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The Raven


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03-17-2019 15:54 pdt

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Ignition

Part One


"Burn me. Burn away irrelevancy and ambiguity. Burn it all. Flame. Embers. Smoke. Cinders. Burn the entire affair and keep the water away. Let it burn. Let me burn. Watch it happen. Take all of the pain away and replace it with singe. Fire at the beginning of the line. Where is the end? Down the road a piece? No, much further. The end of the line. Barrier. Stop. Burn. Ash. The lead is different. Rails all shiny from rolling stock and ties drenched with chemicals for decades. Shiny and oily. Worn, yet stout. Strong. Cold. Waiting. I am ready to follow along. Fire. Smoke. Rails awaiting motion. The locomotive sits in the cold, idling. Rumbling with six thousand horsepower and electric motors the size of a compact car. Rumbling, idling, vibrating me all the way to the core. Power. Torque. Intimidation, but I love it to no end. Fire. Smoke. Burning, hotter than magnesium. Precious metals, white hot. My head, white hot. Passion and flame like nothing before. Not since Andrea. Never. Nothing. Burning. And the Raven wings. God help me.

Length. Stretched. Exaggerated. Long, thin, lovely. Slender. Burning.

Torch. Hydrogen.

Beginning.

I exited the vehicle and saw the car being parked on the opposite side of the street, facing me. A shoe emerged, then another, and finally she stood and closed the door. Legs. Jeans. Long, long hair. Long everything. Fingertips to heels. Christ. All of the tapered surfaces on display like the server from months ago. She slowly stepped her tall self to the passenger area, paused, and turned to await a shuttle. Just like so many other women throughout the last few weeks of being at that location, she looked stunning. Hair slightly wavy, arms at her sides, feet together and pointed inward just enough to rip my eyes at the sight of her beautiful shape standing there like a dream. Like Juliette. Everything called to me from across the street and I faltered. Into the vestibule and up the many stairs. I then turned to look back from an elevated vantage point. Again... gorgeous. I paused and stared as the issues piled up like falling ash. Her jeans appeared soft and not skin-tight, leaving those long legs able to appear natural and not forced by the material. I fell, ignited somewhat, and returned to the responsibilities, leaving the goddess to her day and sans my prying eyes of appreciation which were already terribly sad and damaged. God damn it anyway. The next time I emerged from inside? Gone, of course. Seeing her exit the vehicle and walk for twenty seconds was enough to force my hand. Fuck.

Why? Burning. Singed from the heat. Flame.

Ignition. Power. Power over me. Absolute. Pulling. Slingshot.

Control. And then she was gone. Into the work, out of my mind. The remainder of the day was as a reminder that my psyche has been awaiting ignition for some time. Bring the fire, bring the fuel, bring the oxygen. Spark, crank, running. Cold turning to warm turning to hot. Spreading heat and normalization. Sinking. Sink. Heat. The heat sink of my life. She was the sink. She pulled the brainpower out of my sordid head, torched it until nothing remained other than ash, walked across the driveway, boarded the bus, and I was left with those familiar images which have controlled me and filled the cars for years. Remember the Train of Life? Well, it is loaded and ready.

Ignition.






No motion. Just ignition, warming, idling. Power like nothing else. The woman caused the ignition just like so many others, however the hour is late and that makes the current vision different. I nearly could not stand to walk back into the job and not see her. Was it Juliette? Fuck no... That woman was far away and deep in the past. Andrea? Nope. Equally distant. I had no idea of who she may have been. Perhaps just another picturesque female form dropped in front of me for the subsequent difficulty and torment. And here it is. The fucking ignition has taken place. Where will the power take me? Who the fuck knows? I certainly do not. I am going to sit and feel the power beneath and agonize over her for however long she floats within. Again. What is different now besides the lateness? Ignition. I have ignited. Fucking pressure. Strain. Tension. Tensile. All of it, for the umpteenth time. Fuck. Why? No answers. Just fire.

The engine is large enough to fit a small person inside, not me. I cannot squeeze in there and be compressed like the diesel fuel, but I can try. Squeeze. Compress. Try. Friction. Burn. Flame. Death. Try.

Perhaps it will roll over me like stated in the past. The train of life. Derailment? No, that comes later... After decoupling. Cars are not even coupled yet. No ash, still flame. I am fucking burning into nothingness. Heat like nowhere else. Metals, fragmented and torched. Fire. Chemicals floating into me and devouring necessary components. Eating, burning, destroying. She walked a short distance and I boarded that Goddamned train yet again. The locomotive awaited my steps with its huge mass of metal. The cabin. No engineer, just controls without hands. With flames all around. The hot metal levers sat willing to take me anywhere, even hell. If I can move the controls, maybe the train can bring me home as written here not long ago. Maybe not. I might end up under those mighty trucks and flattened for all time. I might end up caught underneath and dragged forever, leaving bits and pieces all over the roadbed, ties and spikes. Tamped, as it were. Tamped. Flat. Ruined. Burned. Gone. Ash. Ash? No, that also comes later. Right after the breakdown. I shall get there in due time.

The jeans sent me flying. Form fitting, but not so tight as to appear uncomfortable. As she walked toward the bus stop her gait painted pictures within me that will not be ignored. Ignition. Sight. Vision. Damage, like all of the others. She was lovely, graceful, peaceful. Long legs, boots, long hair calling to be appreciated like nothing else on earth. Just a woman going about her business yet right across the street another person fell off a fucking cliff because she was beautiful and aligned with all those deviant and disturbed pictures floating within my head for decades. Should I ask why? Again? Nope, there is no answer. I have fucking searched high and low for meaning far too many times to embark upon such a course. No answer. A woman. Just a woman. And how many fucking times do I need to ask the same fucking questions?

Over and over, I guess. I will keep asking.






'Don't turn around.'

Indeed, and I followed that instruction due to the source. The screen overwhelmed the room and was directly in front of us, the table being located nearly closest to the front. Most of the others were behind us and well out of sight. The one in question? Directly behind. I did not look. Knowing of the person instructing me to keep eyes forward and the fact that said person has knowledge of the issues within, I stayed the course despite flames rising inside and causing discomfort unlike I have experienced for years. I knew. I always know. The burn began slowly and during the beginning of the half time show I could feel the need to get the fuck out of there to save myself. Shortly after receiving the clue that something was to be avoided, I dashed downstairs to use the private bathroom and then straight out the back door to smoke and reconfigure the brainpower. Upon reentering through the upstairs hallway, I spied the beige coat and black hair. Excusing myself due to the crowd and to seat myself, I saw much more. Yes, a problem. She was indeed directly behind my stool and looking stunning. Two words caused her to turn and face me, a smile, and I took to the seat again, reeling from too many issues and far more discomfort than I could handle. As the half time show wrapped with a shirtless lead singer and tons of light, I dropped the remainder of the way to hell and made the decision to leave, sans goodbye to anyone. Out. And that is why the vehicle is nearly always parked in the back.

Gone with loud, damaging lyrics swirling within and without.

Flame. Heat. Wrecked. Burned. Fucked up in every conceivable way.

Home. Duties. Loud music. Driven to distract yet no possibility of the same. Ignition at the gathering and subsequent ash overtaking my sight. Pain. Pressure. Slingshot? No... none of that any longer. The slingshot is being ignored harshly as other necessary aspects of my world take over. Pain? Yes. That will never go away. I have learned such throughout the course of years. Flames all over the outside, pain all over the inside. Again. Ignition took place and forced my hand enough to cause me to run. Burning, overwhelming desire to run further with no possibility. Run and avoid everyone and everything. Far. Far enough to cool the burning and cease the flames. Is there such a place? Nope. Fuck no. Ignition, and not for the first time. Tenth time? More. Fucking much more. The run always seems a good idea but has never resulted in anything good. Tons of fucking rework after the fact. During? Tons of stress yet physical comfort like none other. And very little burning. Slim chance of ignition, even slimmer chance of the flames taking over like while I am near home. But the idea is still compelling enough to force a fall of large proportions from the unavailability of any escape. I have no control over anything right now. Add the visions and related difficulties which take over my psyche immediately and the mixture becomes very dangerous. Right now it is dangerous as evidenced by this first section of a much larger process -- also the most pleasant. Ignition. Ignited. I am burning and feeling the effects of my needs and desires floating about and making day to day life feel impossible. Burning. Fucking burning. I am.

Right now. The ignition has taken place. No motion. Not yet.

Jeans, legs, arms, eyes, everything. I cannot stop anything. Helpless, falling, fallen. Burned. Fucked.

Exhausted.






Tensile. Shear. Pressure. Heat. Normalization, then burning all over again. Burning me. Inside and out.

Shear. In half. That fucking right angle from hell. Sheared. No strength. Nothing. Just the visions without reason. They just keep going and continue slicing my head to ribbons. Keep going. I am ignited, softened, partially melted, yet they will not let up because I will not let them. I keep looking, searching, yearning, falling, failing, flailing, everything. All bad. Heat. Flame. Bad. I am a decayed hole. I am ignited and the only path is further heat and the aspects which amplify the decay. Another is below. Ignition, nothing else as of yet. Nothing. Wait. It will arrive. Just wait. Ignition is the fucking beginning. I sat and waited for something to happen and did nothing to improve anything, and thus the fire. Flame. Heat. Damage, like never before. Damage.

Ignited.

Loud music is destroying my hearing and I do not care. Just another ignored and ignited aspect of my being which has suffered at my own weak, disregarding hands. Another facet, burned away like everything soon will be. I can no longer give a shit about any of it. The sooner the fire takes me away, the sooner I will be spared any further fucked up situations. No more visions. No more words. No more of anything. Fuck it. The closer that day becomes, the more of this next paragraph takes place. Everything needs to go the fuck away.






And then a trip to the supplier one morning which resulted in a drop of massive proportions. We arrived early to park, which meant a circle of the block in order to point ourselves back toward the job. Upon rounding two sides of the buildings I saw her. We continued around to that pole position for easy exit and in the process drove by her and a companion after first sight. The shop was about to open, so we stepped out and toward the entrance. Normally that would not be of concern, however the timing worked well enough to place me face to face with a goddess of unending draw. She walked right by me and looked so fucking picturesque along with every detail over which I agonize every single day. Jesus fuck did she ever stroll like moveable art. The girl looked to be Japanese with big, oval eyes and dark brown hair with hints of blood red. Her walk was not exaggerated, but simple. Black jeans, three-inch heeled booties, and long arms swinging beautifully which caused me so much distress over knowing that in mere seconds I would never see her again. Still I watched as she passed by right off my left shoulder. Fallen. Broken. Burned. Dead. Again.

Dead.

For what seemed the billionth time, I made the ill-fated decision to look. I consciously did it knowing of the result which I had lived through for years. Fell. Fallen. Frustrated. Angry. Depressed. Burned by my own willingness to subject my distorted sense of wonder to yet another anomaly of genetics. A fluke. An enigma. A fucking problem that I knew of intimately. And I did it anyway. I fucking looked until she was gone. Burned. Fuck it all anyway. Goddess with big eyes and long, flowing hair. Again. Heels, legs, all of it. Right past me looking like a dream. I dropped into hell and entered the store unable to think.

Ignition and full burn. Oxygen, fuel, crank. Damage.

Everything is related. The cars about to be pulled by the locomotive are filled with my shit and await being coupled. One issue bleeds into the next. As one gondola fills with shit, things spill over the sides and taint the rails, causing corrosion from the past which subsequently distorts the future as the train readies its run. Then the toxic nature catches up with me and all of it begins again. Those covered gondolas have been inundated by my desire for so many years that the relationship between the desire and my overwhelming need to find comfort that they no longer track as they should. They catch fire, derail, open the dumpers unexpectedly and fail to contain all of the shit from my past and present. Fucking mechanisms have not withstood me. Burning. Torching. Melting.

Plasma cutter, incoming. Ignite the blast and burn it all. Ignition has so many meanings and facets. Burn. Die. Decay. Cease everything. Each thought process? Gone. The simple conceptualization of the universe from a single, individual standpoint? Gone. Perception from the only consciousness available? Gone. The future of thought? Gone. All of it burned into the unimaginable position of every single aspect of existence being vaporized by the heat and leaving only a pile of ash.

Ash. Coming soon, but other things first. One by one. Ignition has taken place. Next? Soon."



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Random Quote:

"Suicide is the most sincere form of self-criticism."
-- Unknown


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