His name is a part of me, just like his stories. A fabrication imbued with truth. Or truth imbued with fabrication.
A Beautiful Death
You want to be a good friend and you want to be a good person but it’s hard when you like movies better than real people.
The poisonous grip of the mountain is loosening, but like any detox there are feelings of grief– Now we’re exposed, there’s talk of needing protection, and of going to Mexico, where whatever money we have left will last a lot longer.
How tripped out is it that it can be a day like any other when suddenly, out of the blue, tragedy strikes and nothing is ever the same again? It sends you reeling, grasping at the details of an ordinary life... I know what it’s like to be finally and firmly on the outside of everything.
Will the act of me walking through the tunnel bring him out? Will he appear in the guise of my own face’s reflection in the sheen of water that covers the walls inside? ... Will he be there, in the syncing up of the simulacrum and my awareness of it as such?
Now the full extent of my carelessness and conceit was made apparent as Lil Mountain and I fell to the floor–my deer tail and lizard teeth necklace rattling like an exquisitely worded curse.
far out on the invisible mountain
Since the time with Behemoth, I’ve lost the ability to discern a certain stratum of details. While none of these are of crucial importance in and of themselves, taken together they contribute to a general sense of being ungrounded.