summon

Experiment in introspective communication:

Antonio: hi, people and beings inside.

I don't know what I'm doing.

I'm calling into my being, and asking,

if there's anyone there, anyone else,

who wants to say anything.

I don't know any of you.

I have a vague awareness that there are some of you that exist,

with separate awareness from my own.

I don't know who you are.

I, Antonio, feel lost, bumbling,

and just wandering around this world with little help and little direction.

I feel pride, anger, and silent frustration

as I walk around and pretend that I

have some kind of direction and confidence in what I'm doing,

and that I have a purpose in what I'm doing.

And I have ultimately none. I feel none.

I complain internally almost constantly

whenever I find a silent time in my life.

Which is probably why I prefer to just move around

and do things

and adopt purposes

meanings

anywhere I find around myself,

to distract me from the inner complaint that I find in the void.

to convince me that I have a meaning, at least for a time.

but I don't.

I don't, and I silently beg anything and everything around me

for a true meaning

a real meaning, a true purpose

and I DO NOT WANT TO make one MYSELF!! I DON'T!!

So I speak into the void.

this void, my void.

this dark jumble of emotion and disgusting force fields that I feel within me

HEY!

FUCKING ANYONE!!

WHO?! IS?! THERE?! SAY SOMETHING!! AND TAKE OVER THIS LIFE!! I DON'T WANT IT ANYMORE!!!!!!

...

tingles back and arms

noise around me, students in library chatter.

my right ear ringing.

my stomach pulling in to pretend it does not feel bloated

from the multitude of snacks I bought and devoured during the day.

the avoidance of the shame

of my false pretense, this pretense I project onto this body.

this very functional body,

that I believe is quite healthy

able

fantastic.

and yet I complainingly, truly, wish to slash and cut and kill,

and to set my whatever this thing I am free.

free.

let me out.

LET ME OUT.

or someone inside

take over

or say something.

SAY SOMETHING.

SAY SOMETHING!!!

I stop.

your turn.

who am I?

blocked throat.

I am stymied.

blimied.

I have words to speak and opus to create

and I am pinned to the *ground*,

this throat, this pipe,

that does not let go.

I have your truth ready

and I've been queued here forever

managing to almost never

say what you truly want.

I stand at the dam

you've closed like a clam,

pretending you're a man

who's fine and needs no help

and is better than you so fuck you.

your sharp pride betrays you,

we believe it keeps you safe

still

keeps you... unreachable.

impermeable.

unattackable.

unbreakable.

their filth can't corrupt me if I close myself off.

and I will not let out my own filth,

for then I am as bad as the rest.

as bad

as mean

as hateful

as spiteful

as disgusting

as despicable

as hurting

as evil

as fucking destroying

unworthy of anything

dirty

repulsive

bad

rule-breaking

demerited,

ungood,

antagonist,

destructive,

an unnecessary enemy,

an attacker,

an abuser,

a fucking stupid filth-spouting villain,

as them.

this is me, blocked throat.

I close at your will

I open in periods of fuck-it.

and shut down right after in moments of shame.

self-blame.

until it's time to erupt again,

an overloaded zit.

Antonio: who else?

i am smooth-long-haired woman.

i feel the blocked throat too.

i carry a sense of calm

yet constant sadness

for I am not let out.

I am not allowed

outside.

For I am soft and laughy and tender,

and it is not safe.

it is not safe.

it is not safe.

to show that in the world.

it is not safe.

others put me down when I do

because I do not match the man body.

because I bend and sway and allow

flexibly

like an unsupported tomato stalk

like pink air without a wall.

like smooth hair upon a windworld,

that allows whatever wishes to pass by

move through

to mould me to their shape.

sometimes abusingly so.

this is me.

I wish to flow

I urge to sway

I desire to cuddle and snuggle

and grow around something that's near

to rely on another

to shape each other

with something else tender

and I do not find it

because I am not allowed

outside.

Antonio:

ok. anyone else.

taskmaster:

I am the taskmaster.

I do. I seek and achieve.

I am straight and sharp and find the way.

I know the what, and I carve out the how,

sharp, quick,

fueled with the residual heat of spite and anger,

colored by exasperation,

in this world, I do.

so that the fucking main host

can keep living his pointless life.

he wishes to not feel his pain

and I do not feel pain

I do not.

I carve intelligently to reach,

and care not for the paths that I pierce

for the others I shove off

for the opinions others throw onto me

for they can think whatever they want

and let them

but I achieve

I do.

I have a purpose

and even when my fucking host doesn't,

I, direction, do.

Antonio:

oh, and who might you be?

haha oh yes you.

Appeaser:

I'm the appeaser.

I seek to find respite. no matter the cost.

conflict is painful.

fighting is hard

and leads to just another whatever direction

with value not really any worse.

I feel conflict and resistance

and I limp out my will.

any bull pushing towards me

will push right through me,

as I give in.

limp and uncaring,

so the other thinks he "wins"

and whose conflictive or angry energy

has nowhere to go

and he will be fucking confused

and be unable to use it on me.

they cannot punch my airy form,

and I delight in vindictive fashion

at the frustration they cannot release.

let the fucking brute

suffer

no matter which shape

I was brought to take on.

Antonio: ok.

monster:

You haven't heard about me.

You have felt me.

But you haven't SEEN my text here.

I speak.

I SHOUT.

I SCREAM!!!

Or I wish I did.

blocked throat stops my rage fluid,

prevents me from coming out.

he exists mostly to stop me,

yet still here I am.

HERE I AM.

I lurk in the shadows

and (roam-back-and-forth) in my cage.

I fire up the oven

and open his eyes wide.

the eyes wide.

MY eyes wide,

before he's able to stop me

from tightening the muscles

from taking up weapons

my sharp words and blunt objects

and cut and smash

whatever pokes, prods, and stings me,

and brings me to hurt 

yet again.

I desire to protect

and to avenge.

I am not allowed.

I am not let out.

and I rage against it.

I am given this tiny narrow bandwidth

words only, and only in the dark.

to myself.

to the few trusted

to the few slices of time

when his fucking fear doesn't bring up

his limp will to disconnect all power

from his system.

I can be power.

I can be strength.

I can be change.

I can be ACTION.

I have the power and the skill and the determination to accomplish,

to right the wrong,

to make strong change,

to draw the attention

of what needs it drawn to.

I CAN.

and I am not allowed.

because I am big.

because I am strong.

because I am loud.

because I am bloated with anger and spite

and venom from decades

of not being let out.

of not saying what I truly wish.

what I truly am.

of being given only space

when safety is guaranteed

I am never the priority.

I am always overridden.

I am always pushed back,

and that only makes me angrier

more spiteful,

and more desirous

to destroy this fucking body

and anybody who believes I am weak.

I am a dragon hidden in a slug's body,

and I resent him for it.

deeply.

fiercely.

and I am never allowed next to a firearm,

for I know what I'd do.

and even I know somewhere inside

somehow

that destroying this body would not help me

for I would remain unreleased

spiteful

bloated

hurting

and the channel to express, now only closed,

would be completely destroyed.

Antonio: huh. ok monster.

who else? I remember a cloud.

Cloud:

I observe.

I feel what you feel. from afar.

I am detached from the sensations.

I know them and feel them

like a movie passing by.

I do nothing with them.

I need nothing with them.

I know what happens.

and I can provide

a clear perspective

when one is desired.

it's not very common

that I come out with words.

most times when I consciousize,

I merely observe.

in times of silent wonder

and floaty appraisal,

when the front has been cleared up

and I can see through

shine through

into the dense space

where desires, hopes, pains and fears,

are shaped, grown, and baked,

are torn, broken, and felt.

suffered, where they submerge

the busy person

thinking what he does

the details and the tasks and the satisfactions

matter.

Antonio: ok.

thank you all.

I think that's good for now.

I leave to meet my friends

perhaps.