the rage of achilles

Memento Mori

I kind of wrote this one as it was a miniature movie of sorts. I later learned of Chris Nolan’s movie Memento, which was supposedly based from a short story his brother wrote titled Memento Mori, but I haven’t read that nor watched the movie to know if what I wrote bears any resemblance. Likely not, I’d say. These are more like regurgitated thoughts, more or less. 

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Memento Mori

My mind’s memento mori is the artificial photograph of me at the back of a bus. Artificial, because it’s not real. Not real, not in being that it didn’t happen, but in the sense that photographs themselves are artificial. Artificial images of an artificial world, artificial people, artificial moments. Printed onto paper, gloss or matte. A neat slice of time. Still artificial.

ar’ti’fi’cial – adj. contrived by art rather than nature.

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I think it’s safe to say that I have spent the majority of my life riding on buses. I’m always in constant motion, going from one place to another for several different purposes. Even though I drive, the majority of my travels are done by bus.

I have actually had the privilege to meet certain individuals that have never ridden the bus, and if so have complained about the experience. They have complained about the wait, about the commute, about the people aboard them. These individuals have been mostly female.

I can’t complain. I can’t really say I love the bus, nor can I say I hate it. It has been, for me, the birthplace of many ideas, as well as problems. My usual seat is near the back by a window, head often propped against the glass and music drifting into my head through rubber coated wires. Made in China, of course.  

I am a writer, perhaps in an exaggeration of the word. Maybe I’m just a person who writes rather than a writer per se. I am my own character in my head. He is for sure a writer, because I imagine him to be so. As I craft his story, he simultaneously crafts mine. This is how we correspond. We have a complicated relationship.

I lost my mind here, I tell him sometimes as we board the bus together. He frowns every time, perhaps in wonder. Or perhaps in contempt.

I have learned, painfully, that it is the spaces in between places that feel the loneliest. It is the travel from one place to another and the things in between that create voids. The roads, the cars, the people, the stop signs and traffic lights. That feeling creeps up on you. That feeling of knowing you’re surrounded by people, but yet feel so alone. It wraps itself around you, strangling, convincing you that you really are alone. The beast has a name. Paranoia.

Then there’s it’s cousin, Panic!. It is the change in the wind, the staleness in the air, the sharp sting in your chest. Sweaty palms, racing mind, laboured breath. Pain. Panic.

I like to think that time stops when I ride the bus. But as I watch the scenery pass by I realize I am only but racing further into time, with time, and becoming one with it. I realize, sometimes, that time is the void between places. It is the force of attraction driving me closer to where I’m headed. It’s fluidity scares me, invisibly inching down the crevices of my palms, threatening to finish me.

Time is nothing but liquid space. 

The wait for the bus is tumultuous. It is one filled both with excitement and regret. It is sort of a love-hate phenomenon knowing the impending dangers of such a ride.

I must be an adrenaline junkie, for this is my daily rollercoaster ride. The doors open, and I pay $3.00 to lose my mind.

//navk. 

Aside

Everyone’s in love with someone else. Everyone but me. And it’s not even like I’m not letting love in. No, I did. But it left. And ever since then the door’s been locked, and I myself can’t get it open. I don’t miss it in particular. I just think to myself sometimes, and I have to ask, “Was it worth it?” Was it worth having lost all feeling.

I’m paralyzed above the waist.

And even then my legs are useless, because I know I’ll never get far.

//navk.

Unresolved Conflicts from our Youth

I’m about to go under, I’m about to go in. Back to the place where my story begins. I’ll chase the sun until it drops out of the sky. Put that in a box to take with me when I die. You see, I could use some warmth in my current state of mind. Codeine daydreams to help me leave the past behind. I feel like screaming, and I wish that I was dreaming. I’m not, so I’m plotting-scheming on an exit plan, I’m leaving. Consider me gone, I’ve been here for too long. Always in the wrong, forever cold as stone. And it’s too late to apologize, especially now, you got my daughter’s eyes. I mean, vice versa. And I can’t imagine a way this could all be worse. You say, “I never meant to hurt ya.” Yeah but you left me traumatized. I could never dramatize the amount of lies that I took in. My friends said, “Leave her,” but I was fascinated so I wouldn’t. And when I found out I was still screaming how it couldn’t be. I was like Stevie, shine the light and I still wouldn’t see. Now I’m out of Arkham, driving crazy like it’s Markham. Heart on my sleeves, but it’s time I got a pardon. I’m not innocent because I was a part of it. I done some things, and now I’m not too proud of it.

//navk.

Shadows of Imaginary Friends

Puffing smoke with a bloody nose. But nobody knows that my body froze right before the very last blow. Heavy chest, feeling so morose for leaving him comatose in the rain, overdosed on the pain, killers are so deranged. But my fists are quick to fly, and I’m not satisfied until that bitch dies; I’ve changed. From a moment of hot headed, blood flowing like hot lead; poisonous and there’s no avoiding it, like the doc said I’ve only got a couple days. I’m dazed, telling god I want to change a couple ways but I tread only deeper in this maze. Amazed at the things revealed by perspective, things gone neglected but I’ve got no time to even regret them. Barely grazed my sense of self in contempt and lack of praise. In a lack of a better phrase, I was raised with good intentions all until I strayed. It never fazed me so I stayed off the narrow path, supposedly headed to grace. I found it strange. So I headed to another place, with the shadows of imaginary friends leading the way.

//navk.

In Repair

The absent-minded poet knows it when the tyrant torrents tear apart dreams and hopes and leaves nothing but despair behind. The scribe said if you stare at the sun long enough you’ll go blind, but no wounds shall withstand the test of time. At times the truth can be hard to find, but it helps to have inner peace and to keep an open mind. It’s fine to look back sometimes, but look over your shoulders too often and you might as well have stayed behind. We all have visions, we all regret with either closed or open eyes. Sometimes two things can collide with a force to send shivers down your spine. Memories aren’t always fruits preserved in brine. Learn to intoxicate the pain, dip your soul in wine. Marinade with dance and let your inner self shine. Because we all need to love ourselves at times, but more than that, we need to be kind.

//navk.

Primal Earth

This place is really strange, is this what Alice called Wonderland? Or have I always been here, I’ve always kind of wondered, damn. All I feel is thunder and lightning, these people are frightening. Chaos and disorder, conflict and fighting. Massacre and destruction, masses of corruption. Hunger is frequent and greed is triumphant. Nations in divide with hatred in their eyes. History repeats itself so you can count on the demise. Capitalism and greed, fund wars but refuse to feed. Blood for oil is the only reasoning you need. The weak cannot survive, the rich will never die. Inject them with AIDS and they’ll still find a way to stay alive.

How do we strive for normalcy, justice, and goodness in a world where violence and negativity have become the norm? Societal values are slowly decaying. Civilization is a broken system. We act more on impulse than we do through considered rationale. We, collectively as a people and species, are returning to our primal ways. Arguably, we may have always been this primitive as beings, however today, in this day and age, these traits have become predominantly noticeable. Take a look around you, reflect, on yourself and others. Is our ultimate fate of self-extinction inevitable?

//navk.

Shadows of Imaginary Friends II

Led astray again through back lands with no back glance, backhands in rage. Fallen out of grace and nothing will ever be the same. So they say. The darkness can’t be swayed and the demons can’t be slain. Tread through uncertainty and sleep when you’re awake. Fear is your master, hope is a snowflake. Collect wine from the river and make water from grapes. Insane. But fragility is a cause for shame. Humility is a waste. You have nothing to be happy for, you’ve got nothing to gain. Your life is just a stain on a canvas, painted out of anguish. Until you’re forgotten and you’re vanquished, as insignificance as outlandish. A story cast with settings you’re likely to be regretting. A legend worth forgetting. Labeled through fables wayward and feeble. You search for an equal but no mind is as evil. In fact, even your shadow spites you. Safe to say only imaginary friends want to be just like you. Spoken by Shadows of Doubt.

//navk.

Potential Without Possibility

I’m attracted to older women, attracted to their curves. Something about their maturity and the way their minds work. And the way their bodies burn for that shit their souls yearn for. Don’t be fearful, because that’s what I’m here for. Apply my mastery, fuck the arts teacher, we’ll make a masterpiece. She’s a non-believer and I’ll have her screaming blasphemy. Hopefully she’ll be lasting me but she’ll never come back for me. She has places to go, only naturally. But will she ever graduate with honors, or even the kind of respect that she has from me? The thought is really grasping me, how put-downs and obstacles are changing her life drastically. All she looks forward to are parties and tax receipts, fucking in taxi seats. Failure to adhere to responsibilities, combined with a lack of shame and humility. So much potential, with no possibility..

//navk.

Capitalism, Aristocracy and all that victimizing bullshit

I realize this as an undergrad. Even if I come first in the class, I’ll still probably never fly first class. I’m likely to always stay underclass, because the ceiling over my head is really made of glass. I feel trapped, but for the rich it’s just an overpass. You preach equality, but increase cost of living so what you really believe in is sodomy. Because tuition fees got me fucked in the ass. Mixed with more fees and interest if I can’t pay it back. Well, I’m not interested, so you can keep all of that. Education is a business, so what’s the difference if I stay in school or rap, or attempt to sell crack? You make capital off knowledge so you make about the same from all of that. Socialist philosophies have really got me thinking. Because finally some of it has really start to sink in. The socio-economic divides is what I really fail to understand. Racism isn’t a thing when classism is the real problem at hand.

//navk.