highresolution

I remember when, I remember when, I lost my mind....

It's a beautiful place. The quiet before the manic storms only make her voice louder. The only difference is during the storm, she speaks with such truth and purpose, and during the quiet, and the semblances of normality undermine her wishes.

I have lied for much of my life, dark twisted lies, and seemingly small innocuous fabrications. Entire pasts, entire personalities, and lives have been birthed and destroyed through spoken and written word. I watched with abject fascination, as they gained momentum and power in my dreams and waking thoughts. I acted subconsciously on a lie, I provoked for entertainment, and as I grew wiser, I started striving for truth.

I cried, I cut and I almost killed myself. Fool, was I. To innocently believe lies hold no power.

It started almost here, burgeoning beginnings. I only became a prostitute because I wrote as one.

They entered, like ants rolling in one by one. The characters, and the situations. Puppet of my own mastery, a voodoo doll of future telling. The men, and finally the man. Prophetic words of the past are now entirely honest of my own making.

I remember when he first whacked up, it was the first time I'd ever seen anyone inject drugs. I laughed silently inside, as with empty eyes he retold his past. I only called him a different name inside my inner story.

It was as if backwards, I foretold my destiny. And as the pain was supposed to come, for I had already suffered inside my twisted mind, I laughed again.

I still have the tattoo I got forged to prove a lie. Simple, but powerful in it's hidden symbology. Now it lies there as a reminder of the truth.

Tired of decisions, I flipped a coin. Heads it lives, Tails it dies. And once more I laughed, as the coin fell five times, and it's glinting worth lay upside.
Faux jokingly, I told him of my plan, Your a fucking sick twisted bitch.
He'd kill me if he knew I chose to kill his child on the flip of a coin.
Honestly, I smiled as it landed.

I wanted to write a book, in which I'd search out for an ancient coin that I was drawn to, and get it engraved with date I began my plan. Chained around my neck, every decision I made for twelve months lay in the flip of a coin. To begin, I'd start with $5,000 and a map. New York, Paris, London, Tokyo and Sydney. I'd toss for my starting point, and from then onwards for 12 months I'd document every major choice, every dare, every gamble was decided. Heads you live, tails you die. I wanted to do it a year before I wished to die. At the end, I'd flip for my life.

Can you feel it some days.... It's tangible. Electric currents heightening your perception. The colours, the sounds, the smells. Omnipotent, it throbs. It's a strange ancient power. It's there as you conquer the person you desire. It's there in the power of your position. The energy of money. Of sadistic taboo sex, of the spirit, the unknown. The pull of life purpose.

Run into the dark of the city late at night, and lay against a wall amongst the streetlights and close your eyes. It rises against the bricks, the gaseous poison of chaotic energy.

Serpent like, we all continuously search new horizons, to shed our skins in an attempt to finally portray our developing sense of true self. And the homing pigeons of deceit come to roost in our new beginnings, bringing with them distrust and destruction.

And the boy cried, "Wolf! Wolf!" and they stayed in their houses, filled with mistrust and derision, for surely this boy lied? And as the wolf gobbled him up, and his words lay meaningless, he was repentant. But it was too late.

Some days I feel normal, and the simple misgivings and anxieties take my breath away. To love, and be loved, and find a simple peace are all I crave. But I have unlocked a taste of something else, and I am always hungry.