Pool of blackness, dive deep into it my friend and gills will operate. The gills you’d never imagined possessing and there your body will know the state. The state when the end is near and now it is time to relinquish possessiveness, now you know there is nothing to own, no need for jealousy for you never owned it in the first place when it was taken from your hands. So all the objects that surround lifetime mean nothing and all the people who have passed through lifetime mean nothing. Just is. Yes, it is a state of just is or just was or just could’ve been but or has it all been wasted trying to get, trying to hold onto someplace, somewhere, nowhere my friend? Has it been wasted? Have I been too familiar with the death state?
Element is the water, the water is the cleansing and cleansing is a derivative of death. Dive dive dive for the drowning dreams dig the tunnels for the conduction of melancholia when the pores, the pores in your skin seep helpless moisture, passive moisture, moisture with no will to act upon. It just is there. Cleanse as you fall, falling, falling effortlessly falling as if falling through air. You are and so is the deep dark pool. Falling effortlessly when there is no bottom and no person can reach her cause there it is,..the stillness, her silence, her melancholy, her demise. This is the work when there is no longer your child for the father, for the mother: this is the deep dark pool when all there is left is need as you fall with a shopping trolley. The metal glistens with renewal, so much so that you fail to associate a purpose like remember shopping in Woolworths with the shimmering floors and the fluorescent aisles with all the population pushing a trolley, tripping over their own feet or crashing into a fellow shopper when in a flurry to catch those specials. You were the only one naked with all eyes staring, screaming into your skin as the floors beneath you drifted away to meet the dark water.
You fall pass cliffs and there goes a washing machine with it’s lid flung open with the bowl facing you like an expectant mouth, and you expect the machine to creak or clang, as its metal house falls against a rock ledge but …nothing. There is only stillness without purpose, without intent. Can someone say something?
Can someone speak and give their undivided attention as they are speaking just to be carried away, far away from this desperation to avoid the moon shinning its opaque light on to the surface that you fall beneath?