A new half-life awakens, stimulated by its vanity
but otherwise, anxiety dying makes anxiety anxious.
Its vain persistence is the only assurance anxiety may find.
The abysmal nothing is known as a huge transfer of energy.
Our fear is sent down to suck this up.
From nothing to nothing to appearing.
This energetic presence known through its abyss.
I am known from absence unto absence.
Vain frittery, this scuttling half of a half of a half
a life of gesticulation
whose failure will guarantee the anxious stimulation
of anxiety, who is set to live
I met the broken man yesterday. He said he was a shadow of the whole, yet when I looked at all of the shadow it was surely and wholly black. An abyss of an abyss is nothing.
The broken man was laughing, weakly, and bleeding all over the pillow.
I said half life quartered is still anxiety dying. And blood on the sheets is still a stain, he replied. The smallness or otherwise of unease is no hindrance to the leverage of uneasiness. Once it has a gesture, it will trip you.
It was then that I invited the broken man into the wholeness of the shadow. It darkness will seep between your shattered parts, I smiled.
It was then that he asked of how, if this were shadow of the whole, and from where did the light come by which the black could be spilt? Surely, he reasoned, if this is the whole then the light also is of the whole, and can it ever be possible that the source of illumination is also its own dark terminus?
Is what is in between whole or is the wholeness only that which holds the between?
I asked then if a ripped and shattered body made it easier to talk. I was not threatening, I was simply pressing my finger through the already existing gaps.
He was silent.
People talk about shopping a lot.
People talk a great deal about television and DVDs.
People talk often of their holidays.
The elsewhere moments line up between my broken flesh, the cast shadow, and the unseen illumination on the far side of an object I cannot comprehend.