One More Small Distraction

[Ben_W_Power]

The evening's not going entirely well - I try to sleep as little as possible. There's a reason for that. I've never quite known how to describe the dreams as I'm not sure if nightmares or night terrors is more appropriate. I don't always get them, but even occasionally is too much. Sometimes entirely abstract or geometric. Decidedly synaesthesic. I've got a moderate phobia of certain shades of orange and certain basic shapes. Often the images are not so abstract. The long term one has these odd, metallic slug things. I've got no problem with small, harmless garden creatures. Giant, blind, beaked ones bursting through the veil into the front of vision and chewing my face off is, naturally, entirely different. I dream in sound. I don't stay dreaming long. I accidentally killed a slug as a small child. I wasn't sure what it was. I often wonder if these are a guilt trip. There's quite a lot more to that story. It wasn't the best of times. This poem is from last year. It's probably one of my strangest, or most unsettling. Certainly quite obscure. There was a power-cut that night and I had to distract myself. I also found an image to accompany it. It's not by me. However, it's the closest I've ever found to a picture of one of my common mental spaces during the night. They evaporate in daytime. I don't think other people would find it scary in any way, but it horrifies me almost beyond comprehension sometimes. The poem's quite hard to explain. One of these days I'll try to.

http://fractaleyes.deviantart.com/art/Machinations-of-Melancholia-67449136

***

Take

I shot a soul last night

Behind chameleon-tuned eyes

It tore a hole through the universe

And then trimmed it down to size

A choir of ether crickets

Slapped cadenzas off a star

So I put on both my glasses

And I walked along that bar

The bar man sows new silver

From a fading rag of gold

I wore a smile against my spine

And drunk a garnished cold

That bottle cracked a fever

And we spat a plasma sky

Then the asphalt burnt with dreams

And in the dark a thick reed sighed

Turn me in the static

Tear a lip edge down each cry

Tracking from the infinite

As galaxies collide

There above one beam I saw

A moon that trickles flies

Their eclipses fill forever

And they spiral out in minds

My hands held on like ashes

Kicked me back through years of stone

It's too late to charm the East

With all the games we play alone

When a spine splits into seashells

And a smile splits tattered knees

Obsidian is flowering

And molluscs scream bone trees

But the night of night is noiseless

Though its tongue could split all dawn

Corrode clay walls with citric

Thrusting skin from budding thorns

Children fish by silent rivers

Carving crows to candy canes

But by now some ears can't feel these words

So I will play new ones with rain

Below the hold of colour

Past splintered waves of rhyme

Waits a worm that pins a finger

To each note that licks in time

There's a light hung off horizons

You can taste it when you bleed

Two people plug one current

But only one shock seeds

Plucking on an eyelash

Strumming stretched steps into feet

With a pot of blazing birdsong

And a face ripped out of meat

The only dreams were circles

Stamping nails by spiral hands

And I looked back with those lashes

Over everything I am

And we will weave another colour

Spinning footsteps with sweet sand

For someone else to read this

You must also read each hand

And if this seems like nonsense

You have played your keys apart

Since the souls that can still swim this stream

Sprout feathers in the dark

That slip from lizard skins

To breathe their beat with better hearts.

***

I might float around on here for a bit. I've got quite used to insomnia. I'm a remarkably stupid thing for a 29 year old man with a Mohawk and a Harrington Jacket on to say, but I suspect I'm going to end up reaching for a teddy bear. There's always the desire to slip into autophagy. I think I'll resist though. People were very kind to me here earlier.

Thanks,

Ben

[Threemoons]

Hey Ben, how was your night? I hope you could get some decent sleep. Insomnia is exhausting usually. Please resist the autophagia urge, you know it's not good. Well, maybe it feels good but it isn't for your health. And health is one of the most precious things in life. You wouldn't like to discard it. Ultimately I wanted to say that I hope you slept well. Take care.

By the way, nice sounding poem you've written.

[Ben_W_Power]

Dear Threemoons,

Thanks for your message. I managed to drift off just after dawn so had about 3 hours. That's usually enough. A few settling down visual hiccups but didn't dream per se, which was a fantastic relief. Thank you for your lovely help. I didn't nibble anything in the end, so that's a positive thing. I hope you had a pleasant sleep. I ended up emailing my psychiatrist earlier to request polite access to a pertinent research paper. I'm not sure if he'll get back to me, but it was worth a shot. I don't tend to respond to meds at all, and, to be honest, have become quite sceptical, at least from my own position, but, having no psychotherapist, I've often found him to be very kind and genuine, and willing to tolerate my pseudo-intellectual neuroses. I'm glad you liked the poem; it's not one of my better ones. I found another one of those extended moribund articles from my diary. I wasn't sure if you wanted it. I think it's too big to put up on here, and perhaps fairly controversial, but, as usual, there's the odd joke to balance things out. I hope your day is going well. I feel you're one of the people who helped me to slowly settle in here.

Best regards,

Ben