westid

all around us, the convergence of time and pressure comes together under the focused light in the sky. fortune sees me rise with the first daytime of the 2^(n-1)th morning, as is the ordinary way in terms of the sleepless lullabyes i conspire with you to come and say. we were just different people, who happened to be conscious at this particular part of the process

when i am awakened by the burgeoning heat under mother nature’s ubiquitously sadistic magnification, i have lately begun to inoculate myself with the spirit of man. trying to do things “the right way” can lure a man like a siren crashing into the rocks, washed up in blood on the shore the footprints she makes will fade away

all his natural essence building up inside me like with every shock and unanticipated moment that could so easily be the collapse of it all right down to the treacherous surface on which only a fool would, with any confidence, decide to build … a monumental structure of any kind

core temperature is critical. nicotine withdrawal, and nicotine rejection at the same time coupling with fucking aeons of private reflection in solitary confinement. such is the male journey through this dark paradise. seeping into the surface is this libation of masculine energy – apparently i’m not producing enough, yet much like any man would i am content to keep on going and get what i need from somewhere else instead – as though i needed any more than what was happening to me already by this time; i begin to feel nauseated by the foreknowledge of all the power bearing down so hard because this creature, such a freak of nature if ever one there was, has lived to remember forever the story of how male energy is immediately and unconditionally beholden to the immortality, this goddess of pure womankind that will enslave any masculinity about you in a fraction of the time it takes you to notice that once you get that feeling then it’s already too late – and you are going to be faithful if there’s any hope in hell that you possibly can

don’t make me cry for fuck sake, by coming out with such existential threats to my place in this world as the L word. we don’t need that anymore. if it is desired then we will sleepwalk through the minefield straight into her bosom, because we don’t choose love, we don’t choose to emasculate in fine favour of the effeminate. i fucking wish we did. but here i am at the meridian … between two worlds. privileged simpleton and king for a day:and of my own free will – a man who would come here with the power of a king. a man who would come here as a fool.

but he will be revered and anointed as a king.

my narcissistic endgame of the absent mind. once again i surge with the urge to reign supreme. when i masterminded operation teapot armed with some shitty sheets of A4 paper i was alone in the confines of my cell, i couldn’t have felt like any less of a man. now my enemies are dead, all the bases are loaded; so begins the chapter of the meridian, a very dark and macabre little chapter of my storyline. so too commences the first objectives of operation gaffer … and there’s nothing holding me back from my personal permutation of freedom any more

to be continued …