I, the Dissipating Chiaroscuro

Turbulence is dead. Static deliriums overcoming, spinning on a detour, down to the vulture’s head. To this day, you’ll see nothing but a slowly dilapidating cul-de-sac. You’ll believe that you’ll feel the aftertaste of death forever. Dismantle the crows, and you’ll fear it. You’ll believe that you’ll be forlorn forever. Until believing becomes an art of destructing, and an art of destructing becomes wars, and in those wars, you lose. A vicious cycle, it is. Incinerating nights, those were.

Deep and disheartening, the dying of a light inside a flying drone.

I and Waldemar Sæthre, we’re a converged one-fifteenth of doom and one-eighth of death match. Once the road I called life was surrounded by realms that I considered surreal. Never thought we would be one hell of a convergence — he was omnipotent and I was precarious, but the day he discovered weakness and I discovered strength, everything changed and ever since then, there came the roads where we undermined the dissonance between us.

I could vaguely remember, he didn’t exterminate nor fight against low-lifes; he already had transcendent powers that made them exterminate themselves. One time in 11th grade, we solved a crime case of human trafficking in Vladivostok. When he was being asked about the perpetrators’ motives, he didn’t say much.

“Some people in this nonchalant space called world had a disoriented approach when they encountered a phase that’s called the mirror stage in the Lacanian psychoanalysis — indeed, the mirror stage induces the occurrence of the imaginary order inside all human beings; méconnaissance, or misrecognition, that Lacan would say. But some people just failed to overcome the atrocity of creating delusional imageries between themselves and their ideal objects of desire; and they would grow up as a relatively horrendous persona, or fall into cognitive dissonances and identity crisis, and all that shit. And here we have low-lifes.” that was the only thing he managed to say about it.

And then on the next day after he said that, all the perpetrators we sought for were found committing suicide with explosives. And I never knew why. He only let out a cryptic smile and then came forward to ask me something.

“Hey Katrine, ever heard of the song Dagger by Slowdive?”

“Yeah, been fond of it since ages ago. Why though?” I answered.

“What’s your favorite line of that song?”

“Let’s say.. something along the lines of ’the world is full of noise, yeah? I hear it all the time.’ I guess.”

“I knew it.” he muttered with a hollow tone. “Now you know why did I ask you this question, right?”

“Guess it’s fun to see you deciphering people like an open book with your transcendent, omnipotent power.” I then said. It wasn’t a satirical expression. “Oy vey, vultures with decapitated heads will find their way back to the crescent where the wolves hollered for epiphany and the blades of the viceroy who deceased as a doom rider would become the weapon of the serpents.”

“You may feel as if the world you’re living in is a disoriented detour and the ground you’re standing on is an abstract painting by Jackson Pollock, but honestly there’s nothing more than perceiving your ability to construct perceptions. It will become a divine power.”

“Perception is a social construct. But then again so is everything else, for here we stand on a world ravaged by social constructivism as people give in so easily to rationalize everything.” I said. “Not interested with divine this and that and being a this and that overman. Everyone wants to reach self-actualization which is the highest peak of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, but deep down they know that it’s all-around utopic. And it’s sickening.”

“So what’s your point?” he smirked once again, with a face that was clearly implying that he was challenging me.

“No, what’s your point?” I asked back. “You were the one who initiated this.”

“See, know why do I — “ he then cleared his throat. “ — maybe you’ll call this as something else, but have you discovered why do I consider you my Kathaarian Life Code?”

Then it was my time to face him with a vicious, challenging smirk. For a very slight moment, that time I felt like the wheels had turned around and finally I was the transcendent one.

“Found it. Your weakness.” I said.

“The chiaroscuro that vehemently appeared on your reflection in the dark made me think of shattered youths and crashed dreams.” he then stared at the crescent that looked a tad more incinerating than usual; with a pair of eyes that resemble the one of a victimized pawn. I, too, was trying so hard to keep myself from shivering in an agonized manner. Distortions started playing inside my head, as fast as I regretted acting like I knew Waldemar’s real weakness.

His weakness isn’t me.

His weakness is the fact that he unexpectedly finds it easy to consider me as his Kathaarian Life Code.

But today, I, the ruling warden, am downright unharmed as the oathbreaker reigns.

Shine on, homeboy.
You’re my fast-paced resonating crust; whirlwind overdrive; distinctively soaring fuzz thrashing against the walls of sound.
High octane stoner rock god up in the skies of a means to an end, yeah I’m the one. Stay
gold, for austerities shall never outpower us. Thy soldiers will rise, lest they have outpowered the flames. And then you will
inhale the smokes of my dope and you
will stare at the vacant road where
all the relentless nights come; wolves out.
Death match
is pretending that I’m alright and
the world’s fine as it is.
Check mate, I have never seen you alive. Always on the
run but never with a reigning
head on the clouds. Things grow
obsolete and I have learned to
be a seizer of all things gold — 
today I
am the indestructible master
of war. But homeboy,
what am I without your distorted riffs and
solemnly poignant lamentations. I
am irresistible and indestructible but you
are way more than that. I
would love my favorite dopesmoker
beyond words; standing up on the mountains that envisage
voices of hollow forces. So tell me,
is it that I love(d) the ones I don’t deserve or is it that I love(d) the ones who
don’t deserve me? Today I
heard about you and the fact that
you’re leaving the underworld — the world that has caressed and nurtured us dearly. You said it
was over. You loved me so — — 
that you would prefer cutting the streams of our days than having the
scythe of death disintegrate
us apart. It would give a
foretaste of lifetime
desolation, you said. If you were
the only one who had to die faster.
Bold as dead, I am.
We both will shine on because I
was brave — and I fought for what I believe in. But, again,
you’re way more than that
.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.