Resume the placing of the mark on the field and the race began once again. It was the middle of the night and she wanted to go out for a walk but the moon would not cooperate. Everything that was visible is now unseen, unknown and full of the fear that night can sometimes bring. It sometimes brought the fear of the unknown, the hidden stuff that would seep through cracks if you just simply let it seep. Though it was not really the unknown that she feared but the known, the stuff that was already there just waiting to stick it’s little stupid head out and throw up all over everything that was right, everything that was beautiful
Every once In a while, the crazy little monster would be overcome and it was crawl back into its hole and shake with the insistence that it was never going out. Would never bother the living and never interfere with the dead with the dead’s inevitable transparent effect upon the living, the world was a place of magic she rarely saw. The magic was hidden, quaking with fear, quaking with fear of the unknown.
Complimenting the daylight, was always the nighttime, it seemed as if that would never change, but recently she knew that this all did not matter. That the earth would simply swallow up the living. Undo all the beauty that it had created in the millions of years it was. So why did anything of this matter. Why would any of it matter.
Channeling the magic of the earth, she tried to learn to trust in the daylight, the moonlight, it was a journey that took her far inside, deep within.. Because trust, in her mind, was fraught with fear, guilt and an uncertain hunger. A very uncertain hunger. It seeped through the pores of the skin on the inside of her thigh. Like weird little pimples trying to extract the junk that was poisoning her at the cellular level.
It always seems to be living at the cellular level. Like the very building blocks of the universe. Puss, slime, icky stuff that smelled distasteful and would constantly attempt to undo the beauty that was in the world. Because the body could create stuff that was so distasteful even to the body itself. How could anyone possibly find sense in this universe? The odor, the visual experience of the excretions of the body. So distasteful.
How and why does this happen? Even when the world is full of sweet smelling roses, fragrant blooms of the spring that assault the nose in April so that you know that it is ok to be alive. Along with the puss of the body, the awful, the absolute gross disgusting shit the oozing out of pores.
It’s fascinating sometimes. Totally unsavory at others. Fearful others. Absolutely emotive. Dumping overwhelming amounts of weight upon every situation that’s seems to be simple, and beautiful and filled with awe.
What is this life? Why is this life? Never to be known, always to be everything at once. Without peace, always in conflict.