Post-Nightmare Morning/Thinly-veiled Roman à Clef (Thought Two)

He supposed he grew up in conditions of some emotional deprivation, he wasn’t sure and the shadow of introspective uncertainty and self-consciousness maintained its long, sunset omnipresence. Again, he wasn’t sure. Of the shadow analogy and if the opening was, in fact, true.

No one had to read to him (the only book in the flat was the yellow pages) and his first memory he was sure was his mother and a male (his father surely, why did he doubt himself?) screaming across a one room ‘hostel’ in Edmonton with him behind the bars of cot, crying, the reasons unknown, the descent infinite.

Was writing the mere pathological conquest to be adored? The authentic affirmation that was so manifestly absent? Why didn’t he pull down the curtain of Roman à clef. He was the stony-faced loner who never showed his tears. No one could unravel this mystery, because even he did know himself. It wasn’t so much a blind spot, as a conscious baseball-batting of the car mirrors projecting the emotional traffic, which he deceived himself from. Smudged crudely away from cognisance into the darkest shade of black unintelligible swirls. Wasn’t it? Meta-layers and bastardised simulacra of memories, mental images that he had consciously swallowed the entire edifice of the originals, only a hall of self-deceiving mirrors. Who the fuck was he, ‘did he think he was’ but a bunch, a bundle of memories, feelings, political alignments, love and loathes? And a dry, decaying bunch at that.
The descent is infinite.
Emotions are only subjective mental states aren’t they? Perhaps I only felt this nebulous and much disparately experienced emotion known as ‘sadness’ is felt with quasi-sociopathic detachment for me? Or the innumerable occasions of kleptomania were an outlet? He didn’t know. He was tired.

‘Tell me about school…’
‘What about school?’
‘Do you want to draw a picture of how you’re feeling?’ an almost paternal voice echoes from the past…
He gazes at his navel for a moment in which all of time collapses. Sleep and failings again.
He dreamed of the abyss in reverse, where you only fell upwards? Only she knew she was the affirmation.



On the Autobahn (just after Midnight)

On the Autobahn just after midnight
Running into traffic at 200km/h
All that is left is unintelligible
Pains perfect and panes lightless
Footless roads
Bear mercy for their anonymity
The vacancy of potholes

Oil Slick confounds Rainbow
‘Simply not the same, though’
The disclaimer of disclaimers
Tyrannous disdain
Everything’s fucking insane