/lit/ - Literature

>>1786704
I thought long and hard on this one. At first, while thinking about and discussing creator and victim language, the idea that I never use victim language occured, but I quickly discredited this as false. I thought about how, exactly, I use victim talk, and I was surprised at first with myself. And slowly I grew more disturbed with the path this trail of thought was bringing me. With every twist and turn, every new discovery, I slowly felt my grip on myself--so rigidly maintained and comfortably secure, deluded by my own naive self-assurance--slowly fall to pieces, but then gaining a terrifying a momentum, leaving me a broken husk tortured in my own dark terrors. Which of the horrors that began to plague my unsound mind and haunt my visions had any basis in reality, which merely phantoms of a disturbed man taunting the lucid conciousness into hysterics, and which were merely bygone relics of a primordial age when man crawled from the seething depths in the face of hellish nightmares? I did not know; and I felt I had no choice but to strangle that voice in the back of my head screaming as I acknowledged that the last vestiges of my humanity were being rent to pieces as surely as the tide comes, to surpress this maddeningly shrill voice as deeply as I could in my half-insane state, pushing myself forward with body screaming and resisting in tow, beyond the point where there would be no return. It made little difference for the sake of my sanity; to return now, to attempt to explain to others would be a fate almost worse.

Sparrowlike

sparrowlike and hunched
see tilling, chillun', tilling the field
and sprouting,
we see him,
touting along.
and a sickle, a plowshare the
remnants of oxen
in the field
yes he's walking among them,
palisades
paces
he is marching along the margins of pages
and knee-high's, insincere,
formal and blunt
brow wipe and shoeshine
and how-do-you-do-child'
algae and sediments
-sentiments
tied up in surgery
(hands deep in cholera)
“hey, shush”
the field is a purgatory.
nay not no it vastness but
listing formalities
and slow movements
-glissando’s, tonsils;
there are my people,
let my people go
says the field and
sparrows swoop down and they
shit like snowflakes-
-to take take take him away at last.