Paul

By James Veeds

Coald

The cold winter nights never ended for PaulLike the infinite spinning of a record,The music plays.The music of Paul’s lifeA sombre tuneA mellow undercurrentLike the constant flow of water,Between trickling streams And rushing, crushing rapids. He was always afraid of growing older,It didn’t feel right,Like something key was missing A locked door to a lost memory.He did not want to leave behind the nostalgia of childhood, Feeling it was all he’d ever known Until he began to grow.It was a strange sensationFeeling as though a past existed Long before he remembered his first memory,The buzzing of cicadas in the scorching summer of his hometown Where he spent free time adventuring,Given memories,That he now skips across water Dulled and smoothed by timeTo barely a memoryInstead, fleeting feelingsHe can hold on to no longer. 

Now Paul is left in his office,And in his house,His imagination, creativity and spirit are crushed beneath Responsibility takes hold.It has forced upon him a jobA wife,Children,Misery. How is it that life’s joys became the death of the man?But Paul never quite was a man of life. He was absorbed in the ethereal, The worlds beyond the veilWhere he dwelled as a child With his friendsUnquestioningly accepting. Oh, to once again be reduced to childlike faith and dependence, Never fearing the passage of timeEmbracing all things. But winter comesAnd chills you to the bone,Turning you frigid and coldStiff to the touchUnmovingDespite shaking violently…Anxiety.Depression.Schizophrenia.It seemed to Paul that everyone walked with One thing or another Hovering above their headOn display but not always readable.  Paul’s world had frozen over-While still on the outside he was stiff-He cried desperately each nightFinding himself clawingFor thawing.

And so, you see, Paul was always set apart. His eyes never could quite focus,His hands could never quite be still. A passionate man without a passion,Is a danger to himself and all.The machine that grinds away, Exists beyond the veil. We all know it’s there,But I’ve never met a man so certain of what it is.I have a feeling thoughPaul could see the machineIn its terrifying glory.

It stole poor Paul away.

Jaco

The first of July,Paul’s life began in threes. Beside his wife but alone in his head,He sinks,Or is swallowed by their bed. He awakens in darknessBut stands on lit ground.Paul exists on a pla█n█,He stands in a vast field Extending further than he could see.He could feel it behind him,Beside him,Ahead of him.But above his eyes lay the skyPrimordial,Devoid of stars and light.Paul may as well have stared up at his bedsheetsFrom the world of the atoms,Infinitely small,Infinitely infinite. There was no sun But the ground looked bright,Paled and silvered by the ghost of the moon.Something grew without the sky’s light.A single, still treeAt his vision’s peakAnd beside it,A creature.Humanoid Long and frail,With a skull like a wildebeest, Snuffed candles for horns and-Calcium, jackal ears.

Paul could not move,but his vision could.And it moved closer. Closer. 

He did not start it,Nor could he stop itCloser it went, ‘Til the creature filled his view.It’s skin stretched over it like a drum,Looking ready to tear. Its bony body towered, unmoving,Its long limbs unflinching as Paul peered.

Then it spoke.

“Waning, Paul, I am Jaco.”

It spoke like a human,“Waning” like a time,And “Paul” like a friend. 

Paul awakenedSweat like iceBody quaking Like a tremor in the Earth.His eyes were wide Like dinner platesAnd his wife…Still as the tree.

Paul dreamt the same dream on the second,Identical down to the blades of grass.Jaco saying, “waning, Paul, I am still Jaco”. On the third it asked:

“Where is your hat, Paul?”

Tesseract

Paul sat on the edge of his bedA silent night But the whispers of his mind never got quiet As he clutched an unfinished Rubik’s cube in his hand,Strangling it as though it were Rubik himself.Paul looked it over He was never able to solve the damn thing.It left him bitter. His parents had given it to him as a childBut not once had he ever solved it.It left him confused.It left him terrified.Terrified not by his inability to solve it,But his inaction in even attempting to.It left him enraged. ‘Paul was complacent with his losses it seemedPaul never solved his issues.’Why was that?I thought he was passionate?I am. 

The Earth is Now hollow and We’re Stuck on the Inside

I once heard a lineAlong the strikin’ of a chord “Ain’t it funny how it works? Someone’s always got it worse.”Ain’t it just the same for Paul?He didn’t get beat,He didn’t get cheated,He got his Ma,He got his Pa,He got three meals a day,He got a job,He got a family,He got everything a man should want. But I think,What you got or don’t got-Don’t always mean somethin’. Maybe Paul’s pain was about what he had…He had too much.Too much pressure.Too much time.Too much responsibility.Too many friends.Too much family.Too many people watchin’. Too much sometimes means you ain’t got much is what I think.Paul’s lips said,“I got everythin’,” But the carcass of his heart said,“I got nothin’.”And that’s just the way it is.I shouldn’t have to spell it out to youThat we all got three things in our bein’A mind,A soul,A body.Some bodies get broke.Some souls get seared.Some minds get messed.So lemme tell you this:

PAUL EXITED THE WOMB AS AIRGREW UP AS A CORPSE,A DECAYING, WEAKENING PRISON. IT WAS EATING ITSELF FROM THE INSIDE OUTSCREAMING AT HIM TO MAKE IT STOP.ALL THE VILE NATURE AROUND HIM TAUNTED AND MOCKED HIM WITH ITS DEGRADATIONLAUGHING IN HIS FACEAS HE RODE THE SAME PATH TOWARDS DEATH. 

PAUL’S MIND WAS THE ENTROPIC EXPANSE OF THE UNIVERSEFIT THROUGH A NEEDLE’S EYELIKE A POCKET TRYIN’ TO HOLD THE STARS AS THEY DREW LAST BREATHS TEARIN’ THEIR CLOTHESWITH FINAL, FIERY BELLOWS AS THEY DIED.PAUL GLIMPSED FIRE FROM AFAR BUT LONG BEFORE YOU’RE BORN,CEASES THE LIGHT OF A DYING STAR.

HIS SOUL WAS GRIPPED BY THE SKELETAL FINGERS OF DEATHAS IT WAITED TO SNUFF OUT HIS GLOWGIVEN PERMISSION BY THE OUTSIDERS WATCHING THE HOUSEMAKING SURE THE WOOD-ROT CRUMBLED THE FOUNDATIONSAS THE GLASS WINDOWS SHATTERED AND WHATEVER WAS INSIDE WAS CRUSHED AND BURIED.

PAUL SAW ALL THESE THINGS BUT ONLY IN THE PERIPHERALAND DOUBLE TAKES. EACH DAY WAS LADEN WITH A SENSE OF DREADAS HE GLIMPSED FOREIGN MOVEMENTAROUND CORNERSIN THE SHADE.SOMETIMES THEY LINGEREDBUT HE COULD ONLY STARE,BECAUSE NO ONE ELSE BELIEVED HIMOR NO ONE ELSE CARED. AND WHAT HE DID MAKE OUT,WAS A CERTAINTY OF PEOPLEWATCHING HIS EVERY MOVEDIRECTING HIS EVERY STEPDENYING HIS EVERY CLAIM.

DO YOU UNDERSTAND PAUL’S TORMENT? YOU DON’TAND YOU NEVER WILL. YOU CANNOT FATHOM WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE SHACKLED TO THIS EARTH,AFTER GOD KILLED HERSELF. 

City on a hill

The lounge chatter grew fainter,The ticking of clocks louder.Paul found himself staring at the crowd of fellow teachers,Disgusted by feigned interest in the next generation.Paul knew their real motive,To pass their problems onto the next.Fuck their buck-teeth glee,Gaudy dress lost to little brats’ pleas.How could they claim to enjoy it?The relentless screaming, The continuous crying,The idiotic reasoning,The incessant demands,The pointless rebellion,The senseless ignorance.They lived a spoiled existence,Taking for granted his careAnd his desire to teachInstead refusing to acknowledge his authority.They fought,They destroyed. Worst of all,They thought their learning didn’t matter,That his teaching didn’t matter,

And that they were perfect.

Numbers and letters swirled in his exhausted brainAnd he could’ve sworn he could see themUp there in the back of his head.  Paul knew he was already dead,Stuck in purgatory, Waiting for incineration or incarceration. Paul could sense something on the horizon. Staring out of the teacher’s lounge window,Paul looked for it.He froze in fear,Sweat forming and a singular tearAs the image began to sear Branding his eyesCutting off sound from his ears,Paul saw it.A Jaco Standing on the tallest of the distant hills surrounding the school,too small to make out the detailBut certain within his mind,Like that horror you feel when you know something is thereIn the dark, On the edge of the shadows. 

And suddenly the sound around Paul grew too loudThe clock-ticking like war drumsThe chatter turning to screams Paul’s heart filled with utter dread,So grave it made him collapse from his chairAs he choked on change Chapter turning constricting his breath While he suffered in a panic like death.

Paul knew that things were changing.Something had snapped inside of himAnd while his co-workers knelt at his side,Concern flowing from their voices and faces,He could not help but feel contempt for them.Nothing could sway him from seeing their ‘concern’ as hollow.When he looked into their eyes between haggard breathsHe saw nothing but black as they monitored his condition…

Brainbeat 

It was Paul’s wife that had dragged him hereFrom an absence of mindMissing of timesSight out of line No longer listening When she said, “You’re mine.”But she didn’t seem upset to PaulRather, it seemed she saw a threat in him. She was nervous. 

To Paul, it didn’t feel real.He didn’t know what to feelAbout tests of the bodyAnd of the mindAnd of the new familiarity,He was told to leave behindThat were making him feel,More in step with his timeBy some stranger.He was given a rhythm  A return to repetition.Three pill packs a dayUp to three years.

 It’ll be hard times ahead o’ ya…”“Existing with paranoid schizophrenia”.

The colour slowly returned And now mere embers, Was Paul’s fire that burned. His peers all became vibrantFrom his life’s realignment. 

But when I looked at myself in the mirror at three in the morningI had become charcoal. Behind me stood a Jaco. And I wondered how real it was. 

“I must’ve missed my pill last night,”“You’re just in my head.” So you say.But I’m as real as the ash in your bed. Dilated pupils in the dark beheldThe very ashes that the Jaco spelledAnd Paul realised what he hatedWas the way the pills smelled. 

Like the ocean. 

Nessie

Paul stares into the water.Paul sips smoke beside the blue.The cig’ smoke clears his vision.He cringes when he sees it:Something is in the water.He knows it ain't quite alive,But it ain't quite dead either.The water doesn't move right.It never flows together.A constant disjointedness.And it don't reflect his face.People Paul observes all love, People Paul observes all hate.Paul's not alive anymore,But he ain't quite dead either.Best get out of the water,Something is in its blue-black deep,And Paul seems to despise itEven if he knows not why.

Paul has stated that when he looks up, he sees either an ocean in the sky, or the sky itself as an ocean. Paul has expressed the belief that the water is there to, “drown him before he reaches heaven,” and “rain on [him] before he even thinks about going up.” I suggest careful monitoring of him and his condition and an increased dosage.

Outing

It’s in the normal ticking by of timeThat you begin to settle. It’s in this settling That you are most prone to being…Disturbed. When shadow is engulfed in lightYour world begins to unravel.In the same wayOn a sunny spring dayPaul was enjoying the company of his familyHaving almost forgotten his woesMonths of medicating and denial doing their job.Paul took out a camera Perfectly fine, despite finding it resting in roadside trashAnd ushered his family into the shade. “Smile!” Paul mimicking their grin from behind the lensCapturing the moment in time. His mistake, He’d left the flash on. 

“Honey?” 

Paul went whiteHe churned out a groan Another strangling feeling,Like his soul was being wringed out,He struggled to avoid turning inside outAnd take his eyes off the image.Paul held onto a cursed depiction Of all he had begun to forgetIn his shuddering hands. The flash had illuminated the shade And within the imageHis family’s eyes Were nothing but the very same lens that had captured themAll marred by the same red dot, Watching Recording Poor Paul.  Paul attempted to steady himselfBut felt himself falling through the duality of two worlds: What was real and unrealHe realised things were never normalAnd would never be normal. 

When Paul awoke“A delusion-induced panic attack”Is what they told himBut when he asked to see the cameraIt was conveniently brokenDuring his fall. 

The KGB was established in 1984

We’re all met with confrontation.But I felt for Paul.His confrontations were never a bout,A disagreement in traffic,A difference in opinion,Least, that’s what he said.No.Paul kept to himself what he thought,What he did,What he saw. Perhaps this is why Paul’s journey was so rapid.Paul thought he was going blind at first.But not once was Paul ever fully convinced, he was mad.

Despite. All. He. Saw. 

Ghosts descending from the soul-swirled deep,The deep blue sky that is,Staring at him ‘fore dissipation. Jacos dotted along paths,Between trees,In the corner room shadows.He saw black silhouettes with hole-punch eyes Standing on walls,Ceilings,All around.During his work commutePaul could feel the magnetized gaze of onlookersLike steel-clinging cameras fixed atop their heartless poles,Paul could hear the incessant, incoherent whisperings,Requests asked of him,Who got no response.For he did not know who they were,But they never requested the name of him.He heard their whispers behind his backEmanating from the black of back-alleys   Paul’s vision always buzzed,His skin always tingled,His legs never rested.Paul could never stay in one place too long.He always moved but never went anywhere.Smoke and fire became his love,Its calming focus that kissed his lips And danced within his hollow chest. 

As time furthered,With dreams of knee-bowed mannequins,Circumambient crackling of voiceless flameIn the day and in the night,Paul felt progressively distant and uncertain.Every sound heard in front of him, beside him, behind him and inside him,Every taste that nodded him on to eat others food, Every smell not smoke that overwhelmed him as a whorl in his mind,Further caged him.Yet Paul was enamoured with the phantasmal senses.SoHis friends were greying,His family were greying,His students were greying,His colleagues were greying,Oh how Paul felt he was stayingAlive for too long. 

Plight of the phantasms. 

How long do you intend to lay us bound, Paul? Because of your cowardice? A spectacle woven between mortal man,You observe us as much as you do they. You spot us in your houseYou notice the ocean in the skyYou peer into the visions of the primordial dark. We are not a threat,But your loyal subjects,Your servants,Before we are your guides. We seek to protect,To uphold you. But you curve your ears towards them,Shutting us outAnd discarding us into the wind. Will you take us into the grave with you?Or will you tame death,And show it its chains connected to your wrist? We are friends of massNot superficial, hollow husks.We want what’s best for youAnd yet you let those humans convince you.We are not real. Steel yourself Paul, Find your hatSever your tiesAnd step out in faith.

This is not a poem. This is a conversation.

A conversation with a Jaco, rather eloquent for his kind. 

Do you know who you are yet Paul? No. Do you know how you got here?No. Do you feel you belong here?…You wish to believe you do, but you don’t. You belong with us.You ain’t real.You made us real. You’re my illness, so yes, you are real in a sense. We are more than imagination. Then prove it. PROVE you exist. If we proved we exist, you would believe in us. You must believe in yourself. It’s you who matters, not us. I already know I exist, so I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. No. You believe your SHELL exists. If you can’t speak in a way that I understand, then I don’t see the point of this conversation. Your thoughts are just my thoughts, warped or whatever. We’re all part of the same person: me. Even talkin’ like this is crazy enough. 

Your children are not your blood. 

What? What did you just say?

Your children are someone else’s brood. They watch you, to make sure you are connected to them. If you are connected, then you are bound. Those kids are mine, and I love them, very dearly. So I’d appreciate if you wouldn’t suggest those things please. If I am a part of your psyche, then a part of you believes this.I… No… That’s a twisted idea. We all have random, dark thoughts that don’t make sense. I must be having an episode right now… When will you stop believing their lies Paul? When will you stop lying to yourself? You see us all around you, and your instincts tell you that your life is not right. We are waiting desperately for you to find your hat. I don’t know what this fuckin’ hat you keep going on about is! The hat of a king. 

Sacrifice

A recording on TV. Death. Feel your heart begin to beat.Judgement. Some escape the penalty. Not me.Sweat. Tremble.Breeeaaathe. Option one.Option two.Option three.Plotting unbeknownst.  Find spots in the overgrowth.Blind spots in the overgrowth. Sharp shovel.Soft soil. Ford fuelled.I hope a goat will appear for me too. You won’t get one PaulYou have to love and have faith first. No substitute,For this sacrifice.If they do not bring the light to you,Bring the dark to them,They will be forced into illumination. The man from an Oklahoma City recording told Paul: 

“There is no forgiveness for parents who take their children’s lives.” 

Passion

Paul jogs at three o’clock in the morning.He’s a man of extremesA guy like that shouldn’t be cooped up in a school working six to three in a job he hates.He had a wife and three beautiful kids as they said,Six, four and three.A Baxterian plan is forming.

Paul loves the things he loves with every fibre of his being,That’s why he’s one of those ‘men of passion’. Paul’s passion was clean,Was pure,Was right?

Paul is very passionate about running,His legs moved him like a shot from a gun but his mind couldn’t keep the pace.But Paul is as spontaneous as he is passionate,And he runs without anywhere to goBut always something to run for.They say he absently traced rings of fire,That melted a look of glass over his eyes.He ran that Ford dry,But it’ll forever be soaked and a carrier of unforgiveness that belonged to Paul, cut in two. The question is, where’s the third?

And Paul was a teacher…

Filicide

Children are mirrors But Paul’s did not reflect himThey were not from me…

Vindicated

“It was a driving forceThat Paul did not understand”Is what they told them To keep Paul from being any more cagedThan he felt he already was.But he didn’t tell them that last part. There was a lot he didn’t tell peopleTelling only some to those who couldn’t tell it to anyone else.He wasn’t allowed to do that anymore,Now they x-rayed him right then and thereRevealing all of the man’s skeletons. 

Paul couldn’t win. His life always belonged to othersWhether they isolated himOr stripped him bare in front of them And their exertion of overwhelming controlIs what made him feel so aloneAnd so at homeAmong the visionsThey couldn’t see. He was vindicated And increasingly medicatedFed full with food and thought Though he’d never felt so emaciated. 

His wife couldn’t take itShe left Paul with his parentsAnd moved away

To no one’s surprise, Paul couldn’t be a teacher anymore. He didn’t mindBecause he wanted to be the one to learnWho was watching and whyWhat the visions were and meant

And why he got away with killing his kids.

Alpha Omega 

Paul found himself in the darkened dreamscape once againHis bare feet walked lightLike a ghostUpon the soil of this ethereal world. Once again Paul found himself surrounded by the vast field.But the tree was gone,Replaced by a headstone.The body was buried shallow. No grass grew on the mound of dirtBut worst of allWas the message on the stone. There was no decorative designNo carefully etched text. It was evident to PaulFrom the small rock beside the headstoneThat it had been messily chiselled inWith its jagged and messy appearance. 

“HERE LIES GOD.”“AFFLICTED MOTHER,”“SUFFOCATED BY NEGLECT AND SUFFERING.”

Before Paul knew itHe found himself clawing through the dirtTossing it behind himTrying not to inhale the ground With HIS desperate, panting breaths.Even if she was deadHe wanted to see God’s face. When he broke through the barrierShe was young and beautifulAnd for the first time, He did not hate her. Buried in the ground Her delicate eyes closedHer skin paleHer lips softAnd her body cold. 

Paul blinked.

The grave was goneAnd Paul stood at a distance again.He saw a baby engulfed in fireIt criedAs it shouldNot from the flames,But because it was a baby.It was surrounded by thousands of JacosWhose candle horns shone brightly for onceAnd who wailed out in joyous praise. Paul didn’t know what to make of the sceneHe couldn’t call it evilHe couldn’t call it goodIt was merely the end of one thingAnd the beginning of another.

Genesis

This account begins with Paul reading a weathered old book in his elderly parents’ home. The book is titled “Genesis”. 

The lights of Paul’s entire world began to flickerAs the words on the page became a strange colour. He could not name the colourAnd wanting to name it silverHe realised it was mirror. Paul didn’t see himself in the mirrorOnly a boy on fireBut the fire didn’t bother himAnd Paul couldn’t help but thinkThat a more apt description would be “A boy within fire”The fire hunched over a small anthill On the plains within the Primordial Dark. Paul watched the fire’s observation As with hopeful eyes he dulled the flames on his handTo nothing but a warm glow. He extended it towards the anthillGently bridging the gap between flesh and dirt with his fingers.But the ants ignored him And the fire began to weep. 

Paul called out to the fireChoking back his own tearsAs he saw what looked like a boy That could’ve been his son. “Don’t cry, I’m here! I am with you!”But the boy couldn’t hear PaulBecause Paul was suddenly buried in sandAnd as he felt its crushing weightGreater than anything beforeHe peered through gapsTo watch the anthill burstAs a stream of water doused the boyWho screamed as the ants multipliedBiting him all overAnd dragging him into the soil. As the boy’s head sank beneath the soil, Paul watched the leftover water collectAbove nothing but ants. 

“Good story isn’t it, son?”

Dry off

I am alone and cold.My body gives off no warmthAnd my soul radiates no light.I don’t even feel hollow Because even something hollowHas substance. Instead, I feel like nothing. I feel inconsequentialUnimportantThough I constantly fear I am watchedAnd at times believe the world is against meFocused on controlling mePerhaps this narrative is a creation of my own mind. After all,I still have those that love me. But their love feels wasted on a hopeless soul like my own. I will not go anywhereI will not be anythingNot of my own desireBut because I simply…Can’t.I am too tired nowToo weary. My clothes feel wet and heavyFrom tears that I have shedAnd from those who I want to believeLove me. My mind feels cracked and disorderedWith those that care trying to piece me back together.For what? I don’t know what they expect from meI don’t know why they would help such an extraordinarily,Ordinary man.I can hardly think in patterns,Speak in rhythm Or feel in tune. Yet still people stand by me.What of all that I see?All that I hear?What is their purpose?What is mine?What’s real?What’s not?

Who am I?

And as Paul thought these very thoughtsOn his morning walk through a rainy dawn,Under steel clouds and water from above,Reaching and cooling him,Lulling him,Putting him out,An obstacle;He stumbles over a man sitting against the wallIn the dry of an underpass. Blending with the murk.But even in darkness, it all seemed brightAnd in the veil of shadow,His eyes were clear with white light.He held his mouth agapeHis lips quivered as he wheezed his words out To the anxious, frightened Paul,

“Y-you… are God…” 

And Paul’s stilling mind,His calming spirit,And all the phantasms,Were in glorious uproar.

He didn’t know what the man meantHe dared not tell anyone. He didn’t want to see the thought in the light,Leaving his lips to shrivel in the air,revealing the insanity of a homeless man.Despite his uncertainty,Paul could not help but smile Entertained in thoughtthe likelihoodof Godlihood.  

Seven-sided coin

Like the lens of a camera narrowing, Paul honed in on his spotted pastReflected in the whiskey he couldn’t bring himself to drink.  Torment begins with staresWhen you know you’re set apart from the restAnd you fear what they say behind their piercing eyes of judgement.What do they think of me? What do they say about me?The torment is never knowing.Paul had learnedThat humanity could be defined as containers. They held within themselves concoctions, Mixings of fluids and fleshOf ideas and beliefs.Paul raised an eyebrowAt their certainty in their uncertainty Calling things black and white When they are grey. 

Paul hated that, The way people thought of themselves as godsUnder their own rule When things were never as in control as they wished. Paul could snuff out the light of life of some family manAnd that man’s reign as God never existedBecause a god doesn’t have his fate decided by another. Paul wished he could walk along the fence sometimes Until he realised there were plenty of others there too.

 Paul was lonelyBut he wanted to be alone. 

The torment is hearing the whispersOnly for them to turn silent and awayWhen his eyes caught them. Their lofty words floated on the windDancing around PaulFrom one to another With him stuck in the middle. On a dime the creatures can change themselvesOr change how they see youBinding you up in your own paranoia and anxietyUntil theoretical existence dictates your reality And you are left with a real depressionFrom no sad events. A real anxietyFrom a stable life. Real voices From unreal beings. No one was the god of their own lifeYet they all acted like that was the caseSo Paul could see it, The idea that humanity came from monkeysOr at least the same ancestors as them.All he had to do was watch how they climbed over each otherWhen their stared daggers had him stabbed to the EarthAnd he watched their tower of babel Sway and lean on uneven EarthFrom the ground he lay upon.Paul was so utterly petrifiedThat they would reach the heavensAnd clutched the EarthHoping to increase its swayBefore they reached their destination. 

Paul began to realiseLife wasn’t as simple as they preached it to himThat it wasn’t a call of heads or tailsThat it wasn’t even two sides of the coinNor three, if you count its edge. As Paul took his step back,To watch life as a wholeHe realised that a coin has seven sides,The head,The tail,The edge ,The coin spreading from the inside out,The coin’s shrinking from the outside in,The coin as a whole,And everything but the coin.It didn’t matter what “side” he chose,It was never that simple. It didn’t matter what he did for themWhat he did to themBecause sometimes people are born with something ingrainedAnd Paul was one of those. He wouldn’t call it evil, For Paul appreciated kindness and the spread of loveAnd wished to spread it tooBut he wouldn’t call it good, Because Paul felt confirmedKnowing that people’s stares,Whispers,Placement on the streets, Careers that they worked in,And every little thing,Were to keep him boundSo he didn’t feel guiltyWhen he thought about tearing one apart. 

“You alright mister?” Paul looked up in response to the southern drawl of the bartender, Finding himself increasingly driftingBetween abstract thoughtAnd concrete reality.He watched a Jaco enter,And sit on the barstool beside him. “Have you found your hat yet Paul?” Paul ignored it and sipped his drink.But he knew it meant ‘crown’.

Fork in the road

Give me a reason to feel justified Say something to my faceStrike me with your fist Show me a reason Why this suffering seems to existOr else I remain delusional And if I am delusionalThen I have nowhere to goAnd nothing to beBut a container like youFloating in the sea. I have to make the choiceBetween illusion or realityBut I don’t know which is which. Whether Jacos and ghosts are the hallucinationOr my humanity is. 

Pyre

Don’t hope or pray for drastic change if you aren’t ready for it. Paul hoped for it.

A slow-burn revelationPaul’s eyelids peeled back‘Til he could barely see out from under them.He achingly rubbed them clearDaring to focus the view in front of himUntil barely a glance became an increasingly haunting starePaul was frozen stiff A Jaco on either side of himStanding in his usual attireButton up shirt neatly tucked in,Black trousers reaching black dress shoes, But now also cloaked, In a long overcoatAlmost covering his handsKeeping his hearth warm.His vision was split between both eyesOne stared at a cabin doorBuilt partially into a hillLike an entrance into the Earth itself. The other stared at the contents of its bellyA coldly lit pitThat bittered Paul’s mouthShivered his spine And sent his heart into a roaring blaze.He couldn’t withhold his disgustSeeing his former wife writhe and riseAmongst an entanglement of fleshLike some many-limbed beast Living a few hours and no moreAnd in time’s wickedly long schemeProviding betrayal and nothing more. Paul wished he could look awayWished he could cryWished he weren’t so weak so he could lay down and dieFor when the world didn’t stare him downTo his kneesIt spat on the back of his neckAnd moaned in his ear.The scene went on. Paul could hear the ghosts begin to speak “End it Paul. End it Paul. End it Paul…” And Paul’s new coat began to feel warmer And the Jacos began to feel less like guidesAnd for the first time Paul addressed them first,Uttering a simple line: “Get inside.” And they did. But the image began to fadeAnd Paul couldn’t quite put his finger on the momentThat the scene went from slick and sweat and spit and silhouetteTo his hand locking the door And the great gravel scrape of fire crackling That covered the screams As Paul’s consciousness faded Back into dreams. 

They asked him what happened, Where he was And if he knew how the fire started. Paul didn’t care. They told him that his wife had died in the fire.He was trying to remember A term That captured how he felt in the moment.It was the striking of violin strings In a vicious, psychotic manner terrifying yet powerful. Col legno.

In the end, they leftAs Paul knew they would. He honestly didn’t remember starting the fireBut he remembered its most honest orange glowAgainst the tumultuous ocean sky. Paul liked how it looked, Being stirred up like that…Paul was beginning to suspectThat they didn’t have as much power as he thoughtAnd his dread began to shiftHis powerlessness began to driftAs the wheel was gripped by the hands of faith and uncontrollable rage. 

Kill my memory

Pain has no form, no shape. It’s salt water. It exists outside of our time, before we live and long after we’re gone. Do you think the ocean is the accumulation of God’s tears? 

A suffering buried so deepForgotten.Caged. “Lock it up and throw away the key”.Now he surfaces the relicAnd begins to tear it openOne vapour word,One ghostly thought,One spectral deed at a time. Oh the sorry sight before meThe twisted grey of this worldA permittance of such abhorrenceThe guise of ‘growing.’I hear a great cry of anguish I see birth of despair The vessel begins to fillThe shell begins to become wholeOh but the overflow The bursting and breakingA chorus of screaming levees An intimate whisper and soft caress

Solitude. Drops at a time ‘til oceans riseAnd drown all who venture in the tides.Loneliness takes him homeHis friends have all left him nowOr were never there at all. 

He becomes what he createsHe creates what he’s becomeWhat is it he’s turned out to be? 

Death flirts with himLife cries for himPain is on his leftPerseverance on his right. Leave me be, all these thingsIn the quiet of the night.

“I want to feel like I feel when I’m asleep.”

No human for himHis bride is lonelinessHis wife is solitudeHe is wed to isolation. 

Ask him his closest friend:

“No one.”

The phantasms rise upWailing and weeping along with meAs I sob into the dirtClutching it, I throw it on my naked backMy tears water the groundMy mournful cries reach its very core I tear my clothes in writhing agony In the opening unto myselfI have lost my ties to the world. 

Will you ever hear me speak?You follow a devoured trail from long ago. 

Torture felt, full in forceThe first flight from feigning into freedom.A cracking whip calls from shores of time long past.You killed me back then. Intention takes its eyes off.So clear became the boy’s painEveryone saw right through itAs though it was never there. The death of a son, the death of a friend.  Years trapped within the abyss.Torn in twoCast one half into the dark. Intention hides its face. Acknowledge the mess,Acknowledge the scars,Acknowledge.Acknowledge!Acknowledge…

So normal is the life we leadSo mundaneSuppose that in the meagre passing of timeWithout much reason or rhymeOur words and deeds are stacked up tallBringing out the wretch in us all.A young man is crippled and leftFirst by himself, Second by those around him. All connection is lostAching takes the reins from behind his eyesAnd drives him. Survive.

Only in circumstance of light unto himself,Will his path lead to ruin. What do you pray for?Who do you pray to? When shrouded in darkWe set ourselves ablazeGuided by our own lightUntil we burn outWe surely shed our sparkWarmth slowly dissipatesGoodbye, our owed mightNo respite in this night. 

Therapy 

“I always had someone by my side.When I was born, my mother. When I was growin’ up, my father.When I went to school, my sisters.When we played in the woods, my brothers. Then I found a girl, and it was her.Then we had our kids, and it was them. But now…I feel so alone. And the things that comfort me, Are not people But beings from another world I’m sure of it. I cannot help but feel contempt And rage towards people. I killed my children and know they were never mine. My wife burned alive, and I know she never really loved me. I don’t feel anythin’ but angerSo deep So pure It’s like, If fire swallowed fire And was burned at the stake. I hate those kids for being liesI hate my wife for being a liarI hate that lawyer because he defended meI hate the police because they didn’t lock me upI hate my parents because they look at me in fearI hate my siblings because I’m afraid they don’t exist when they never visitI hate the strangers for bein’ everythin’ I mentionedAnd I hate you because your words resolve nothing. It’s a new thing each time,Schizophrenia, anxiety, depression. Y’all just give me more pills to swallowMore shit to doNo time to breathe. I wish if you gave me pills, They would just fuckin’ kill me.”Paul’s therapist sat tremblingAs Paul sat slouched on his throne.His presence dominated the roomAnd as Paul’s vicious eyes glowed,Terror crept into the therapist’s throat. He tried to swallow, But coughed and splutteredAnd even then Paul did not react. He feared He was losing him. He feared he had let his family down. He feared what Paul would do to him. “Speak.I don’t pay you to tell me nothing.I pay you to help me.” The therapist steadied himself, And replied. 

“My job is to help you help yourself. Your life has been troubled,Your road has been long.But humanity is not your enemy,And people do care.You are being tortured by your own mind,Which is why we medicate it.But you have things you hold precious, right?”“If I didn’t hold my wife and kids precious, And hold disdain for my family, Then what could possibly be precious to me? Even if something like that existed, What could it possibly do for me?People care about obedience, People care about restraint. Humanity may not be my enemyBut it shows me no allegiance. My allies are phantasms, Who brought me to this pointRevealing many truths.  My kids were not my own, My wife had many loversAnd oh so much more. The only torture they’ve shown meIs their own pain Because of humanity’s death grip.”Paul’s breaths became rapid“But…”His eyes darted, moving jaggedly. “I feel it now…”He lifted himself up. “The compulsion…”His teeth and fists were clenchedAs his chest heavedAnd his coat rose and fellIn the same rhythm as waves on the shore. “To crush.”

G 2:17

Paul drove frantically homePractically drinking the sweatAs it streamed down his face. He almost lost control several timesFrom his loose grip on the wheel. Paul didn’t know if it was a blur because of speedOr because his focus was transcending the material plane. He hurriedly parked his car in his parent’s driveway.What had he done? He could barely control his shivering body And threw his wretched coat to the dirt. The garage door stalled. Paul sworeAnd popped the trunk of his car. Swiftly he lowered it So it rested barely open. His sharp breaths misted in front of himIn the cold air as he approached the front door. He looked up

It had begun to drizzle. 

Paul opened the door into the dark And moved quickly towards the direction of the garage. He was suddenly blinded “S   U  RP  R      I     SE!!!!!” The word came out like a distorted wail And Paul covered his ears screaming His eyes shut tight, Terrified of what apparition may have found himIn order to punish him. But he was punished insteadBy the muffled sound of his name“Paul?” He opened his eyes To see the wide array of family,Close and distant. Their faces seemed to reflect genuine worryAnd fear on his behalf. His parents’ eyes were scared and sadFor him. For Paul…For Paul! And tears of joy began to well up in his eyes. “Are you okay Paul?”Paul was flanked by a brother and sister, Holding him in sincerity. “Y-yes I just… I just got out of therapy is all.”“Oh, well we’re sorry to have scared you. But look!” 

Paul lifted his head and his eyesBalloons throughout the rooms and halls, A cake on the table A scene from a fablePresents carried like babies in the arms of young and old. He forgot it was his birthday. “You’ve had it rough, but we don’t hold it against you. You’re still a brother and a sonAnd we will stand by you.”Upon hearing that, Paul’s world slowed. He tried to turn his headBut his neck was stiffAnd after yearsHe was able to look behind him. He began to cry For his vision carried An open car trunk framed By a door ajar. “If you left something in the car, I’ll go grab it for you.”Paul could say no words For if this wasn’t what he always wasIt was what he had become. He watched in slowed vision As his brother moved towards the car And his sister held him there Rubbing his back soothingly. 

Paul watched a pleasant expression turn to terror. His brother screamed. 

If only the garage door had been open. Paul would’ve had the shovel to buryThe mangled, Broken corpseIn no time. 

“YOU’VE KILLED AGAIN PAUL! YOU’VE KILLED AGAIN!” “WHAT POSSESSES YOU?” “VILE CREATURE!” 

His family screamed at his brother to stop. 

“NO!”“I WON’T PRETEND!”“I WON’T PRETEND HE’S NORMAL!”“I WON’T PRETEND HE’S JUST A FLAWED AND BURDENED MAN!”“HE’S NOT A BROTHER!”“HE’S A PARASITE!”“HE’S A CURSE!” Paul’s brother shouted into the sky “YOU NEVER PREPARED ME FOR THIS,”“YOU NEVER PREPARED ME FOR THIS!”

And with that outpour of words, Paul released His curdled blood. His family fell to their knees and backsStaring up at the Paul. 

“̵͕̽I̴̪̋ ̸̚ W̶̫̑Í̷̘L̸̎ͅL̵̼̓ ̸̡͗ F̵̻͂I̴͘͜Ǹ̸̼D̶̫̂ ̷̡̍ T̷͖̈́H̷͓́É̴͓ ̸̧̃ Ť̷͓R̴̩͠U̶͎̒T̵̖́H̴̫̐!

̷̦͗Ǐ̸̖’̸̏ WILLL̴̻̆L̶̬͒ ̵̭̆ R̵̜̾E̵̲͠A̵̼͒C̴̛̭H̶͎̎ ̴̱̈́ T̵͔͊H̵̻̔E̵̠̽ ̴͇̅ E̴̢̿D̷̹͗G̷̥͋É̶̲ ̷̬̀ Ő̵̦F̷̣̒ ̸̹͗ Ṭ̵̈́H̷̡̔E̴͓̐ ̵̫͑ F̴́͜O̶̪͑R̵̝͌Ę̷́S̶̜͛Ţ̶̓!

̶̥͝Y̵̫͋O̶͉͠Ȕ̶͜ ̴̭͊ C̷̭͐A̵͈͘N̸̳̈’̴̙͐T̸͓͂ ̸̪̀ K̸͙̆E̶̡͛E̷̳̽P̷̝̕ ̶̠̓ M̷̦̀E̸̙̐ ̸̞̀ H̷͈͑E̵̤̔Ṙ̷̼E̸͕͘ ̷̬̀ F̵̗̉O̶͈͋R̵͓̈́Ẹ̷̏V̶̲͋E̸͚̾R̵̟̓!̶̠͒”

̵͚̾Paul darted out of the house, Sprinting fast enough To tear open the Earth. 

I don’t believe I ever mentioned, That Paul had never reached the edge of the forestThat surrounded his town. “It is filled with death,”“Littered with traps.”It's long and dense, And called:“The end of the line.”   

Pilgrimage 

The icy rain seemed to gauge chunks of flesh out of Paul’s back as it poured down upon him. He clawed away branch and brush as they twisted around him. Paul knew he would make up his mind on the forest’s edgeBecause if his gut had not confirmed itHe was sure some phantasm would. Once again Paul looked to the sky Perhaps for God this timeBut was met with a maelstrom in the sky’s ocean. He panted hardAnd pressed on. 

Paul’s legs creaked and splinteredAnd he winced in pain as he felt his body remember its frailty.  Paul fixed his eyes on the horizon between the foliage. He could hear running and calling from behind him, But Paul refused to turn around. Paul’s legs had been running for hoursTo an edge he was unsure existed. He didn’t know what he would do when he reached the edgeOr what he would seeBut among the trees he could see the darting figuresAs his phantasms ran beside himAnd he was spurred onward. 

Paul could hear the dull call of his name, The roaring of engines searching through the dense forestry for him. He could hear whistles And see the ends of torch beams darting back and forth in the dim, dusk light. A part of Paul wanted to give up, Turn around,Go home and take his medication. But he was reminded of his brotherAnd what he had said. If there was nothing at the edge of the forest but a cliff,Then he would throw himself off. The mud was creeping its way up his legs,Clinging to him as it mixed with the rain. Paul felt the sharp sting of sticks and thorns as he ran through them,Though his skin was left uninjured. Paul thought to himselfThat while he wasn’t bleedingHis hands were still covered in blood. The deaths he’d caused Would not be in vain. They were sacrifices For truthThat Paul was encroaching upon.

Paul breached the forest’s edge. 

The Great Desolate

Paul was birthed from the forestTo a still, ambient view. The rain never broke past the forestAnd the ocean didn’t stretch this far. The sounds behind Paul had gone silent Even though he knew they were still coming. But Paul just stood thereLetting the view sink in,Integrating it into himself. 

It was melancholicAnd nostalgic. Far more nostalgic than the memories of his childhood. The view meant more to him than anything else, For it finally felt like real,Concrete truth. It was something he could believe in, And was a part of his history. Before Paul:A vast blackened landscape, Scorched right down to charred soil. The clouds were like an amber haze And at times swayed between red and black. But the ground was undoubtedly the colour of coal,The corpses of trees rose up from the groundLike bony altarsIf they hadn’t come to rest on their sides. They looked like fingersOr strings,Connecting sky to Earth. Rolling hills and mountains Moved away like decaying waves into the red sky of dusk.The hills were a sea that Paul found comfort in for once.Though seared, Dark as the night sky. The clouds and hills stretched on forever. Paul knew his history when he saw it. He knew now,He was that boyDevoured by ants. He was once GodAnd in his youthful naivetéAnd lack of experience, Had charred the Earth. 

Paul remembered the pain of rejection The pain of time on a human body, The feelings of alienationAnd the stares of faceless mannequinsAs they weighed him down with their fear and disdain. He remembered the pain of fire doused by water,But now his heart was warmed By the sadness of loss,And the memory of his mother. He had been dragged into a chaotic worldImprisoned and controlled. His racing world Had slowed. Paul felt his soul,His heart,His mind,Leisurely approach each otherAnd once again form a union. No cheer emanated from the phantasms, But a bittersweet weeping As their God had returned to them. Though Paul regretted his actionsThe ones that drove humans away from himAnd he sought to learn love,And renew the bond between man and GodThat when damaged,Had killed his motherAnd caged him here. 

But not this world.Not after what it had done to him. Not after it had shown Paul its ugly face. 

Paul turned around,Cigarette lit and placed between his lips, Ready to retrieve his coat,When he saw his family approach. Many members of the town,Crept up from to the end of the line. His father stepped forward, To try one last time.

Vomit

“Paul, just, listen to us alright. Don’t say anything, just listen. We understand that what you’re going through is incredibly tough, and we understand that it isn’t easy to talk about it. But you have to trust us. Everything you’ve been saying doesn’t make sense. It’s your anxiety and delusions speaking, exacerbated by the depression. But you can’t give up. Don’t give up on yourself and don’t give up on us. We only want to help you. We gathered all these people just to look for you because we care about you Paul. It’s easy to get lost in your own thoughts and especially so with what you’re struggling with, so we get it! We don’t blame or resent you for wanting to get away from everything, for seeing everything the way you do. But you DO have to understand that these…beings you talk about- they aren’t real! Everything you claim to “see” and “hear” are just parts of your own brain. It’s all little bits and pieces taken from life experiences, movies, books, games, music, and all sorts of things. That’s where you come up with all these ideas, just grabbed from different parts of life! They’re in your head and think back to how medication helped! You made some lovely memories when you were on the right meds. Of course, we’re realising now that it’s more severe than we thought and we’re sorry for neglecting that. It ramped up and we ignored that. So for that, we’re sorry. If anyone’s at fault, it’s us, not you Paul. Everyone appreciates you taking accountability as well. But the truth is, you aren’t fully to blame for the deaths! You weren’t in your right mind. So please, come home with us. This area is prone to lightning strikes and recently experienced a major forest fire while you were staying at the psych ward. That’s why it’s scorched. We’ve had fires here nearly every year, which is why we warned you not to come out here! Everything can be explained if you take the time and really dwell on it. But things aren’t as bad as you’d like to believe, and people aren’t as terrified of you as you think! Sure, people might be uncomfortable but that’s something we, and others, want to work through with you! We’d love for you to teach us and show us how you want us to treat you! But don’t do anything rash, please, for God’s sake. Your brother, he wants to see you, to apologise. He’s had it tough too – n-not because of you! No, he’s had his own troubles. But isn’t life like that, Paul? Everyone’s got something they’re dealing with. So come home, and we can all work together. We love you Paul, we want you to know that. Every single one of us here is gunning for you and I know I’m not the best with words and can get a little jumbled, but we really are genuine. You’re scaring us all when you behave like this so, please, come home and get help. You don’t have the right to put us through this kind of worry, and- I know I don’t understand what you’re going through, but that doesn’t make it right for you to walk all over us. You want to have a good future, a life ahead of you. Even if you feel old, 33 is arguably still quite young! You aren’t as old as your old man ha ha ha. Come on Paul. Don’t look at me that way. I don’t like the way you’re looking at me Paul. You might be an adult but I’m still your father so when I tell you to come home, you better be goddamn sure you come. You better stop fucking- right, right. Sorry. I… I let my anger get a hold of me. But see? Even your old man is trying to get his act together. In his old age as well! So, we can walk the road together, yeah? Right to the end. I’m so proud of you son. I’m proud of your determination. I know you blame yourself and hate yourself for a lot of things, but you’ve suffered more than most right? So please, Paul. Just- get away from the ledge there. We’re asking one last time, as a family.” 

“Come home.”  

The man God.

IGNIS, EGO SUM. FLAMMA-AETERNA, HOMO-DEUS.A great fear was nailed into their heartsBy Hephaestus’s hammer.A new kind of molten terror was poured into their watered-down heartsTo be cooled and hardened Into Paul’s blade. He stared them down with the ferocity of all the wild beastsAnd intensity, radiating heat that reached their bones. He stood atop the hill, Staring down at them,Ill.The sky went darker still,Tinged red with blood Or embersHe spilled. Horror held them They found it hard to standAnd hard to swallowStaring at the deranged manIn tattered garb And clenched teethAnd wild eyesAnd white knuckles And dirtAnd grimeAnd- “Oh heaven’s why, Why was this the outcome?”

The rolling hills And fields beyond the forestsBehind Paul nowErupted in roaring blaze.There was nothing left to burn Except the offering brought before the black.The heat of the bonfire forced them to their kneesAs they wailed in defeatBitter pangs of stinging lossPaul turned and stepped away from themFor the last time. “We’ve lost him,”“He’s thrown himself over the edge,”“Our brother,”“Our son,”“Our friend.”“He can no longer see past delusion,”“Past illusion,”“He’s dead and gone.”But Paul had also lost, lost his faith in them And instead held it to himself.And he felt at home In his being.Flames engulfed the landscapeLicking away the flesh from the bones of those he once thought he knew.Tears began to flow down his weathered face.Salt in his eyes but sweet to his lips,Paul couldn’t help but smile,Upon seeing the sky’s ocean turning to steam. His stone heart melted into magmaAs he returned to his roots. They had smothered his fireWhich warms and lightsBut must also destroy. He wouldn’t believe their lies anymoreHe couldn’tFor it weakened him,Keeping him shackled and controlled.  His faith was placed solely in himself In his own abilityAnd his ownership of reality. 

We all believe in somethin’,Even if it’s ourselves.We’re told to rise to greater height,And to watch whoever rises and falls.The world turned against me, Or never held an interest at allOf that much, I’m sure. They fear what they don’t understandAnd all the moreThat which threatens their sovereignty.I am almost the sameBut I don’t fear what threatens my light,I hate it.I did not kill my children,If they don’t belong to me.I did not fall into insanity, If it was the path to truth.I taught but I knew nothin’,Now that I know everythin’,  I can no longer teach. For humans are only comparable to gods in their capacity to destroy.They know gods as beings that quash innocence,And despise freedom. That is how they relate to gods.

Such a quality is only as they see it. 

The cunnin’ and schemin’ of humanity,I find it detestableThey tainted me with it“Humanity”,and would seek to string my life alongWith these orchestrated eventsTo subdue me. 

I cannot show them the destruction they brought upon themselves,Because they are already bein’ swallowed by it.Human hands are mouthsAnd their lives are bellies.   I’ll continue to raze this Earth, Spreadin’ smoke and haze across the worldSparin’ no one. I will wander among the last survivors,Until I see the last bones crumble to ashAnd I am left alone With my Jacos and phantasms. I’ll walk among the stars.I’ll renew this EarthAgain and again As many times as it takes ‘Til an Earth is born Where unity and reverence exist. But cursed is that potential May it be deemed impossible. They may very well have placed me in hell, Eternal sufferin’: Total solitudeBecause my perception of unity is tainted by human eyes. But I find hopeIn tamed time and tamed death.I can take as long as I like. I won’t follow my mother into the void. At the very least, I’ll be an example Chasin’ God leads to:Incineration. They will obliterate themselves over and over In their attempt to be me. Because God remains constant Whether you capture him or notHe is still God. Victory never arrived for me, Only a painful realisation and resumption of workLeft behind long ago.I close my eyes To the pain in the flames around me.

Here lies PAUL.