de oh, perispomenon! - coin locker kid

–it really is grotty being gritty
–what?
–the dirt and the mud. it’s all so much fun until it isn’t and you’re sunk. n0body can come dig up the bones, they burrow way deep down past squeaky squawking whispering whistlers and turn up somewhere just above the devil and his company lodged and stuck between a pebble and a stone. now all you’ve got is grot and you’re in want of a spine
–i feel somewhat removed from my spine these days. and my membrane has melted
–you’re as slippery as a glass slipper now, i can smell it. sometimes a duck just isn’t a duck
–i’m out of water
–who gives a f-ck?
–well. it’s so nice to see you again. at some point i just sorta figured you had vanished from everything. that’s what it seemed like at any rate. your letters stopped coming and i just kept writing and writing and it began to feel as if i was writing to someone else. like you slipped out of your skin and some skeleton from a crypt somewhere put your face on and muscled its own ideologies out of your mouth
–why, but such nonsense coming from the likes of you! you were the one that stopped writing, silly goose. duck duck. mucky muck muck
–why would you say that to me? i’m being serious now
–i know you are but what am i? you even told me why. you said you felt confused and you felt hungry and tired and speaking to me was becoming sisyphean. i’m not sure you had a good grasp on whatever you might have meant then, at that time
–this is strange. i have no recollection of this. must have been someone else
–everybody’s someone else to every other person. i missed it here. i missed the cicadas and the mosquitoes and the humidity and the sticky stickyness of it all. it’s just so real and it’s so now even when it’s not and outer light seeps through tears in the veil
–where did you go anyway?
–i went to a place where i could think. i must say the air here is still as acidic as i remember
–and what did you think about?
–everything. emptiness. the contours of the heart. ‘twas very cold, and in the sinecure of my mind i observed a sort of sneering pleasure at the discomfiture of the dreariness. do you find your emotions affected by the weather?
–this winter was pretty harsh. the melancholy nudged close towards depression. i felt really, really lost
–interesting. melancholy can be carnivorous; in the guise of man it is cannibalistic. at the altar of man it is deicide
–i find my comfort in it when i’m lonely. i take comfort anywhere i can get it
–sometimes i think about the time we were in the woods and i introduced you to all of the dead animals. you were quite unnerved but you were a very brave little boy
–dead animals?
–the doe and the squirrel and the fox and the b-tterfly and the broken, twisty, spindly brittle little trees. you don’t recall? your face turned as red as a firetruck! your eyes flatlined
–this is absurdity. every time we went to the woods we sat by the river and we loved to see the turtles sputtering about and falling down the hills
–the turtles were the best dead thing! you pick up the sh-ll and tip it over and it’s nothing but lovely gorgeous beautiful turtle goo juice! spills right out like liquor from the canteen, splashes on your feet and the broken twigs, green gooey sp-nk between your toes, reptilian, in your pores, makes you feel like you can walk on the water and trip and drown and wake up chewing chewy terrapins in a dusty divebar beneath the desert
–well. i reckon that’s interesting or something —
–you’re interesting! you’re like a different person yet you’ve changed not a single bit! it’s almost as if you have refused to grow on the outside, but you’re growing all wrong-way, like your head is stretching deep into your stomach, like you’re speaking with your bum and defecating through your eyeb-lls. this visage is tainted but from within, and if i were to rip a piece from you and place it between my lips i’d be duly poisoned. what’s with you?
–with me? you’re acting weird. i… my mind. it’s like i fell down a flight of stairs and —
–second story, third story, fire escape, broken window, cracked ribs punctured lung headless spineless raw meat mutilated!
–it wasn’t physical. in the slightest. my mind broke. one day i woke up in the dark and i thought i was dying. i turned on the light and i still felt dark. i looked at the lamp and it was as if someone had crucified a child but done it really good so the kid was still breathing, and dying slowly, and the panic was gone and it was just content there and the kid would never die, just stare at you with sensory phenomena distilled into a simple act of witnessing. that’s what the lamp was like. it was just so little and traumatized and staring at me in suspension. and i was like, this isn’t right
–when i went away i thought about disassociative elements. and what leads to depersonalize, at least inasmuch as your hypothetical hominid is concerned. you feel confused? pick up a glass of water and feel like you’re interacting with a prop on an empty soundstage? does a wet glass surface feel like skin to you?
–it doesn’t feel like anything. but everything feels like glass. everything is like i’m looking through glass and a window made of flesh pressing itself against a monitor with images moving around on it, in black and white, like surveillance footage, and there’s this superimposed text that flashes red and says live your life now
–wow. oh mountaintop!
–i’m lower than the valley. i’m a ghost in a cage watching a television called life. the boundary dividing matter and antimatter is like a large splinter gaping the core of me. bloodless
–the wall has shattered and the armies of unreason are spilling into your kingdom of naive posterity! ah, the loveliness of the humans, remember that drive, remember that spark, remember that sense of identification with all of this dung! it’s a tinny tin tin encasing this languid gang of sardines. so have you been clawing at the barrel then? being trampled by blinded crabs?
–i’m losing my mind…
–less the trophy of your body betray the reliability of its constituents you might take relief in considering your presence before me now. you seem… stable
–i am not stable…
–yet you are a stable. there are some horses there, and some sheep and some goat and here’s a pitcher of a milk and here’s a heap of high hay ho hay. i do remember you tied down to the bed wrapped in gauze and naked otherwise and you shake like a leaf and i know in my head that this must be what it was like in the manger with eyes upon a nasty little charlatan poised to save the world
–what bed?
–in the hospital?
–i’ve never been hospitalized…
–you are always hospitalized. you’re there right now! luckily for you i am a nurse now, i got my cna and everything. and i am a midwife and i have the keys to the medicine cabinet too, such is the reach of my responsibilities. isn’t that exciting? when you wake, you look out of the windows and all you see is a dingy brick wall. it’s like a liver dipped in wet concrete
–you just keep losing me. you’re like gastroenteritis. i feel like liquid in god’s ear right now…
–everything is liquid in god’s ear in a psych ward in a hospital my dear friend. when is the last time you’ve seen your mother?
–……. what did you–
–answer the f-cking question before i reach up your ass and pull your spine out and eat the little brain bits clinging to your skull and sh-t them back out onto your skin suit —
–stopitstopitstopitstopitstopit —
–answer me vitriolic black bile —
–she’s just bones in a box under the dirt with worms in the eye sockets. dying of famine, hunger, fatigue
–you f-ck! you forget so easy. naturally. selective
–stop it just shut up —
–why do you believe your mother is dead?
–she is. that’s because she is. i opened her mouth and her tongue was blue and there were all these bits of uneaten sandwich staining her t–th and it smelled foul as —
–well water of course!
–but water doesn’t smell like anything
–yes. but sometimes a duck is not a f-cking duck! your feet are just so wet like the behinds of your ears now, aren’t they? you ever wonder why your feet are wet upon dry land?
–well i guess i never really thought about it until now. it’s like i’m standing in secretion. this is very odd
–yet you believe your mother is dead. you’re full of such fun my dear friend!
–it is really wet. but i’m dry. so whatever. i remember when i came to the house and she was sitting on the bed naked, sucking on her thumb. i freaked out and she asked me why i was upset. i’m glad she’s dead
–remember when you threw a chair at your mother at one of your father’s dinner parties? he was celebrating yet another momentous occasion of literary conquest! good times
–we’re wasting our time with vapid bullsh-tting. what is this music anyway? is there a cassette tape deck out here —
–oh and oh and oh the dead! to wonder who and where they are. do you know we often find negative in others the things we most dislike about ourselves?
–but… i’m alive
–and we tell ourselves sweet, sticky gooey bedtime stories to guide us through the night and starve off disconcerting images. one time, i told myself that there was a little woman with wings who gave me money for every tooth that fell out the cradle of my mouth. another time, i told myself that a pale demon with a great beard took little bad child-things and stuffed them into a woolen sack for their transgressions. another time i told myself a man on a stick died for my sins and if i put my faith in him i’d be whisked away towards the first star to the right and before the morning came i’d be free, and i’d be free before a h-llish h-llscape transpired in the material domain. the innocence of humans is a cesspool of disappointment
–i’m sorry i disappointed you
–you will never disappoint me my dear friend. for it is with you i’m on this path and as one we will dance into a night far darker than this
–i didn’t want the horse to drown
–everyone deserves better
–sometimes you escape the world
–pretentious acrimonious flesh puppet mulch
–sometimes you escape the word. and in its wake are these little codes and these little clues and they’re flat and blow around in the wind and your words are like… petals from the flowerbed of…
–of what?
–of a god
–mwahahahahaha. oh… perispomenon! whatever. at the risk of any accusation of pretension, i’ll put myself out there and say that for the record, i think cassette tapes are super cool! but it doesn’t matter. not really now not anymore

—
with an artifice p-ssing diesel fuel
the boundary remains undefined
where the crevice is kissing bl–dy stool
the enemy sustains, underlined

—
of a god

- coin locker kid

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