THiRTEEN
As each day passes, a small yet significant piece of me withers and dies. And nothing replaces it.
Like painting a picture without any paint.
every moment is less fulfilling than the last.
in a sea of yellow rape-seed, i am the lonely brown tree.
i am a fading relic of an artistic past, where summers were long and the barcode did not run our lives.
i am in a box
i am made of cloth and stuffed, with a china head which is cracked and that has only one strand of white hair and one dark eye with rotting eyelashes.
Each of the 13 kANE's owned a 3.76999 share of the ONE known as JOShUA.
i have now finished boring the small holes. Yesterday I purchased 3 telescopes and a microscope. I now only eat honey.
I met a woman known as MiSTY, she took me to her secret place. She led me down a corridor, where each door had a name plate attached to it.
Mrs Araminta Hollander.
Captain Berkley Brotherton.
Mrs Pansy Adeane.
Mr. Kane. (4)
Miss Joan Scott.
Lord. C. Muddle.
From some of the rooms came the sounds of small afflictions, the clearing of throats, humming, a voice crying softly into a telephone.
At an umarked door. I hear chanting. Eye listen.
Like painting a picture without any paint.
every moment is less fulfilling than the last.
in a sea of yellow rape-seed, i am the lonely brown tree.
i am a fading relic of an artistic past, where summers were long and the barcode did not run our lives.
i am in a box
i am made of cloth and stuffed, with a china head which is cracked and that has only one strand of white hair and one dark eye with rotting eyelashes.
Each of the 13 kANE's owned a 3.76999 share of the ONE known as JOShUA.
i have now finished boring the small holes. Yesterday I purchased 3 telescopes and a microscope. I now only eat honey.
I met a woman known as MiSTY, she took me to her secret place. She led me down a corridor, where each door had a name plate attached to it.
Mrs Araminta Hollander.
Captain Berkley Brotherton.
Mrs Pansy Adeane.
Mr. Kane. (4)
Miss Joan Scott.
Lord. C. Muddle.
From some of the rooms came the sounds of small afflictions, the clearing of throats, humming, a voice crying softly into a telephone.
At an umarked door. I hear chanting. Eye listen.
" 49 pickles 49 pies 49 pins in 49 eyes 49 living 49 dead 49 black 49 red".
My eyes are dark and narrowed and scary. My lips move ever so carefully and I pronounce every word with thoughtful consideration. I used to think that I had some serious problems because I can only remember my childhood in bits and pieces. I realize how much I can identify with it. I sometimes feel like I am living the same day. I know what I want for the future and I can see it far off in the distance. Then a sharp burning sensation explodes over my body. I was lying on the floor of a dark room. I watched; I listened, but I held my silence. I kept it all inside. Inside I was screaming, yet I uttered not a word. Sometimes when I think of where else I could be right now, and what else I could be doing, I want to laugh and cry and bang my head against the wall, all at the same time. The past is the past, and the future is not what I expected it to be. Sometimes you don't get what you wish for. Then you'll realize there's nothing left to do, nothing left to look for. Everything's been done before; even things you're doing now that you think are new. I've done them all before. Waiting for someone is a strange thing. To be trapped from the very beginning and to remain trapped to the very end. I didn't know what to do, my mind groped for sanity. Just believe in the silence and it will tell you what to do.
I like things that can't think. But it is still thought on a Human Level. I always told myself that looking deep into my problems initially created even more of them; however it is near impossible to stop realizing that my world is surrounded by endless amounts of misery. Sweat drips down my forehead, my whole body aches. I feel so tired. I smell the strong aroma of flowers. Dead flowers. My stomach feels as if I have been dining on broken glass. I am having a bad day. This is not right, I know it can't be. I’m being too pessimistic again....
There is a point in your life when you get that feeling telling you enough is enough, and when you have this feeling, the time has come to make a change and do something about getting your life back. One question after another with no answer in sight. The one thing I do know for certain is that I can no longer bear this pain. I know what needs to be done.
I had recollections of what had happened in the previous day. I lived my life backwards remembering every flicker of emotion in the people's eyes around me. I saw yesterday in slow motion. I awoke to the sound of flies buzzing around my head. They say I am sick. I'm not wondering where or when life went downhill. I'm wondering why I'm still here. What my purpose is to continue to be here. No one even knows I exist. There was a sudden rush of adrenaline all through my body, burning me, making my mind jolt in all directions. My eyes tightened, forcing tears to roll through my sweaty skin. My nails dug into my face as an unbearable headache originated in the centre of my head expanding towards the outside. It was wrong, it was unfair, and it was unnecessary. I can no longer hear the screams. I can no longer feel the pain I know is there and wonder if my memories are trying to take over. The eyes in my head and the eyes of my mind are both closed. I think of Bread, chicken, cheese and mayonnaise. I need some more whiskey. I put the bottle next to the glass, and look up into the mirror. I stare at myself for a moment, and then I lift the glass up into my line of vision, partially blocking the reflection of my face and distorting the rest. Closing my eyes, I drink it down in one gulp. I thought I was going to start bleeding. I've always been afraid; afraid of making mistakes, of being confused, or indecisive.
The only thing I could do was retreat to a place I thought was safe, and I found myself alone in my room, solitary blackness.
Where was I? What was I thinking!?
The dark clouds always seem to find me. I have always felt that the dark clouds were always there, somewhere, waiting for me. I feel that I must have done something in my life, that I deserve to have them hang over me. Forever.
I needed to relax. I needed to take a deep breath. I needed a cigarette. I was pacing insanely back and forth. Who am I? Then my world collapsed. Total black.
An eternal existence in the void of my mind. In loneliness. In anguish. In misery.
I am floating. I hope to die in a most horrific and mesmerizing death. My life is an endless cycle of decay and renewal. I feel eternally lost and, there in the dark, depression covers me and floods my mind with despair. Common, routine tasks are done robotically. I’ve been so isolated that people around me accept my behaviour as normal. I feel sick inside - the kind of sickness that I will never recover from. I can hear them. They're in my head screaming. I can hear them. They're in my head screaming again. I have tried to make them go away. But, they won’t leave me alone. Have I taken my medicine today? I am slowly losing my mind and I realise that I must do something before it is too late.
It was always like this. Emptiness is filling me.
Time is winding down for me. I can't feel anything anymore. All I can observe is the light being coloured red all around me. The light streaming towards my face in a hazy shade of red. I feed on it. I bathe in it. I breathe in it. Everything looks brighter.
My tongue feels like sandpaper. This feeling I can do without. I think of myself as a haggis.
Wash stomach; rub with salt, and rinse. Remove membranes and fat. Soak in cold salted water for several hours. Turn stomach inside out for stuffing.
Cover heart and liver with cold water, bring to a boil, reduce heat, cover and simmer for 30 minutes. Chop heart and coarsely grate liver. Toast oatmeal in skillet on top of stove, stirring frequently until golden brown. Combine all ingredients and mix well. Loosely pack mix into stomach, remember oatmeal expands in cooking. Press any air out of stomach and truss securely. Put into boiling water to cover. Simmer for three hours uncovered, adding more water as needed to maintain water level. Prick stomach several times with a sharp needle when it begins to swell: this keeps the bag from bursting. Place on a hot platter, removing trussing strings. Serve with a spoon.
Sometimes I think I am a human being, but living as part of an experiment. The disintegration of my life is anguished pain. Drowning in sorrow I hate this life. Something's happened to me. I realise in the deepest corners of my mind that it no longer matters and never will again. Nothing will ever matter. What was it all for? I cannot escape from this darkness called life. The more I try to struggle away from it, the stronger it becomes. The darkness. pulling at me with all its strength. To resist is useless. My soul is tortured, wounded; my spirit is being crushed. I can't really concentrate anymore. I am no longer the man I once was. The disquieting sensations of loneliness, shame, and insignificance I feel rising within me daily. Death creeps slowly when you're addicted to sadness.
I feel an insane kind of satisfaction. There are no more decisions to make; it has all been done for me. I am free, invincible even. I am Joshua Kane number 13.
My last day on earth.
The End.
