Thursday, April 28, 2011

Falling down the Rabbit Hole


I drank the potion and the Love drank champagne and before we knew it I was a whale in the ocean and before we knew that she was here. Looking up at us. A ball of flesh so sweet I could have sucked her. And I did when her nose ran and I did again when nobody was looking. And we took her home and we looked at each other with saucer eyes and that was it, the world was new, we were somewhere else, a place where everything seemed the same, but quite simply was not.
Curious.
The shapes were different and my edges were peach-fuzz and she took my flesh with a baby grunt and then asked for my still-beating heart and I gave her that too, gladly, though it was strange to give it to someone I’d only just met.
She was utterly someone, someone new: perhaps we’d expected to know her immediately, that she would somehow resemble us. Of course not. And yet, she was familiar. She was a character from a dream – someone, but not someone. The house you grew up on that is that house, but is also the smoking twins’ house from The City of Lost Children.
And in the mornings her face was so close and her eyes open and she looked like a foetus or a very attractive alien and I found myself kissing her wildly and missing her even when she was sleeping.
And the days were nights and the weeks disappeared and I couldn’t speak in sentences and my hair grew to my waist and I forgot what I looked like and when I looked in the mirror my face was all Picasso and my body too and it felt like I’d been taken apart and put back together again.
And the mornings (which were evenings) brought on delirious joys and the nights (which were days) brought on terrors beyond my wildest nightmares; news reports and Trainspotting and assorted world sadnesses plagued the interior of my eyelids like a sick teledex - the fragility of her, her pure wormlike untouchedness turned me to shards of angst in that cubist mirror. I took showers at dinnertime (which was lunchtime) and missed her as the water fell and felt dizzy at the thought of the fragility. Was I a good enough guardian of it? I prayed I would never drop her. I sat on the couch and sprinkler-cried like a cartoon character thinking of all the things she would live, would she play tennis, what would her laugh sound like, would she make a cardboard cutout one day for a boy in the shape of a love heart with their initials on it all sorts of twinkling glitter-glue colours and then put it in his locker only to have him laugh and call it Gay, would she get married, would she be vegetarian – she was here – look – breathing – she was alive and one day would die, and so would I. The beauty and intensity and craziness of it all just made the faucets spurt and spurt.
And then that died down a bit and the peach-fuzz edges began to morph again into more solid outlines, still sketchy and as-yet-un-coloured-in, but outlines nonetheless. Reality slowly returned to the Warren. Well anyway the curious little life in here seemed to be becoming Real.


Artwork du Jour 112

Falling down the Rabbit Hole

Monday, April 4, 2011

L'Arrivée


It was scary, terrifying in moments, a strange sense of destiny, weird portals and moments when I was sure I was being born myself, remembering things I’d never known, I was a monster, bad, hopeless, what was I doing in this bath, the thought of it made me sick, the idea of it all – what was it for again – why was I here, I wanted to go home, watch masterchef – be somewhere else, someone else, something else, anything other than this, here it comes again, the thing bigger than me, too big, I couldn’t stand it, I couldn’t do it, and then suddenly there I was doing it, I watched myself, an amoeba, a slug, a whale, primordial, swaying, strange sounds coming from somewhere, me, earplugs in my ears and some stupid lady saying peace and calm and wanting so badly to believe it peace and calm peace and calm perhaps you can do it and then there you were doing it I could see you from above, from inside, from the sides of the bathtub, oh god, how – how – how – how.  Ow.  Fifteen hours of this one moment, fifteen hundred years. 
Then there was this time when you went so far you didn’t know if you’d ever come back – there was no choice but to go there – too far gone – and it was like stepping into a void and it was also like not just allowing yourself to be quartered, but doing it yourself – running down a corridor, hurling yourself on an electric fence over and over and over again and each time perhaps getting closer to it, the thing, but never quite knowing whether you were.  That was scary.  The effort it took to suicide all those times was extraordinary and you did it and there was this strange hint of relief after each time, a glow, a glimmer of something else.  You had no idea where you were.  Somewhere very new.  I was watching you, me, all of us, we did it together.  I felt the softness of a part of your head, delicate like nothing I’d ever touched, still part of me, but entirely you.  I cleared the fence this time in one jump – I was over it, there was fire there in that water.  There were lots of encouragements.  And then, all eyes and hair and rope and silence, there she was.
Kiki.

Artwork du Jour 110

L'Arrivée