SYZYGYMAN

A Gothic Modern | Chapter One : Designed By Life

psychedelic coffin 1960s gothic sea cliff | cocreation by Elliot Lessing and Pro Bono

SYZYGYMAN ;

or,

THE CONTEMPORARY PROMETHEUS

In Three Chapters

Chaos comes before all principles of order & entropy, it's neither a god nor a maggot, its idiotic desires encompass & define every possible choreography, all meaningless aethers & phlogistons: its masks are crystallizations of its own facelessness, like clouds.— TAZ: The Temporary Autonomous Zone {New Autonomy} Hakim Bey

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Chapter One : Designed By Life

That evening. I fell to sleep. Never to wake up again.

My world changed when she died. More so than when she lived. The leaves of the trees turned a hideous blue. A grasshopper landed on my knee and was not green but a bright tangerine red. So red in fact that I thought I had slashed my leg without knowing and even gave a thought to doing just that after realizing this strange messenger had arrived at a new color. A new shade. A new hue. A new You. I brushed the entire experience of feeling only half a confidence in my power to be rid of anything new, be it color or miasma of thought and feeling. Of course, I ran to the waking room and for the first time being alone I felt a magnetism to see her there in her new sleep inher new attire, her new repose and silent statement.

The colors seemed different there too. The walls, remove of their exotic import and chaotic maddening design appeared calmer now. Less drawing Less calling. Rather these wall transitioned from the fire of a hot lime green then rose to a blazing powdered rose nearly so you could smell it.

The chair and table of cherrywood took on a pearlescent appearance, With glowing white ivory filligree writhing and turning into itself like quadrants of night worms hitching a ride on cubist albino moles and possoms and deer. I thought I noticed a raccoon trot by outside the large window but ignored it due to its deep plum stain and bright orange stripes. I heard a creek but it was me and realized I was urinating in the corner of the room creating a black oily collapse of black monochrome wash around me. Liquid black lace from Spain crying out before settling back into a black floor mirror to examine my transfiguring face, eyes, nose, cheeks, mouth akimbo. More Modern than I would have ever predicted I would be.

I pulled myself away from the war on color to find sanctuary of stillness at the brink of her new compact wardrobe, which was made of glossy polished wood now a curious lemon yellow and satin pillow now the Now of shocking pink. My eyes were dazzled and I could feel everything vibrate except for me.

The Sun was setting and the Moon was already perched up into the sky, an upside down fingernail or the sliver of a riderless kayak cut off in a lake. All were the reverse color from which I was borne and accustomed to. Thus all had been lost of all meaning and were now in search for the New.

I peered into her new abode. She sank there and was petered there in a haze of relaxedness and calm cool philosophy. A philosophy of Nothing. A religion of Nothing. With no want to do. For the first time, I was envious. For the first time, I could relate. Then sank my very soul into her Nothingness.

I noticed that I was seeing her face where there was none. For, aside from her clothes and horizontal stance, she was always as she should be. Boring. Non existent. Lovely. But now, someone, an officiant of The State was prompted to lay tradition upon possibility, ritual upon chaos, bad humour upon the Unknown, and lay a turqoise clothe upon her pointy cresting visage. I was unnerved. And shattered with anger. Which seemed altogether of a different color too.

I ripped away this censorous clothe to see her once again and in viewing her felt relief. Her face was of a different hue too. More lovely. More morose. More in Life than when living. I was pleased. More than pleased. I was aroused. And could feel a tight swelling in my slacks. I poured over her faceline loke a traveler with a goal. Hiked over the bridge of her fine cliffed nose then splashed onto her supple powdery lips. I lingered around the subtle curve of her mooned cheeks. And even explored he tubes of her nostrilshoping to steal a breath. Her eyelids enfolded me as if snapped in two by a beaver trap or some flying pair of Spanish webbed fans slicing through the air for an ancient forbidden flamenco with me as the one mesmerized cult member, dancing away from sanity. In truth. I was.

And what I must tell you now will invite you to the dance of your own unmaking. And your own Rapture.

End Chapter One

{3am — 5am Connecticut US}