Deep Underground

SOC Writing _ 1st October 2020

Deep Underground

There is life here, treasure over there – my lair a true display of my flair – hair and breath – bone and claw – the blood on my hands a sign of a desperate work to cleave away the raw materials and get to the beating heart of my issue. The blood issued forth from her – the mother as I was born – more than should have – her lost in white corridors – me in a plastic box – the minutes passing like years – why don’t I know where I am home? Why the feelings of floundering alone at my core – it started here – deep underground – and then as I rose from my lair I could not see the light – there was obstacles in my passage – there was a steel rod in my head – there was a cold force that forged me – hurt me and beat me – the blood eaters have taken me out and the light is awful bright – blight upon me – blighted start but my body comes back to the wound – to feeling into the subtle substance – the thick ooze that wants to eat me up – but, but is also only what it is because I have paid it no attention. Press pause – and notice all the underground treasury of feeling and subtle shifts – thanks to weed and embodiment – for the gateways of music and soft candlelight. At night I can be overcome with the dream feelings – so much more powerful as I sit in my meditation chair – they threaten to snuff me out – take me over – that’s why I learnt to run – run away from the thick ooze feelings – the land of the lost people, stick peoples, hurting with their broken bones – no phones – just a panting breath – asking for comfort – for pleasure – for release – and further on and further in – for freedom and their own strength – give us our fucken backs back they say – stitch by stitch – the woven frames become flesh and bone again – able to stand on taught toes – purchase, grip the granite wall and climb like a demon to the top of every precipice that forges in your imagination – climb this fucker.