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spiritual_emergency · Dec 20, 2008, 04:59 PM

The first time I told my story I could only do so from within a state of altered consciousness and because there was so much I could not say, could not express, I often had to use pieces of other people's stories to tell my own. Pieces like this one...

Quote:

TIME IS A BLIND GUIDE.

NO ONE IS BORN JUST ONCE. IF YOU'RE LUCKY, YOU'LL EMERGE AGAIN IN SOMEONE'S ARMS; OR UNLUCKY, WAKE WHEN THE LONG TRAIL OF TERROR BRUSHES THE INSIDE OF YOUR SKULL.

I RAN AND FELL, RAN AND FELL. THEN THE RIVER: SO COLD IT FELT SHARP.

THE RIVER WAS THE SAME BLACKNESS THAT WAS INSIDE ME; ONLY THE THIN MEMBRANE OF MY SKIN KEPT ME FLOATING.

FROM THE OTHER BANK, I WATCHED THE DARKNESS TURN TO PURPLE-ORANGE ABOVE THE TOWN; THE COLOR OF FLESH TRANSFORMING TO SPIRIT. THEY FLEW UP. THE DEAD PASSED ABOVE ME, WEIRD HALOES AND ARCS SMOTHERING THE STARS. THE TREES BENT UNDER THEIR WEIGHT. I'D NEVER BEEN ALONE IN THE NIGHT FOREST, THE WILD BARE BRANCHES WERE FROZEN SNAKES. THE GROUND TILTED AND I DIDN'T HOLD ON. I STRAINED TO JOIN THEM, TO RISE WITH THEM, TO PEEL FROM THE GROUND LIKE PAPER UNGLUING AT ITS EDGES. I KNOW NOW WHY WE BURY OUR DEAD AND MARK THE PLACE WITH STONE, WITH THE HEAVIEST THING WE CAN THINK OF: BECAUSE THE DEAD ARE EVERYWHERE BUT THE GROUND.

THEN---AS IF SHE'D PUSHED THE HAIR FROM MY FOREHEAD, AS IF I'D HEARD HER VOICE---I KNEW SUDDENLY SHE WAS INSIDE ME. MOVING ALONG SINEWS, UNDER MY SKIN THE WAY SHE USED TO MOVE THROUGH THE HOUSE AT NIGHT. SHE WAS STOPPING TO SAY GOODBYE AND WAS CAUGHT, IN SUCH PAIN, WANTING TO RISE, WANTING TO STAY. IT WAS MY RESPONSIBILITY TO RELEASE HER, A SIN TO KEEP HER FROM ASCENDING. I TORE AT MY CLOTHES, MY HAIR. SHE WAS GONE. MY OWN FAST BREATH AROUND MY HEAD.

I RAN FROM THE SOUND OF THE RIVER INTO THE WOODS, DARK AS THE INSIDE OF A BOX. I RAN UNTIL THE FIRST LIGHT WRUNG THE LAST GREYNESS OUT OF THE STARS, DRIPPING DIRTY LIGHT BETWEEN THE TREES. I KNEW WHAT TO DO. I TOOK A STICK AND DUG. I PLANTED MYSELF LIKE A TURNIP AND HID MY FACE WITH LEAVES.

MY DAYS IN THE GROUND WERE A DELIRIUM OF SLEEP AND ATTENTION. I DREAMED SOMEONE FOUND MY MISSING BUTTON AND CAME LOOKING FOR ME. IN A GLADE OF BURST PODS LEAKING THEIR WHITE STUFFING, I DREAMED OF BREAD: WHEN I WOKE, MY JAW WAS SORE FROM CHEWING AIR. I WOKE TERRIFIED OF ANIMALS, MORE TERRIFIED OF MEN.

A GREY FALL DAY. AT THE END OF STRENGTH. AT THE PLACE WHERE FAITH IS MOST LIKE DESPAIR, I LEAPED FROM THE STREETS OF BISKUPIN; FROM UNDERGROUND INTO AIR. I LIMPED TOWARDS HIM, STIFF AS A GOLEM, CLAY TIGHT BEHIND MY KNEES. I STOPPED A FEW YARDS FROM WHERE HE WAS DIGGING---LATER HE TOLD ME IT WAS AS IF I'D HIT A GLASS DOOR, AN INARGUABLE SURFACE OF PURE AIR--- "AND YOUR MUD MASK CRACKED WITH TEARS AND I KNEW YOU WERE HUMAN, JUST A CHILD. CRYING WITH THE ABANDONMENT OF YOUR AGE.

HE SAID HE SPOKE TO ME. BUT I WAS WILD WITH DEAFNESS. MY PEAT-CLOGGED EARS.

SO HUNGRY. I SCREAMED INTO THE SILENCE THE ONLY PHRASE I KNEW IN MORE THAN ONE LANGUAGE. I SCREAMED IT IN GERMAN AND YIDDISH, THUMPING MY FISTS ON MY OWN CHEST: DIRTY JEW, DIRTY JEW, DIRTY JEW.

THE MAN EXCAVATING IN THE MUD AT BISKUPIN, THE MAN I CAME TO KNOW AS ATHOS, WORE ME UNDER HIS CLOTHES. MY LIMBS BONE-SHADOWS ON HIS STRONG LEGS AND ARMS. MY HEAD BURIED IN HIS NECK, BOTH OF US BENEATH A HEAVY COAT. I WAS SUFFOCATING BUT I COULDN'T GET WARM. INSIDE ATHOS COAT, COLD AIR STREAMING IN FROM THE EDGE OF THE CAR DOOR. THE DRONE OF ENGINES AND WHEELS. ONCE IN A WHILE, THE SOUND OF A PASSING LORRY. IN OUR STRANGE COUPLING, ATHOS' VOICE BURROWED INTO MY BRAIN. I DIDN'T UNDERSTAND SO I MADE IT UP MYSELF. IT'S RIGHT. IT'S NECESSARY TO RUN.

FOR MILES THROUGH DARKNESS IN THE BACK SEAT OF THE CAR. I HAD NO IDEA WHERE WE WERE GOING. ANOTHER MAN DROVE AND WHEN WE WERE SIGNALLED TO STOP, ATHOS PULLED A BLANKET OVER US. IN GREEK STAINED BUT COMPETANT GERMAN, ATHOS COMPLAINED HE WAS ILL. HE DIDN'T JUST COMPLAIN. HE WHIMPERED. HE MOANED. HE INSISTED ON DESCRIBING HIS SYMPTOMS AND TREATMENTS IN DETAIL. UNTIL, DISGUSTED AND ANNOYED, THEY WAVED US ON. EACH TIME WE STOPPED, I WAS NUMB AGAINST HIS BODY. A BLISTER TIGHT WITH FEAR.

MY HEAD ACHED WITH FEVER. I SMELLED MY HAIR BURNING. THROUGH DAYS AND NIGHTS I SPED AWAY. FROM LONG AFTERNOONS WITH MY BEST FRIENDS BY THE RIVER. THEY WERE YANKED RIGHT THROUGH MY SCALP. BUT BELLA CLUNG. WE WERE RUSSIAN DOLLS. I INSIDE ATHOS, BELLA INSIDE ME.

I DON'T KNOW HOW LONG WE TRAVELLED THIS WAY. ONCE, I WOKE AND SAW SIGNS IN A FLUID SCRIPT THAT FROM A DISTANCE LOOKED LIKE HEBREW. THEN ATHOS SAID WE WERE HOME, IN GREECE. WHEN WE GOT CLOSER, I SAW THE WORDS WERE STRANGE; I'D NEVER SEEN GREEK LETTERS BEFORE. IT WAS NIGHT, BUT THE SQUARE HOUSES WERE WHITE EVEN IN DARKNESS AND THE AIR WAS SOFT. I WAS DIM WITH HUNGER AND FROM LYING SO LONG IN THE CAR.

ATHOS SAID: "I WILL BE YOUR KOURUMBAROS, YOUR GODFATHER, THE MARRIAGE SPONSOR FOR YOU AND YOUR SONS."

ATHOS SAID: "WE MUST CARRY EACH OTHER. IF WE DON'T HAVE THIS, WHAT ARE WE . . ."

ON THE ISLAND OF ZAKYNTHOS, ATHOS SCIENTIST, SCHOLAR, MIDDLING MASTER OF LANGUAGES PERFORMED HIS MOST ASTOUNDING FEAT. FROM OUT OF HIS TROUSERS HE PLUCKED THE SEVEN YEAR OLD REFUGEE, JAKOB BEER.

Source: Anne Micheals: Fugitive Pieces

or pieces like this one...

Mathew Good Band: Strange Days ~ Beautiful Midnight