Aces and Jacks.
Back once again. More comedy neurological malfunctioning. Out of sorts and anxious all day today, which is often one of the signs. But I put it down to the move. Then just now I was playing Demon Patience on the computer and picturing what to do next in my head, Eight of Hearts on the Nine which frees up that King so you can move the Queen, etcetera, etcetera. Eight or nine moves ahead, all lined nicely in my head, and then the pattern shattered. Like a wind springing up out of nowhere and blowing away the cards.
This isn't one of those euphoric jobs like last time. I don't know why they're different sometimes. So, sorry kids, it's not November the Fifth yet. And I probably won't stay online this time. Been there, done that. But this is my weblog and I get to be an exhibitionist. If you don't like it, read somthing else.
This is not a good one. I don't like this kind. My past catches up with me. Time breaks, slips, back and forth. And you're there, if only for an instant. Moments rising like blood from the tongue, thin, meaty, distasteful. I laid down some bad things back there, and year by year they seem to grow more sour. Why did I? Am I still there, her, the person who acted like that? Am I here? The immediacy gives the illusion that I could reach out, reach back, and change it. Fix it. That the shards of the cup will rise and become one. That really hurts, that instant where you think you're back and you can make it right, and then you realise you can't and you never will. Moving finger have writ or whatever.
And all the patterns wash away, watered down into nothing. All going down the drain, isn't it?
I am not good. Did I start out like this? Never quite able to make my peace with the damage I do, never quite able to stop doing damage. Corrosive. He says it doesn't matter-- but it might one day. You get a build-up. Maybe it looks worse from where I'm sitting, in a shower of fractured time. Aces and jacks.
They call it making good, when you fix everything back up after a repair or an alteration. To: One single-glazed window, re-glazing and making good. Can you make good? Churn it out like dough, like plaster, scoop it into the hollows and let it dry. Could I ever make enough good, or will the hollows always be there, under the smooth surface? Breeding insects, blooming with rot.
There was blue fire before. Now all the colours are shading into unity, lightless. The face cards accuse with their blankness. This deck never gets shabby, never gets frayed at the edges or grimy. You lay it down new each time. In real life the cards fray. Jack of Diamonds. Ace of Hearts. I heard the red ink was poisonous. Clubs are Wands. Spades are swords. Espada. The ace a death card, like a syringe. Kill or cure.
Who cares for you? You're nothing but a pack of cards.