Written (Trev) shortly after Kyra told the crew of The Hood's offer. Translated from the original Hynerian.
I am a fraud
unable to say
what I hold in my hand
while professing
to unveil my heart
The hypocrisy
my own
to my eye
upon my face
a cold, bitter slap
the crack of flesh
upon flesh
ringing in my ears alone
And I wonder
if I don't deserve
to live with myself
within the chamber of my mind
long abandoned,
for the torture
I inflict by my own hand
surpasses the skill
of the most adept
inquisitor
I smile
in my wicked way
the irony
the pain
from thy own hand
delivered
rotted from the inside
a backdoor left unlocked
pride flanked
heresy amok
I stand before a well
dropping my words
as pebbles
my mind talking to my tongue
water will rise
it will come
just another pebble
just a bit more effort
and from the darkness
echoes of ripples
followed by silence
and my head spins
weaving its tale
my own private web
and not a drop
dry as the desert
------
my fucking verbs will not accord with my fucking nouns
and the nouns are losing
my crown given to the barbarians
who claim truth
upon their shields
swords bloody with thy own hypocrisy
fuck me
fuck The Hood
and fuck this offer
-------
Shortly after this was written, within minutes, Trev marched off to Em's quarters. A confrontation ensued. There was yelling and crying and the breaking of things.
16 comments:
f**** verbs will never accord with F*** nouns
In fact , as far as life is concerned, they are diametrically opposite...
Noun is a responsibility, while verb a response ability...
PHEW! Great writing - what a time to visit!
Merry Christmas to YOU and Yours Tree :D
Mona, I think I like verbs more than nouns, but the nouns like me better. :-D
Merry Christmas Miladysa. All the best to you and yours. And thanks for the kind words. Always appreciated. :-)
Intense words, cool image. Always a pleasure to visit.
Have a wonderful Christmas Trée!
Merry Christmas to you too Deb. And a Happy New Year. I'll be in Tucson in a few weeks. Hope the weather is better than it is here. :-D
Pretty intense stuff, Tree, but riveting nonetheless. I remain amazed at your psychological and creative stamina, post after post.
I want to wish you and your loved ones a happy and joyous holiday season and a prosperous New Year!
Best regards,
~Greg
Greg thanks for the kind words. I'm fueled by the singular thought that my writing is crap and that I must make amends in the next post. So I write another, and, well, the cycle seems to never end. It's not stamina, it's stubbornness. :-D
As for the psychological bent, I have this unquenchable thirst to do what I know can't be done but I insist on trying anyway, which is to use words to describe a very unword like experience. In my own mind, my writing is failing to elicit what I want and at times like this I feel very David Foster Wallacesque in redundancy. There are days I want to take a single thought and describe it a hundred different ways in the hope that if I put them all together, they might actually shed some light. Of course, one is always searching for that one sentence that makes the other ninty-nine, well, redundant. :-D
All the best to you and yours. As a history major, I thoroughly enjoy your postings. Keep up the great work.
Merry Christmas to Tree darling & Family!
Mona, thank you for the wishes. May this season of joy touch you like I would if I were there. :-D
You must write it! you must! I must know of the breaking of things!
Merry Christmas w/cocoa and marshmallows!
--snow
Oh Snow, be careful what you ask for. :-D
And thank you for the very kind words. I'll take another marshmallow please. :-)
I knew it was a matter of time..."the breaking of things". I cannot wait to know what happens next. Intense is an understatement! I'd say beyond intense. WOW! Trev is certainly p*ssed!
P.S. (I meant no disrespect to Greg.)
Kimmie, Trev has his moments of intensity and seems to find himself in those odd situations that are ripe for stress. But his heart is good. And perhaps, that is what saves him. ;-)
Thank you for the very kind words. Always appreciated. :-)
Therein lies the greatest of the greatest, the mother of fear, what if every wish is a bad joke, every hope sprung from a source without right to exist, what if everything is and was and will remain exactly as it was almost meant to be, no salvation, no justice, no reward, no compensation, or rather no chance of ever being proven wrong, of having that deep-seated, imprinted belief challenged, as is the hope. And I wonder
if I don't deserve
to live with myself
within the chamber of my mind
long abandoned,
for the torture
I inflict by my own hand
surpasses the skill
of the most adept
inquisitor There is much more, and perhaps none of the above at all, to this passage, but one thing is certain, these are old wounds, deep wounds, wounds that would leave scars even were they to heal. It is, this third stanza, in one regard like a culmination of the sentiments of the other poems and defence so to speak for actions taken in other chapters and yet there is a less flaky, more sensible reading in as much as knowing that he still has not opened his heart completely, not yet reached the depths of himself that he seeks, still not able to shine light in the corners and reveal every shadow. The questions that he asks more penetrating, more demanding, that anyone else might ask of him and yet even with himself he is yet unable to be honest, not through lack of trying, but simply not able to, yet, free fall into what lies at his core. I am a fraud One of your most absorbing single sentences to date. Still there are ranging nuances to how one might perceive these lines, having done an unsatisfactory job of defining the two above, I'm somewhat loathe to continue down the same track and yet these words are difficult to move past, long abandoned is enormously distressing, so much so, as reader, mere transient, there is a feeling of not wanting to do just that, abandon, abandon this outpouring.
Do-over to come.
Your comment, for some unknown reason, reminds me of The Road, or at least some scent of The Road, of the father, of what must have been going through his mind, knowing he was dying, knowing a world entire was soon to be torn asunder. This is not in this chapter, that I know of, nor is it in The Road, as I remember it, but still, the way you play with long abandoned brings forth those images.
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