we must exist so ravenously then : emaciated, unfed and interminably seeking the next-best thing to satiate us. and let’s say, it’d wipe those tears off — they’d leak, and leak out again, unless we wept them so dry till none of them were left to cry, wasted away like cognitive badlands. ( we used to be so zealous and curious and manic for maps to be filled. oddities, as though we were medicated with theory / as though we would let our intellects overfill for it to still our primitive survival-instincts. men need food, need air, need water ; we need passions borne by brutal veracity. we need affirmation for our minds to cave in rightfully for something harsh, morbidly scenic. how extensive, i wonder, is the palette, counting down all the types of famine we cannot name ? )
& nearly like a syringe-needle to his arm, this poignancy dully stung at autumn’s heaviness. he’d inspected the way it kissed his nerve and divulged the stab a millisecond after. nestled into the vein, sat there, like an un/welcome guest. and it lured one or two sentences he gnawed on, drew them out along with his ichor. it be known that hazardous gluttony of jötnar burrowed into atoms, and the ferment drive was wrapped and tamed by a lily-white shirt and a noble’s suit. o ymir — how the proto-being would whimper for us and how far we pushed our humanity / our monstrosity / the state of preying on one another. we were all so drastically animal, so ferally biological. how could we endure it ? how could we endure the unendurable --- ?
melancholic references, admittedly, were less unexpected than the confrontation of such pondering. yet, he more than once found a way around his own personal lament ; generalized one skeptical commentary on the human-condition at a time : “ ... and once all consolations have come to null, hunger comes again, like the irrepressible instinct that it is. — it’s the same rule for anything… rapacious. we might just be doomed with no better behavior than any organism out there, and within us. “ a certainty that grubbed and gutted, until the sunken abdominal cavity there left him with naught but an ire-fest instead of grief. or, with a tweak of perspective, it barely remembered how to mourn after he drank down that last sliver of four-months-old misery for missing a friend , saw it bleach-pale at the bottom of a wine-dark pond. now sober was he, now unfeeling, still somewhat feeding, on a paranoid past, an empty present, a faulty future.
when that needle turned around sideward, it did not bother to respond, neither to put a bandage on his mouth. so his fingers twitched & they only mildly complained. mordant examination however bit itself onto the wounded inflicter. often did he behold the danger of a sombre, bottomless iris, where nothing shone but the occasional, now sparse, playfulness, the excitement and the starriness come undone. something wild be wilder, and only those who were venturesome enough would peer carelessly farther into it, and like a microscope, ignored the privacy of details. ( tell me, word for word, how it all expires. / tell me how similarly am i to parallelize your joy’s decease to mine ? ) ” not wearing your euphoric mask, today ? “ and where did he drop his brazen smile ? ah yes, it died together with the midnight sun, gone down. “ it would almost seem you are, in other words, hungry. ”
