Reclusion

Lead; bleach-white and floating amorphous motes here, at this place. Then, there's a hammer. It's not shaped by the hammer but by the sound it makes when moving through the air and at impact. It crumbles easily; lead does.

Everything behaves differently here on the other side of my skin. Under ice, under thin water, light and life itself, deflected. The elements shift; moody mutants. Some just slightly, so subtle, some shake apart, profoundly altered. You'd not recognize a twig for its atoms or a breath for its need. Time goes fickle; clots and mottles, slips its line, tangles through this other side of mine and sails purple rods over coarse thoughts-never-words, words never thought.

But something always lives, something is alive beneath the ice. I am trying to tell you; trying to ask after it but it can't hear me unless I speak to it while sleeping and now, I can't remember - ah God, I can't - remember what I said ... Still, it did, it did answer with a backwards deep voice I deciphered, at the time, with ease. It sounded angry but that was just distortion; ice, surface, superfice.

I can tell you this; the planets have come full circle, and back to 'again.' They are as they were just before beginning but have forgotten themselves and I feel them asking. I look to them, through the weight of old water and distance. Waiting, I have fallen in love with a rocket. It passes through the sky one time every night.

It only lasts a few seconds.

The rest of Time's become unbearable.

So I wait for the rocket here beneath the ice.
I will
and I do I wait
all day. The only other living creature's that know about the rocket are the whales. It's all they talk about anymore.

Video is an extracted clip from "Vivaldi's Nightmare" -