Experience disappears. My past: figments sifting the mind’s inside. I cannot set bearings. Sudden shifts dislodge me. Embers dim, now burn out. “Give me forgiveness.”
Investigating my story so it can be recorded, filed away where no researcher is likely to dust it off. They will not pursue justice or help me get my life back, my identity, my life on the inside. I cannot rely on being recorded for my deliverance. I will have to do it the way I choose. Veiled. Alone with my maker.
The pause he took was to prevent them forcing his hand: he could not be lured by any means to take on their thoughts and dreams of dying.
What covered up, what shown, and when obscured, what might come through, regardless. Thought you got away with it? Now, after death, you doubt.
When faced with this kind of threat I work to cultivate the fruits of my heart. I ensure I maintain my physical fitness. I pray and meditate on the word of God. Then I recognise that the effort to evade predators, including the one waiting inside, rest with me.
To regain what he felt was stolen, he gathers his found fragments; he buries them near the place where his scars were cared for and where encouragement was found to rebuild.
I was just somewhere for him to reside for a short while. I resisted yet re-centred him; so now he is gone. He isn’t coming back? He believes he is not coming back.
Become human again and you’ll have a chance to escape. Expecting her from every direction at once. What happens inside someone when they decide they own you. What happens when they cannot get what they believe belongs to them. Something in you fuels their belief?
Among people who do not need to plummet your sound to know how to silence you. The more faithful to darkness, the more unseeing. Harm or escape became a matter of perception. He could neither accept or refuse the conclusion. His heart froze.
You felt this to be the route along which you were not prepared to go. Yet you went and let him drag you in this far. Now you call for my assistance.
You could feel him taking the negative energy in the family. Either absorbing it or drawing it to him to protect the children. The memory of this man is stored in her heart. That’s why you cannot infiltrate it.
I am unavailable for comment. I am outpaced by the verdict. I have absented myself. What he predetermined the version of events must show; wants me to know he is hindering me; the intricacy of it. How far he has gone in this; how far left to go. I leave him to go.
This experience was not the kind from which he expected to grow stronger. He needed it undone. But his eternal fate was now sealed. He was not human therefore had no destiny, no path. He had not a mind so he had not the option of loosing it.
It is a remorseless disregard for her person-hood, and I feel it everyday. The illegality of his course of action and his readiness to state it; what I was led to cover up. I have misplaced my faith. Being coaxed yet incriminated. My focus is scattered; I am drenched by other people’s confusion.
Going at high speed down a wrong road; battling to concentrate; experiencing hot cold flushes; His breathing feels restricted. He stops the car at a crossroads; gets out; stands in the middle of the road; turns while holding his head; listens. A sharp pain goes through his body sinking him to the ground; still he listens. Deciphering the direction to go; he forces to stand; he goes back to the car.
She appears hurt but does not respond.
Angel takes her by the hand, gently leads her toward the door.
Where? I’m not dressed.
Angel leaves her, goes back to the bed, gets his robe and throws it at her.
He placed his hand under Angel’s chin. I remember close up profiles of both men. Their noses almost touching. Angel calm, emptying his mind. The Inspector losing him.
Something happened in the courtyard, last week. I have been ill ever since. I don’t know what, but I am going to find out.
I cannot get a handle on him.
Why do you want to question him? What do you want to know?
How his mind works.
If your mind works?
Don’t do that.
You object to being done?
Who do you think you are?
I’m serious. Losing myself is the only thing I dream, I ever dream of now. It comforts me.
Women like you never leave me alone to get lost when I dream.
You’re fear drives you.
I heard of you. Word got up here about a man who lived through the lightening strikes last year who should have died. I heard the only one who was able to give you comfort was her. All that I can do for you is provide somewhere for you to rest. Nothing More. Make the most of it.
Best to let him get on with it. You’ll get to under stand him better. He’ll go too far. Whether you try changing things or not, he’ll carry on.
“Don’t you ever ever do that to me again.” Her words, but at times used as recall voice over as though his own.
She goes into the bathroom adjoining the bedroom slamming the door behind her.
He imagines her tears. He remains on the bed; eyes laughing.
In the painting she looks disturbed, but animated, emerging from a dark passage through a doorway, into his bedroom.
His memory of the event retains her fury at being left in the dark alone to find her way out on the other side of the locked door. He represses the impact of the slap she fired across his face and the rage, unconnected to her, it ignited.
You tell me what you think and then tell me what other people don’t like.
About what your masking. I can figure that out myself, thanks.
A feeling of perpetual motion even when he was not moving with and in between things. What was going on was pleasurable; but independent of each of us. We realised we were unnecessary.
He was doing this without showmanship. His hunger, which made us feel odd, was not for publicity, but to tap something inside: only if he was skillful, and honest enough in the performance. To just have the chance once of doing what he was capable of doing. Extremities moving him to action. Anything less and deviance in him would activate itself.
This worked when we were too busy rapped in ourselves to clap and give him recognition for what he had done. By the time we came too, he had moved on, and we felt not the urge to follow him; to seek his friendship; to find out more. No he had delivered what he was meant to. He was satisfied and so were we, we went our separate ways; freer.
Time to leave; he goes.
She is seen to drive out of the petrol station.
Seen arriving at his home.
She gets into the house by picking the lock.
We break my rules. Pounding me to pieces. Your precise, strong, well placed strokes.