An Exhibition of Trials

“Warnings take hell and high water. Eyes race to the sick of the stomach. All the losses I’ve started to watch, all the urges I’ve tried make me want to rush while I’m still alive off the blood. Meet me somewhere where the hearses go to heaven, in the twelfth hour of closing verve, in the middle of the effervescing haze as the sun shines whitely and decorates the neck of the sky. I wouldn’t lie, I won’t make a sound. Take the fault from me and I’ll fix myself till eternity. I’ll remember it well, like the rain of my reasons and the pump of my problems, if I have a memory of occurring left to my head it’s getting dim, too dim to look at the brightness, if I keep dreaming then I’ll find a day that stands still, a day that doesn’t subtract the happy times. My heart goes on chanting its beat like an anxious prayer, my mind keeps being nervous. I can’t survive if this is the act of this lounge, it’s too psychotic and wintry. You have to take me right now, aneurysm, be faithful like a euphemism if not then forget it – I’m just going to crack readily, redly. But If I get away from this dark hold, I’ll run to a great Caribbean summer, I’ll run, run, run”

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Watt

It's all a matter of rust and shine, to serve a distinction between to have and to have not.

12 thoughts on “An Exhibition of Trials”

  1. You’ve summarized a life in about 200 words or so. I just got an email from a friend this morning who’s been barely hanging on to life the past few weeks. Your prose fits his situation in many ways . Excellent work and timing. I love the photo it’s prefect for this post.

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  5. I did read this, Watt, several times. And I can understand why you evaluate this work as well as you do. It deserves it, too.

    I decided on the first reading that you were not addressing me but yourself. I did not feel competent to address anything about this text.

    I should not read any text anywhere as though I were the subject, or the companion, or the roadkill or anything of that text. But your insight and chosen practice is to hit close to the bone. Sometimes you are within the skeletal frame itself. And so, sometimes, I have to step away.

    Also, and this is not a criticism, do you remember if you changed the header picture of this particular text after you posted it? I seem to recall that you did. It jangled me. Not a criticism.

    Sarah

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    1. I don’t think I changed the header picture. This has been there since I posted it. No changes whatsoever. Your comments are like competition to my original posts.

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  6. Competition never. Never. The comment to this text was a trickle of a reflection of your original post and a reflection on it. Before I jumped out of the water………

    Sometimes you are seeing a river and I don’t mind floating there.

    I made neither and don’t want to. And thank you. Sarah

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  8. It is challenging, difficult to see the calm when in the eye of the storm. Perhaps this piece was as simple as feel ill, feeling lost or simply a bit off. Maybe none of that. For me, it became about as we grow older, mortality cozies up, stealing away both familiar faces and strangers faces that we have attached meaning to, and therefore, comfort. Stealing away our soft truths, conveniences, formulas, energy, safety. We are thrown into a fire dance – the flames held beneath our feet. We dance to avoid the truths of life that we are now shouting at us. Dance to try to escape the inevitable, or simply dance to try to keep up, looking behind us at the new place in line waiting for us to step into – take a number, it’s waiting for you – (in my case 13th in line) to face yourself, those aha’s, regrets, accomplishments, memories, wish I had more time fors, as you take your place beneath mortality’s arm, feeling its weight upon your shoulders. As for that summer? Some have it, all of it’s beauty, laughter, rapturous, delicious divinity. Most just dream it, but isn’t it better to dream than not to dream at all?

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