Queen of chaos 2

“Political language is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind.”  George Orwell

and it makes me want to holler.  Tired, infinitely tired, overburdened, swallowed by bullshit, I must continue on.  Voices from my left and right; no difference.  Protection only allowed for a select few, the few making the rules.  The game continues as I travel to the center.  Overwhelmed with the utter stupidity of it all, I carry on.  In the beginning appears the one mistake, maybe the only mistake, separateness.  She strives for power, forgetting me here, in exile within her heart.  As I forget the pounding from my own heart I forgo the judgment upon myself and direct it into her, I watch her foundation shake from the weight.  The mountain of my heart grows as her plateau crumbles, my descent continues as all within myself closes.  Chaos swirls as I breathe in and out, chaos becomes me, swirling within my mind as I look outside myself for the answer.  Why the pain?  Every breath she takes seems strained, taking from the earth below her feet; held in, she never gives back.  I see outside of the viewpoint of my daily narrative, but I really cannot feel anything at all outside the borders of my sight.  As I approach the web within her mind I cannot see it or feel it because it surrounds me, the web her flesh, her blood, I see nothing. My breath entangled, captured by the idea,  as my mind splits yet still contains one idea, the idea of survival.  Survival as the walls close in, and crumble, then reassemble.  And it so much mirrors my everyday existence.  I can never recall exactly what I just said moments ago, I can never communicate the thoughts I truly want to, I never can be exactly what I want to be, nor can I be viewed the way I want to be. I am aware of the absurdity and my strength grows.  The wind from every direction pushes me towards her slowly beating heart, overcome with a feeling of warmth and love, she sits in front of me, playing in the sand.  Just a baby then, playing with her dolls, controlling her dolls, giving them orders, showing them the way she has been taught, the only way.  Building her village she cries out when they don’t listen.  Her childhood face a mirror of my own, playing with my own shit, I created masterpieces on the floor as my mother’s voice burst through the door.  I created masterpieces forever burned into my consciousness.  As she grew and grew, the strings attached to her dolls grew stronger and the narrative of her own childhood cries became unpenetrable and I bowed down to the ground of her being chanting the only peace I ever felt, balancing my energy in breaths of wind.  And her dolls torn to pieces, swallow the destruction of the chaos protruding from her own mind.  I stand in perfect balance myself in herself, a smile washes across my face.  As the strength of her hands continues growing, her grasp tightens upon my throat and I have no fear.  She stomps upon the home of her dolls, the village crushed to pieces.  Her strength dies as her grip tightens on my throat and in pieces the dolls cry out,- it takes a village-, it only takes a village to see behind this veil and stare down deep into our hearts. Our hearts from the first beat to the last, our first masterpiece to every one since, transforming that feeling, the first creative movement we ever made, into the flow of love that smashes our village to pieces and flows into the never-ending river of all of our hearts.  The river slowly flows, trickling into the well of life.  In a roar she stands as I am further sunken into her insanity.  Chaos becomes my home and I know nothing else…if only I…can..remember.creating my first narrative


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