Into the forest
Moving between mountain and valley – lost somewhere within the trees – trying to return home
She fell [or tripped? [or, perhaps, more accurately, glided rapidly [sprinted [excessively?]]]] off the highest peak she had been assailing for weeks into a [black hole] depression, :: of devastation and shame :: which left her empty; pondering the past couple of weeks [was it a month?] :: seven weeks and three days [drifting time misplaced] ::, a shrinking personality, enveloped in sadness, hopelessness <a shell> of guilt, anxiety, fatigue, irritability.
Can’t or won’t eat.
Can’t or won’t sleep.
But not like before.
The before has gone. Now is now. And now is nothing.
She is empty <a shell> of the super powers she once believed she had been gifted with. Earned. Yearned for. The something which changed the perception of herself from Ka-Ha-Si :: a lazy dreamer :: to [near, but not quite [definitely not God [‘He can go to Hell’]]] shamen genius.
We are the enemy [we were before [still are]]. We’ve taken away the powers. :: exposed her to her kryptonite :: [the Truth [not her truth]], by getting her help, which the whole world knew she needed. But she didn’t need it [of course! [in her mind she was fine]]. All was good in life. Every spoonful tasted like sweet apple pie. Every thought and idea, a money-spinner. But the plates had to come crashing down,
down
down
down
d o w n.
Eventually, they all just do.
Too much is too much. The mind is both tough and fragile. But fragility is tougher, especially when the mind gets abused [and girl it has been].
<a shell>
An empty shotgun casing. The smoke from the impact of shots fired no longer visible. The action is over [cut!]. That’s a wrap. All you need for a movie is a gun and a girl. :: Jean-Luc Goddard, 1991 :: She was the gun [her mind [and her mouth [her wayward gun, of course]]].
She fired the bullets, but always with a shaky aim. Shedding shells and bullet cases from left to right and right to left, with no thought, no consideration.
No aim.
Never the [pause] required to get the perfect shot. Never a good sight picture. Always the wrong stance. Never feet shoulder-width apart. No dominant eye [both closed [but open]]. Her breathing, never in control. No time for a deep breath [every breath used up, exasperated by the slurry of words and constant outpouring of her brain exploding larva every microsecond].
< aim >>
fire [miss]
<< aim >>
fire [miss]
fire [miss]
FIRE [MI S Ssssss]
Every thing [bullet] she fired, always hit us [a target] though. Not into flesh [discounting the heart [which we shouldn’t]] but fired metal buried into other people’s feelings; garrotting our ego, digging away at our insecurities and sliding beneath the [years old, [party-sprayed [baby-stained [dust bunnies and lost hair and dead skin laden]]]] rug, pulling back the day sun-damaged curtains and yanking out the ghosts that hid within.
FIRE >>>
— You’re too fat. Cut down sugars. You’re diabetic. Don’t you care…
FIRE>>>>
— You never let me do anything. You never back me. I have so many ideas! Never trust me…
FIRE>>>>
— I feel trapped. You stifle me. You’re a drain. I’m a [leaky] radiator [that needs draining]…
Make an origami owl. Make another one. Pay Mark/ Lucy/ Bilbo/ Sully/ Kadence/ Mark [again] the privilege to make one. Pay for their Friday fantasy. Make a friend / keep a friend.
Offer out your self. A gesture of kindness [thoughtfulness? sloppiness? carelessness? [your identity]]. :: internal bewildered world :: Can I take down your particulars, Officer? :: a police caper ::
:: Days passed ::
The first visit since you left. On home soil :: Saturday 7 November, approx. 15.15 :: passed without incident [but intense observation and surveillance].
It was her [you] in body [more or less] and her [you] in speech [more or less] but it still didn’t seem like her [you] in mind [more or less]. She [you] didn’t convince.
She was masquerading as herself, but the fracturing to her ka was still visible. Having shaken off the haze and tiredness, she seemed brighter than in recent days, but that only made her resemble [in rifts and tones] her mountain and deep valley sides.
She clung to humour to [attempt to] break back into this world :: temporary bliss state :: When Pierrot slipped through the tree line [and the mind], it was Withdrawn ze Clown, back in town for only a few hours. Only part-here [part somewhere else [between mountain peak and valley floor]], so take what you can from her. She may not be here for long :: post awareness confusion ::
And now we wait :: with a mournful camaraderie :: gazing up towards the mountain, watching the diminishing figure disappear through the trees.
She wanders yet again in the forest and out of the forest, into the forest and out of the forest, into the forest for[a]r e s t…
…in the meantime, we’ll be waiting. Always.
