Acknowledgement

Oh, revisitation. What a lame concept. But i will admit, i am an addict, too.

My second gf/bf relationship ended a very long time ago, now. It is like something far away in space that cannot even be seen with telescopes anymore. It is behind vapours and ethers and shadows and cobwebs hewn by very melodramatic spiders.

The way in which my second relationship is very impressive is that it cannot be personified; it must be deified, albeit as a goddess of despair and supertragedy and insurmountable resentment. Which is maybe not the normal outcome of deifying.

I was taught that boys and girls get together, and they say very nice and tender things in order to get the other to make out with them, and they sympathize on grande scales, but eventually, eventually, either slowly or unbelievably fastly, ever-so-eventually, there is a resentment, a harboured and fueled resentment, and it temporarily disappears into a cycle of forgiveness and ease when it is time to make out again, and then re-resentment on and ever onwards and downwards.

And then usually what happens, is that the girl declares herself a victim of the boy's failings where relationships are concerned, and the boy is labeled as eternal villain, condemned forever for his nebulous sins against the female. These facts are usually advertised to the planet via all available forms of communication infrastructure. Sympathizers for the victim from the male gender are screened, and leading candidates are interviewed and made out with, and perhaps a new resentment cycle is established between these two parties, although my research is not adequate to say for sure.

The boy, in turn, is feeling very unjustly condemned, and feels very strongly that this injustice is in need of correction, and attempts to gather evidence in order to prove that not only is he not the culprit, but that perhaps there is no crime to begin with, or even that the girl may be the culprit and deserving of the muds and cursings of civilization. But this is futile because there will be no hearings and no considerations. And simpler men are smarter than this, since they have gotten their coat on and tied a handkerchief to a stick and have left out the do', long long befo'.

But for more refined and complicated boys, with so much self-worth wrapped up within the opinions of anyone who might care to consider them every once in awhile, the concept of "fuck this, i'm leaving" somehow does not occur to them, and so they are left with a swirling and spiraling action, which displaces a force from the internal volumes ever greater against the weakening sides of this vessel, (the vessel deifying sanity). And the whirling pressure causes one dramatic crack and then another and suddenly, one night in the midst of all of this, the boy finds that the vessel has failed and is gone, and the spiraling whirlpool is unbounded, and is making very dramatic floodings over all of creation.

But anyways. So very eventually the torrents subside, and the sun comes up, not in any glorious fashion, but just a mundane and unnoticed orb which causes a slow evaporation, which also goes mostly unnoticed. A consciousness has waned from the observer, and the wanderings resemble sleepwalking, with eyes open and goggles on, until some shape in the desert poses an obstacle, the wandering stops, the goggles shrink back to allow the full object into the viewing area, and the observer begins to have little microscopic bolts of electrics and flashes of gravity, and an acknowledgement of light and colour, and past and present and future, and the sound of light wind turbulating against barren rocks and over shifting sand, and around the observer and its goggles, and across the shape, which is seen from a mile off of the ground, is so large, is a curled up leviathan buried under the sands, except the nostrils which are the source of a pair of meandering trails of smoke, up into the sky, until the observer has one particular microscopic electric bolt, and the trails of smoke cease all of a sudden, and instead the nostrils begin to make an inhalation, and the sand-sheathed ribbed cage of the monster begins a gradual upward movement, and particles of sand break away from one another due to the movement, and make cascades, downwards thanks to a newly acknowledged gravity, down into piles that outline the leviathan shape, and the inhalation comes to its apex, and for a long time any movement stops, and everything is still again, for a long time, a long time, and then ever so subtly the ribbed cage begins to sink downward, a black smoke begins to sputter from the nostrils, which is quickly wisped invisible by the desert wind, and the black smokes intensify as the ribbed cage begins to sink at an increased rate, unpiercingly black smoke, and a microscopic electric bolt across the pupil of the observer causes a lightning to crack through the entirety of this portrait, and very suddenly the eyes of the leviathan are wide open, and the sand which had buried them has been vapourized by an intense energy, which is an eerie ray of light puncturing the atmosphere, and now there is heat and small flames from the nostrils, stoked by the exhalation, until the exhalation comes to its nadir, and everything is still again, again for a long time, and the eyes dim as a second inhalation begins, and the ribbed cage slowly moves upwards, and sand falls away, and now skin of the leviathan becomes visible, and the observer suddenly realizes that it is inhaling, and the sky is shrinking to its breath, and microscopic electric bolts are becoming so much larger, and accelerating in frequency, and the observer acknowledges that it is now very dark as the leviathaninhalation has almost come to its second apex. Suns and stars and moons have left to the other side of the world, had retreated imperceptibly from one moment to the next. And then the second inhalation has ended, and for a very long time there is much darkness and silence. And the observer acknowledges the absence of sound and wind, the air of the world being contained in the lungs of itself, and the monster below. Airless, dark and silent, with full lungs. But the world begins to quiver, subtle and then more intense, and then more intense, and the world is quaking, and mountains begin to break into pieces, and the observerhas its goggles vapourized by a blinding bolt of lightning, and the observer begins to fall towards the rippling ground, through the darkness and gravity. A monstrous heart reawakens, a second exhalation begins, and when it does the ground erupts in flames, and all sands are vaporized, and the leviathan is loosed and alive, and as the exhalations give air back to the world, a terrible scream reverberates and claims every particle for its own, and the shockwave renders creation to plasma, and the plasma is scattered through this new chaos, as towering flamed wings unfold across the wavering dins.

What the fuck was i talking about?

Oh, i had received a message. It was soft and sweet and apologetic. I wrote an acknowledgement for the first time in many years. It was not bitter or angry, but i suppose it wasn't soft or sweet or apologetic either. My regards remain tempered, in honor of dead bitternesses, and dead angers. This means that it was not dishonest.

I am glad that i am not a treasurable male. I am glad that i am not good enough for the outsider elite. I am glad that i will give up for my own sake. I am glad that i am selfish, and i am glad that i can be vicious. These are things the world deserves from me, sometimes.

Phoniness, where i have kept my pens and paper.