One may never know.

    You taste so goddamn good!
You’re better than a dream,
    Or a midnight fuck,
You’re with me all the time,
       You are old faithful,
Of course….
    after I give the cashier $3.56…
Oh sweet cigarette!
    You’re a goddamn whore!

it’s time to buy more.

nothing’s worse than being without.

There had not been any liquid in her eyes since the last time she thought she fell in love. Today was different. The morning air promised no future to her dreams. Her desperation had been humbled and crutched to a meager “yelp” reminiscent of a phlegmy inhalation. There was no love left.

“Why does this morning hurt so bad?” she pondered.

She knew the answer to her queries, the reasons for the wetness in her eyes, the pain in her chest. She placed the ether rag up to her face and breathed deeply as her head grew light. She could feel her humanity coming back to her. The odor was attaching itself to her brain and seemed to penetrate her like a bukaki party. Was this the most human she could feel? 

Her flesh did not belong to her anymore. It had been given away to seven naked, horsemen who were traveling across the desert. They had placed the tiny vials of meat inside their side packs, keeping them close to their bodies to ward off the demons of the white desert. The horseman to the left of the captain looked at her eyes. There was a sadness in him that repulsed her. It was he who gave her the ether, he who gave her the needles and the pain! 

She fell to the ground as the horsemen departed. The gaping holes left in her tattered body filled with red ants and puss; an excellent meal for the flesh eating scorpions living beneath the earth. She was aroused again. Her clitoris was sensitive, her vaginal walls turned to carnivorous beasts slashing and gnashing and bashing at the cock that entered within it. They could not be satisfied. They need to eat the meat set before them. It would not suffice to be pleased with intimacy, but instead a pleasure found through the mutilation of the intruder.

The boy who’s penis had entered her cunt was uncertain of his misstep. His eyes had fallen into her soul and saw only beauty. He was not sure of the shadows lurking behind her hair. To him her face was molded with morning dew, her voice was a tender kiss, he did not see the needles or smell the ether. He was, in fact certain that by her opening to him that their unity was beyond temporal needs. He had found perfection in this moment. He had found desire beyond sexuality and a truth untainted by honesty. 

He left the right ventricle of his heart beside her bed as she lay facing the blank, puke colored wall.

Her silence took the boy away.

She finally allowed the tears to fall, placing the ether bottle beneath her eyes the salty drops fell in to the poison. Her lips separated from each other and her mouth opened as she poured her poisoned sadness down her drying throat.

Her eyes drifted away as her hallucinations dissolved into the immediacy of her predicament. She was dying. But worst of all, she realized as she clenched at the ventricle resting on the bed, was this sadness was for him to take. He had offered his life in a trade for her happiness. He had given himself to her freely and willingly. He had wanted nothing in return but the taste of her mouth… and perhaps a replacement part for his heart.

This could have been love.

Desol​ation​ is screa​ming my name from the caver​ns of your abstr​actio​ns.​ 
She drive​s the train​ of despe​ratio​n.​ 
I belon​g to the shado​ws of obscu​rity where​ I find solac​e in my night​mares​.​
I am not a dream​.​ 
I am the shril​l shrie​k of your child​hood close​t.​ 
The demon​ in your brain​.​ 
I am yours​ but for a price​.​ 
Fragi​le in my convi​ction​s.​
I am the steel​ of the knife​ cover​ed in the wine of your wrist​s.​ 
I am the tears​ of your futur​e.​ 
Now Im seen through your eyes but tomor​row I am your faded​ memor​y.​ 
Tomor​row I am gone.​ ]]> http://www.evilwine.com/writings-from-the-mind-of-wes-malvini/the-sickness/feed 0 http://www.evilwine.com/writings-from-the-mind-of-wes-malvini/a-brief-essay-about-love-life-and-the-modern-human http://www.evilwine.com/writings-from-the-mind-of-wes-malvini/a-brief-essay-about-love-life-and-the-modern-human#comments Tue, 30 Dec 2008 21:05:27 +0000 wes http://www.evilwine.com/?p=1089 Can happiness truly last? If you were given a perfect night, a perfect moment, a perfect look how long does it take for it all to crumble? Is it better to walk away when things are perfect than to wait out the inevitable pain that life hurls at you with every turn? Can these perfect moments then be salvaged in memory at the very least? Or is the moment more valuable because it is temporary?

When I was younger and I would go to the picture house, I had adopted the philosophy that if I left the movie early nothing bad could happen to the character’s that I had loved so dearly for so long. If only I had left Six Feet Under before the last half of the fifth season… but back to discussion… Is the principle the same? Or does the end still find the character’s even if no one is there to witness it?

If I were to run and hide from pain, only arising from the depths of solitude for a breath of fresh air, a brief kiss, a momentary romance, a night of humor and delight; only to retreat again into the safety of my own soul (where the only enemy is my thoughts), would I be able to retain at least a meager remembrance of joy?

It is hard to comprehend the human attraction to pain. Is it impossible to ever trust in a future where tears can be derived from pure bliss rather than the possible destruction caused by trust and companionship? It is a sign of my weakness to see the world in this light. It is this unbearable understanding that all things must end. It is the self knowledge that I am not capable of living inside the shadows of these blood drenched dreams.

If these hallucinations of an eternal love cannot be validated by a tangible experience brought about by a deeper truth; then what is the final outcome? When do I know that it is worth it, that it is real? When can one open their eyes and know that it is okay to let down the shield? Will you’re teeth break through my skin? Will your heart devour my soul? Will I be weakened by your eyes to the point of no return? Is risk really the only way to attain immortality with another living spirit? Can two individuals existing in separate bodies ever really become one? Are the bonds of marriage a forgotten ideal? Has humanity evolved to a point that they are unable to see their counterpoint when they are standing in the light of destiny?

There was a time in human existence when there was such a thing as “love at first sight”. There was a time in our history when we knew that life was not meant to be battled alone. There is purpose to companionship; beauty in building a life together and eschewing the nightmares of intruders. There was a period in time when love was love and there was no breathing room for the games of social expectations.

Love is not measured by beauty, but by imperfection. Love is not the answer, but the cure. The greatest and most deadly of human experiences is love. So, now I ask again; in this time, where sexual relations has warped romance, perversion has destroyed commitment and truth, is the risk worth the pain? Can love exist in a world where deception is the oxygen of our being? Can two hearts find each other across this massive, absurd, abyss of broken faces and tattered souls?

The contradiction lies in this question: If love can conquer all things; can it overcome the fear? Can an individual so torn down by lies and distrust ever release these aching tumors to find the eyes that can share in my perfect vision of the world? Or has my life taken its course? Have I been so manipulated by my own guilt for the mistakes of the past that I can never maintain the course to the nirvana that is the beautiful, danger of true love? Or is it wise to let the perfect night be the perfect night and remembered fondly, immortalized in dreams, rather than stained in the salt of suffering? Or can the kiss last beyond the fires of the past? If love is the marrow of our bones and it hurts as it ministers to our soul; it becomes immeasurable by worth. It is not determined by the things that brought you together, it is weighed by the things that can not tear you apart.