Chapter three: the story of the mongoose

falling down the path of looking down the path of being on the path of it all. i saw a drop of singularity sitting, forking it’s tongue at me stolidly. i told it, i says to it, “hey. this is my road. where you going?” the snake told me it was not going anywhere, and that this was the very problem. i thought about it, but then i realized–that thinking was part of such a problem, was in fact the very essence of the intricacy. so i gripped the snake until it shot venom and then it decided to move on, yes, then i moved on, and i forgot all about it.
but such things come back to haunt, to possess, to range in sudden rustlings in the night. i had a dream where i was trying to put on socks to cover all the blood that was covering my feet. but then the army was outside with it’s guns, pointing in outside behind the glass, and they knew i was in there. can we ever cover the past completely, or will we always slip out and end up being targeted, being judged?
i did what i had to do, i informed the jury. they tried their best to look weighty and objective.
i did what i do. i’ll always choke the snake until i am alive again when it threatens my passage somewhere. i need to keep moving.
if you see–the path of my ancestors moving through my mouth. i chortle with the sun and the moon in my system.
so when an identity stands blocking, the struggle commences, age-old, one side to the other and back again. everything and nothing. everything and nothing. i see the light at the end of the tunnel. the tunnel be dark. what am i passing? what is my objective? i think the perspective needs to be recalculated on a constant basis, or else the serpent’s just gonna spin you into a stand-still frame snap to in-attention of some lie, some habitual day-to-day death that eats you away like cancer.
it’s not my road, technically, i says. but i’m traveling it. the audience laughs. i’m not sure if it’s real or imposed.
but the fact is that my movement exists in opposition. thus i do not pay anyone for my rights. i just take down the signs.
the police are after me. they want to lock me up. i have to shoot the venom very often to free up the pathways of my blood. i often have to take a life from death and cover it up and pretend that it is mine.
i will stop myself.

Author: manderson

I live in NYC.

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