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6.5.10
the job.
i am building.
i'm building a tower, a castle, a city of me.
i make the bricks from mud and bake them in the sun. the heat touches them and fills them until the terracotta; it smells. earthy and ironish and menstrual. i make the mortar from dirt and water. the grainy paste sticks to me like dustly flour.
i make the trees, the grass, the sun and the sky. i make rivers and floors and holes for windows. i make pebbles.
i build a world with no edges.
i build huge towers which look out over icy clouds, the pale yellow-blue of the air talks of a blistering day. the towers, from them you can see blurred misty ideas of the distance. the future. nothing is old. nothing is bad or wrong or black or dead or shrivelled or sick. the things that are broken were always that way. life hums from every corner of shadow and every speckle of light.
this is nature, it is the world. everything smells alive - the must of the forest floor, covered in crumbs of tree and fern. the tang of the bitter leaves and their sticky buds; the cold stones.
mushrooms grow.
i build more and more everyday and i never stop. the bricks go higher than i can reach. they are like red pats of butter.
i never stop i never step back to admire my work because it is not done yet. it is not finished.
it is not architecture. not a vision or a concept. it is nature. it is growing through me. the soil tastes real under my fingernails. in the cracks of my knuckle.
i don't know when the trees will stop growing, prodding the sky with young fingers. i do not know when the flowers will come, or when the birds will call. i do not know how deep the ground is. how many deer there are.
i feel the sugary stone under my hands, against my calves, my knees, my nose. i taste it, it's flavour is the metal of me. the walls stretch away further than my eyes can see. out of focus, beautiful in the sunshine.
this is what i am building. everything i do is part of it. the bad and the good, they do not matter. they go into my bricks. the go into the stones i pluck from the earth. they grow into the leaves and the twigs, the branches and the sky. they are one. and then they are the same.
this is what i am building.
this is what i am; this is where i live.
this is me.
whispered by killa b at 12:16 AM |
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