False Prophet

by dschapman

You could easily fall in love today, with the Moon’s presence in your 5th House of Romance, yet ironically, your feelings may not have much to do with the people in your life. You are more open to the possibility of romance, whether or not you’re willing to express your desires. Since a current infatuation could be the result of your daydreams, you really don’t require anyone to act out your fantasy. If no one’s there, just go ahead and enjoy the fruits of your imagination.

I drove through the night through the sights left unseen… I was feeling heartsick beyond all understanding, moved almost to tears in the flats of the vast all-American heartland.

I had just seen a beautiful woman, moments ago. I had moved with her, as I do with all beautiful people, through all of space and time then, in that moment, or the space and time I thought to move through, through magical nights and through warm tingling memories, the tinkling sound of the stars in the sky, the standards and laughter and battling needs… I had remembered how we meet, before we’d even met, before I knew just what love was, just what it was I felt for her.

Deviant obsessions… they are unhealthy. The whole thing is unseemly… but I can not help it. I am caught by these people, my people on earth, and I am swept with the rest through to the remnants of time unexperienced, worlds realized and forgotten.

The urge to open up about it! A mind that never stopped working. I fed it whatever I could. I wanted to share it with the world all around me, instead of just sharing the world. I wanted to say something. I wanted to talk to my friends about it, about me, about the beautiful woman I loved, the women I love, the ends and extents of the supra-man. Universals – intuitions – truths. I was surrounded by my friends, and while I loved them all, and was amazed by them all, and proud of them, I no longer felt close connections. The incommunicable concept, the unbridgeable crevasse – thus I dichotomized, unique and alone, out of and into existence, in silence.

I was talented… I felt like displaying my talents. I wanted to shake the artists from the trees and feed them their own rotten fruit. I wanted to boast of my terrific opinions, the critical power of the all-enduring consciousness. I wanted to shed my awareness like skin and clothe all my friends in it. To stand fully nude before an orbital world, and admired. But I was alone with it. I was alone with myself, me and my piano, playing the same sixteen bars of Satie again and again for nobody but myself to hear, and I had grown sick of it. I wanted to stand on an overturned ship in the central morass and tell everybody to draw their guns and gun down the sun from the sky to take part in it, to bathe in the all-blinding fury of life – to love me, unconditionally. All of the steps that I’d taken… it was miraculous, how far I had come, how wholly I deserved it. Love and diaries, burning tea… I was frustrated with love and with feeling. It was all too absurd for me. I could die for it. I prayed for it, abusing the privilege of prayer.

Too much of it! Wading too deep through a sea of dead ice. I flattened my prayers into spare apparitions and waited to be made myself again. It did not matter, after all… nothing mattered, after all. I repeated it to myself. I let myself in the American heartland. I let myself follow my daydreams, while they lasted. I would never see her again, after all… I would never see a place like this.

I would never see her again, no matter how deeply I loved her, no matter how deeply she could have loved me. It is good that I could not express myself, good I could not communicate. It would have been an embarrassing mistake to have mentioned her, to have wondered her name. I wondered her name. It wasn’t worth knowing her name.

But my heart – how it stung down within me! It was like fire, alive and intentional! I wanted to take her by her hand and lead her somewhere half secluded, some bend in a wall or a hallway, under a portrait of silver and grapes,  and lean in to her, kissing her. I wanted to show her everything, to tell her everything, all of the wisdom I’d gleamed from the world. The sum of the world… a magic capacity. My own knowing thrilled me, and threatened me – it threatens me. I can swim in it, I will drown in it, you will find my body floating in it.

I thought to myself, Where am I? I came to a stop by a tall jagged cliff. I was somewhere in the Western world. How had I gotten there, there in the world by the tall jagged cliffs? I had been somewhere different before… I had been at a party. I had been drunk, and I had been bleeding, and I had been mumbling prayers… Reading poetry… Loving women who never loved me! Creep! Dramatic changes of heart. What a seismic shift! All at once, in the middle of the nowhere. I had been lost in some transient delusion, and filling with heat, and I was ready to burst at the seams…

I thought to myself, How am I here? I was standing beneath an old willow tree, warm in the moonlight, and playing a fiddle. I was alone… but I was glad to be alone. I couldn’t let anyone see me like this… not one of my friends, they would never understand. Each and every one of them! They have their own myths and constructs, own modes of being.

How was I there, laying flat in the grass with my hands folded across my chest, waiting for someone to trip over me? I was playing a beautiful instrument – truly, it was a beautiful instrument. I played myself to sleep, waiting for suns to come rising again, waiting to pluck from the low-hanging branches a firm, juicy orange, breathing for shame and for hopefulness. I was hopeful, yet depressed, and surely, for a time, forsaken…

I recognize myself for a second in the headlights of an oncoming car. Where am I now! I am losing patience. I must not lose patience. I am, after all, all that I have. I trust myself – there is no alternative.  I need to be patient, to wait out the flood. I am somewhere close again, somewhere familiar. I am bleeding. Something is broken. I am given up all high values, all strengths and all aims, and deluded. I let myself slip into sunken-in closets, wearing the big winter jackets, too big for me. I collapse in the dust and a ring of smoke rises up to my head. Someone is in a bedroom, near, with wooden walls and open windows. I let myself go to her. I let myself, tired and weary, find respite in this strangest of places. She is tender to me. I am bored, and I am waiting. She is not waiting – she had waited for me. She is devoted and loving. I have hurt her many times, performed surgeries, embedded myself within her, whether I liked it or not. I tried to escape her. I tried to escape this rapacious strange world. But I had no one to turn to… no where to go. I had a mountain… but no one to give it to… no one to raze all her bounties.

So I slept in the woods with the girl who is not in my daydreams. I laid with her and let her touch me. I asked her to put on something nice for me, but I never did care. I asked her to put on a song for me, and she put on a song that I needed to hear, songs that most people will not ever hear. I knew I was fortunate. But it was getting hard to hear. She was putting me sleep. I was so tired… She was interested in me, in where I had been. She wanted to look in my eyes. I wanted to close up my eyes. I told her what I could… I spread my better feathers. I didn’t need to, though… she knew. She knew who I was. She could see me bleeding. She could see through the bleeding. She saw the roses in my teeth, my glassy-eyed star-faring gazes. There in the state of the human condition, there in the crystal cocoon. I let her comb her fingers through my hair, I felt her admire my thick head of hair. I kicked off my shoes and remembered the horses that I used to kill…

I let myself touch her as much as I could. Moons came and went. Time passed finely, like sand in an hourglass – perceptible. I moved with it, like sand in the desert with wind. From dune unto valley from dune.

“You have no idea how romantic I am… it is unhealthy, it makes me uneasy. It is each and every time like a lightning bolt. I am consumed and destroyed by the least significant details, by the weakest connections, by every near pass at potential new worlds. I see girls… I see beautiful girls… I see… oh, the things I’ve seen! The monsters I’ve slain, the potions I’ve swallowed! I’ve devoured cities whole! And I simply want someone to share it all with… If I share it, I can call it my own. It is mine then for sharing. Until then… it is nothing. It is not even mine. I am not mine; I am limitless, unreal. I am an unproven idea. It is all that I am. It is everything I wait for, I look for, everything that stops me in my breath and kills me; I die with it, I fall to my knees and I bow to it, perverse and submissive. I carve up my name besides names into tree trunks…. What is this! Why am I bearing this? This is unbearable! This is not something I should have to bear – why am I the one that’s been chosen to bear this? All of the things that I already bear… well, what is one more things, then… what is one more straw of hay. One more imaginary poltergeist, an unrealized potential, a waning wave of misery, the indecent release…”

It will be okay… It will be okay… You are too decent for loneliness. I tell myself things. I make myself believe certain things… I try to believe them. I separate and I alter and ignore. I think I am being selfish, pathetic. I think I am over-reacting. I think I am mistaking my feelings. I think I am making things worse, making a fool of myself. I think I am right on the verge of something great or tragic. I think – I think – but my, how thoughts are meaningless! Thoughts are the substance of nothing. God, what I am! A monster of thoughts! A twisted amalgamated man. Magnificent – and how! What a magnificent bottle of ether! Break me open, drink me up… I will fill you sweetly with my death. And they will all remember me…

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