the necessity of failure

three years ago today today today Today

I feel the pain of my lost wings —
maybe that’s why I didn’t

Monday looking Halloween weekend over the dash
after long drive from Nashville
first time ever sat back of class
not wanting seen noticed observed in any way
wrote the Note blah blah the office
hours I spent and noticed their spending
their machine I was apart no a part
simultaneously both that’s its fuckedness
connected to everything or existing only in its totality
I raised the heavenly sheers a scissors the best I could find at hand my self scythe
felt arteries veins whatever the fuck pulsing
wanting to break out I decided throat
thought ironically about the burden I’d be placing on my prof (her office) then mother
decided fuck it fuck them I was never anything but a social relation welcomed because I played the game
thought of Joey, Seth — no apparitional other imagined by me could save me from the facts:
I am no one. no one knows Me. no one ever will. can’t. we’re all only hired players allowed to persist if we play the role — the reciprocation in all its falseness revealed.
you are affected only be my living my interacting my writing
my dying would never have touched you — statistic
static repetition sustaining contribution to the network
I couldn’t believe the facts revealed in ecstatic vision that terrified us all that night days before
I saw its interconnection the paths which one could follow from Joey’s living room through an aspect of the wall the barest of movements cycling through me pulsing in the room
moved into the wall felt the weight of a universe as it vibrated in collaboration around me but don’t forget the facts:
I am no one. that which is I can never be known.
the social had been my mooring I was able to convince myself most of the time (before that Fall) that it was some kernel of me that drew others forth
not my whiteness or my class my making others feel good my manness or my intelligibility to the social game

it must have been the vision at Joey’s that finally made the difference displaced me from my Self that social-participatory organism illusory in all suggestions of connection and meeting
the shallowness of everything around me became abhorrent
I couldn’t play the game anymore couldn’t believe its vacant fronts
not after that not after experiencing a moment of the Present no, present lower case just was
eternity in the flickering light on the wall
I passed out a couple times scared the shit out of them I think they fed me then
I couldn’t talk couldn’t begin to communicate the vastness of the abyss that had entered Me consciously
my failure to speak then to say the words I knew to be true — you see, can’t even say now the social’s hold on me still a majority share somehow —
left me with a scissors in hand and the prospect of returning to the abyss I wanted that wanted not to want

I didn’t do it didn’t puncture skin messages calls timing mom drove down Jana waited with me went to class acted normal Mom there when we got out
because no puncture no Self harm I could be admitted to Philhaven “voluntarily” which bureaucratic nuance allowed my stay to be short only a few days the longest span of consecutive fifteen minute intervals (still alive check box move next) and hourly checkups contracting me to enforce my commitment to my life my Self after awhile I could even use the bathroom without asking

catatonia is welcomed without thought when the cacophony of the social machine crashes into me
I spent hours on end lying there
had books read some
notebooks wrote some
gradually accepted my resocialization at least grammatically
accepted that my social Self ought to continue existing at least to think it through more carefully giving it a drive a pursuit of my-ness
set 25 as my limit I could do it then if or when I still want to
I still want to
maybe this is goodbye maybe I’ll have the courage tonight
I contemplated the architecture of my psych cell despised it hated its control of my every move and especially those moments it disguised that total power through manipulating the appearance of choice — is it so different now I’m out?
what is the university but a creator of specialized internalizations of social codes? news tv film books the web all tacit advertisements propagandizing cooperation with the social
I want my Self to die but I just can’t pull its plug it controls my hands my mouth my movement
we are all Sméagols with Gollums of the social

I want to disappear I’m tempted maybe then an I could emerge beyond the Self I’d leave behind
lights sound movements overwhelm me I am so alone
I’ve never exposed myself to anyone not really not the real beyond I’m frightened of what might be found I can’t look myself plus no one has tried to approach my bare self
we converse in the warm comfort of our middle class suburban bedrooms
I want to be naked with you but the social ties my hands up in the bureaucratic mindfuck of considering the implications
without my hands my will my mobility I can’t undress
it’s time I need to start hoping imagining the potentiality of raw naked meeting or need to stop holding out waiting for hope to appear
but can I hope without my social Self’s anxieties dictating my every move? is there even a beyond possible that isn’t already itself appropriated to the social?

prove to me you’re more than pretense
prove to me your presimulating Self has a beyond I don’t see it
prove to me You exist in a You-ness outside of the theys which inhabit or constitute the soul
show me my scars, the wounding of humanity
“ — this is release of particulars — (mad as you) — (sanity a trick of agreement) — ” Ginsberg ringing in my mind
apart from a part are we even in relation does the glimmer of a possibility of a potential for hope try to draw me back in or could it break you & me out
my wings constellations of counter-songs
me a counter of your song transgress me command me to my limit take me to the edges of abyss nothingness itself and hold me as I lean out into its pressure
no impossible even to dream — you’d never be allowed so near to my abyss —
but hasn’t movement happened? haven’t there been moments
my unselfconsciousness as I entered the wall in your home
— when the sacred icon of his tongue on my bum first broke into a conscious thought
now a self-conscious thought to be struck from the record I know it wouldn’t matter to say I’ve come to terms

if I do not fail to speak I’m afraid I will see the fear recoil in your eyes and in that moment know certain walls must always remain in place also know your side of this particular wall had been fortified by your anticipatory terror of the inevitable moment, finally arrived — it must not arrive
if I can’t be naked vulnerable honest then what
wouldn’t ideation of what is declared impossible impose walls wanting tumbled contradiction constriction destroys me potential you destroys glimpsed us without a we