Author Information
JUMP!
JUMP!
(I am a raw nerve.)
I’m high on a bungee cord.
Low, then high...
Then low again.
And all in the space of a minute.
Or a morning.
Or an evening.
Whether shadowed or lit, the rocks beneath me spell my name in an alien language.
Sometimes I hear it whistled on the passing wind like some fucking cliché.
Except It’s soft.
When it’s there.
(I am borderline.)
I’m ready for dissociation.
It was here before when I couldn’t name it.
Does it return if it knows you’re waiting?
Can it even come twice?
It’s not the holy fucking spirit.
In spaced out, time-warped minutes, I think I can see it. Not in the pathetic distortion of a man beneath me, but in all that general extra-sensory-perception-wank.
Except it’s familiar now.
I know it.
When it’s there.
(I’m on a platform.)
I stand on the edge and try to cry.
I see my distortion in a puddle and think of sound...
Spatial-acoustics and a ‘clock’ from a past century
Ticks
They echo
Ticks
They echo.
A lump forms in my dry throat. A growing whirr of sound. My eyes burn behind tautly stretched skin and I haven’t eaten. Jump! The meds aren’t right. Blue ticks and last seen. Grey ticks and last seen. Blue, red, blue ticks echo, red receipts, last seen high and low over rocks. Active/inactive in a dissociated room full of buzz, pulse, bing, ping and fucking DING! Low battery. Block! Quick! Creep! Stalk! Jump! Unfollow miii, faaa, sool, laaa...fuck CBT and the patronising apps- get me to a shrink don’t think DO!
DO IT!
I say....
To myself...
And ticks
They echo.
Ticks
They echo.
I am a raw nerve
Standing on edge.
Waiting for the teargasm to cum.
