It's all about how I feel, baby

I was super inspired today. For the fifth writing exercise, based on the tag line “I feel”, I posted three separate efforts on-line. I am particularly fond of the last one, which was pretty much inspired by thoughts of my lovely Mum, and by the azure crystalline beauty of the autumn weather right now in Sydney. I sent it to Mum, told her it was my poem to her. She was pleased.

Week 1, Exercise 5, "I feel"

I feel the prophecy; it is a dark fate. I do not take my meds, for I cannot afford to be sleepy. At first I hid the pills under my tongue, but the nurses got wise, and now after swallowing I must open my mouth and say “Ahhhhh” and lift my tongue up and down. They stick a silver penlight into my mouth. I do all this quickly and obediently to get the bitches out of my room, and then I go into the toilet and quietly vomit up the contents of my stomach. Dr Kleinfeld looks at me suspiciously, though. He knows something’s wrong, but he can’t go outside protocol. Still, I have to be careful. Unlike those bovine nurses, you can’t rely on the consistent stupidity of the doctors, especially when they are young, with something to prove, like Kleinfeld.

The other inmates here shy away from me. It seems to be instinctual; I doubt whether tangible news of my great feats outside has filtered in. These broken humans are no more aware than beasts. An early death is the best they can hope for. The nurses and the orderlies and the doctors here at least know the deeds for which I am imprisoned, though they understand nothing of my purpose here on earth. I tried to tell them in court that the forces of the universe are in chaos. That the angels are in retreat. That demons stalk them. That two dark spirits were trying to transmigrate into the human form to build a portal from the earth to an apocalyptic nightmare. Those little girls were the foundation stone. Their bodies meant nothing. The important thing is to prevent the demons from obtaining anchor. I must be strong and quiet and clever. I have a plan. Nurse Mustafa is showing signs of transmigration. She is on duty tonight.

Week 1, Exercise 5, "I feel", second submission

I feel the quickening of my people; the three moons are moving into alignment with the sun, and the time of the Great Tides is near. The pod-mothers are beginning the cull of their brightling flocks, and in two cycles of the little moon, the great clans shall swarm through the deeps and shallows of the world to gather near me for the spawning.

I have been Andrigath, or seed-father and guardian of this world, for some 700 cycles of the king moon. Now, I must persuade my people to ignore the tidal pull that enthrals their very bodies and minds and to pierce the skin of our world. For strange things are happening. A brightling-polyp in the southern ocean encountered an object of manufacture, but not something secreted by one of our protofactories. The brightling reported that it made a sound, somewhat like the crumpling of the skin of the world or the grinding of the ocean floor, but rhythmical and organized, but not like one of our water songs. Instead, an utterly alien sound.

And half way around the world, another brightling reported something similar, except this one said that it also sensed a mind, but with no clan identification. It said that the mind was remote and fragmented, but with some strange purpose. This brightling became deranged after the encounter, and had to be destroyed by its pod-mother. It would seem there are Others amongst us. We must decide what this means. There is much unease amongst my people. What do they want from us, of our world, these Others?

Week 1, Exercise 5, "I feel" third submission

I feel like my mother is near and she’s singing softly, like she used to when she gave me a bath, hum-dee-dee-dum my little love, gentle fingers soaping my head and blue, blue, blue eyes. Ah, the love, I carry it with me always in the top-most pocket of my heart. I want to break the world open to eat it like watermelon, juice running down my chin.

The sky is zinc-blue, blue like my mother’s eyes, like the blue of a packet of Extra gum. The air is fresh and crystalline, so that you just want to skip down the street. Skip and sing. This world is so ineffably beautiful. It’s as though the air and light and sound and objects and bodies in this world are just a skin and behind are great coloured skeins of truth and love, connecting me to you, and to everyone we know.

I read my book of Billy Collin’s poetry and have to hold my breath, because I think the beauty of his words will crack me open. I want his words tattooed on the hollows of my body. That night, I lie with Max in the soft cotton sheets, and think. This is all I ever wanted, I have this moment with him, I have not been cheated. It is enough to have lived and to have had this moment. I smell truth at the nape of his neck. He sleeps still. My best friend calls at 3:30am; she never gets the time right. Cup of groggy laughter, crackling over the dark.

Love overflows, soaking the dark earth. You can feel the world turning on its axis if you are quiet enough. The floor is a blessing to my toes, as my fingers dance their percussive jig of joy on this keyboard. The window is open and I feel the breeze on my skin, so cool, so light, so soft, I am reminded of my mother’s blue eyes as she smiling brushes a soap sud away from my eye. Hum-dee-dee-dum, my little love.