SOC Writing_ 8th September 2020

Monster

Grrr, Rahrr, Rahr, rahr, claws out and bite real – blood drips, fingers fall to the ground – I am surrounded by that sound of blood pumping out of my heart. This start is a race I am the only one in - my race to a place – I embrace this clear new space. It takes a force, an aggression to start here – to get to this clearing and be the champion of myself. First. Champion the other another time. Another moment. This moment - start in close to yourself and touch that bloodied heart wall – it hurts – it pains, it throbs, it is alive – of course it hurts – it is unprotected – but you are inside, aggressor to self – behind the shroud of your outer protections means they cannot get in – but your boy wound can still operate – this is surgery in the safest of places – the mountain theatre – the claws are out – in - the wolverine skin, liquid metal cold pain to be alive – re – live, re-emerge as the god of your landscape and heart and claw – blood and maw – the sore has crusted for now – but how do we create the world we want to live in, believe in,  create and inspire myself in? This this! – What is the point of carrying on when what you carry follows you like the load of boulders – you have yet to over come with boldness – put it out to the air – the wild to come and do a spell – a ceremony that will wash you in something – like ash water – like birth fluid – like the cry of a gull up high – Jonathan Livingston seagull – how fast can you fall? Will you keep trying? You know the rush is there – and you die – in between the ebbs of tide and wave – the whole world is not enough to the sense of self – small self? Dunno. Do feel this fuck off energy here – like I’m not tying, am happy to be dying – looking for an upward draft far superior to my own beating wings – the anger is now just below the surface – ready to blow – but instead it oozes out of the orifice – and is more like pissed off dad. Be the beast inside his lair – at the door of the cave tearing skin off.