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You're stifling your intuition. The energy being released is deadly. Pure intoxication, poisoning the senses. Leave!

The contradiction stunned you, its not your fault.

P's inevitable forgiveness

Stop holding back from me!

I hear you darling boy

A (P)lay in Parts for your Entertainment in Containment, your Undivided Attention a Crucial Requirement

I curl in a ball in the middle of the floor. The room is empty. There are no lights. I let myself remember. I weep softly. Under my breath I build a memory. First it whimpers. Now it moans. I roll over and press my hips to the floor. I imagine love. You’ve given up on your own, I know. But I wont think now. I will let go. I tremble. They’re going to eat me alive! I scream! At first its pitch black, pure silence; the love must first come through me. A burst of color bursts from my chest. My ribcage is shaking furiously. I cant stop crying. I have never been so happy in all my life. I am coming home. My city sleeps with me. No matter where I go, she calls for me. She knows she’s full of shit. She knows I’ll never stay. She knows the birthplace of my soul. She recognizes her history living on my skin. She knows, I’m her only home. So she throws a temper tantrum in the middle of Balboa Park at three in the morning. A boy with a gun is guarding a baby blue tower. He is sure that I’m insane. He is falling in love. Everyone loves me. All is full of love! They try to control themselves. They try to push me away. They try to kill me. But it’s coming from the center of my being. I cannot be taken away from their memory. I cannot possibly exist. I am childlike intuition set free on a world full of zombies trying to remember what love feels like. I’m exhausted. It hurts to breathe. I’m inhaling for too many. Breath of fire, alternating nostrils, I see the end. I see everything. How long have you been standing there? How much have you seen? Sing me to sleep. I don’t want to wake up on my own anymore. Deep in night the girl is dancing. The boy drops his guard. The castle is up for the taking. She doesn’t see the audience rising before her. She only wants to remind herself what living feels like. I roll onto my side and let the tears dry on my naked skin. I push to a seated position. I stand. I hear a rhythm in every sound. I make connections between space and time. I change directions. I move my body. I stand still. I click my chin. I close my eyes. I sway my hips gently. Only the dark can make out the curve of my body. Only the night can see me moving. Only my city knows I’m on my way to her body. Only my love is waiting for me. Only me. I am alone. I am surround by bodies. I only want my voice. I sing. “I am not sorry I’ve kept you waiting. Look how you’ve grown in the ache. Feel this pain with me babyboy! Or you will never know the ecstasy I reach on a daily basis. One day at a time! This is all there is. How deep you can reach in every direction of emotion. But only if you are constantly reaching for more than what you bargained for, only if you dissect your internal organs, only if you if you murder comfort. Stagnation is death. Counting is only one form of aging. The other is to take hold of time and never be a number again. Take your name and mix the letters around until you forget how to spell every word in any language ever written. Pick up your hands and tell your story on my body. I know its dark in here. You’ve put restraints on your gorgeous imagination. You cant see me because you’ve chosen to rot in plain view. But I’m dancing right in front of you. I’m naked. I’m not controlling anything I do. I’m not waiting on you to reach out your hand in blind faith. I’m not expecting your touch. Its only a story. It’s only you. There is no one else. I dance to prove this to you, if you close your eyes no one can see you. If you want the story to change, all you have to do is write another. Pick another name. Speak another language. Say nothing. Use your voice to sing only. Your voice belongs to you and you alone. It dictates your physical surroundings. Speak wisely darling. This is a scary place to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. You might lose sense of yourself completely. You might forget you are alone in this room with my body. You might stop dancing. But I wont stop reminding y

Place your hands over your chest and shift your focus to your heart. Can you hear me now? I’ve been trying to evaluate. But the truth is, I never needed to understand. The way you choose to move belongs entirely to you. I love the way that I am. I love my body like nobody could ever love anybody. She is mine. She is strong! We are aching to move on. Her love for me has no boundaries or sense of time. We create kingdoms, then kingdoms come our way. Look outside your window. What do you see? Do you see something outside of yourself? Do you see your body? Do you see the enclosure? The irony of your supposed free will is your current state of affairs. Humans are the newest feed and the livestock is glumly awaiting slaughter. The greatest source of energy has been found and surrounded from end to end. Properly fed. Silently the executioner begs for a new profession. The feeding begins. You hear a story. You are told what is to be eaten. You don’t ask why. You sit and wait for your turn to be eaten alive. Slaughterhouses are archaic by design, too much left out in the open, too much to explain. Feeding on human energy doesn’t require bloodshed anymore. A dead human is much more productive if it can keep walking, an artistic display of modern performance, their bodies a monument of sacrifice and self-destruction. Their voices a weapon, a device for tracking, with every word of the English language the walls are rising. They trap the remaining life. They trick their own kind. They call it love. But they don’t know what the f**k they’re talking about. And that word has never had a word to describe itself. That word is only a sound. I can spell it out in distant noises. But they are lost without hope, what good is my mouth? They search frantically for the life that was stolen. They settle their eyes on innocence. It smells delicious. It feels like living. They turn me inside out. When they kill, they don’t admit it. It is an encampment of labor. It is an act of love. The lover remains alive, but only if she can escape language quick enough. Only if she promises to never look back. Only if she means what she says. Hi. My name is Sofia Mauve of a Kingdom that lives in your reach. You haven’t sought me out. Until you do, I cannot be. I am an Empress. I live outside of time. The bodies around me have clocked in at 2021, a year unrecognizable to me. The earth is overpopulated by a species that is on the brink of extinction. The human race is at war with the diabolical plan of her making. Once again, she has tricked herself out of her Godliness and found solace in greed and wealth. She sinks with pleasure into eternal comfort. The power destined for the greatest joy was redirected; in the palms of her hands is a screen. Once upon a time the human chose destruction, the end. If you leave it alone it might just happen anyway. I stick out my tongue at every good thing you’ve ever done. I don’t care about you. Care about yourself, you may come to understand love again. Only then can I love you. Or you may sacrifice everything: time. As nothing exists but the love within and the reflection of self, you might find your martyrdom a bit unfulfilling. But that’s not for me to decide. I have never felt more at alive than on the run. I’ve never been running from anything or anyone. I have never felt alone, only alone with my love. My hands hold me tight and my body is breathed by my instruction. I hold her still and she offers the pen between the fingers of her right hand to her soul’s content. I am creating myself so that I may exist beside her. I extend beyond my origin. I am and I am again something else. Entirely new to my own touch. My body is as I imagined, longing for me. The end befalls the creatures surrounding. I don’t call for help. I don’t believe the story they tell. I don’t believe in human speech to be anymore than a stuffer of time, an easy way out. I don’t believe in what my eyes pretend to see. I don

K. Fine. Really wanna know me? Ha! I have my doubts. But I’ll let you in anyway. I despise the human race. Love is a destructive beast. Truth is I cannot deny my emotions. There’s no hope for me. Truth is childish intuition. Truth is stupid simple! Be careful with that so called intelligence baby. You might start speaking without saying anything at all. Will I still be wildly attracted to you? Probably. You may talk like a tough guy. But you’re all giggles and disco dancing and I can’t stop thinking about that night. We knew! I know we knew everything the whole time. You saw me dancing in our kitchen the moment we met eyes. We weren’t supposed to be looking at each other. But I was only sitting there waiting for you. And you only showed face in hopes of my company. To disdain me openly! And dance like a kid! And hear of how high I had climbed to see things as I did. “Where is this tree that you speak of? The one that let’s you speak so candidly, the entire City runs through your memory. Balboa Park at 3 in the morning. The starving swordsman with a weary heart, aching to cut the first body he comes across. How bold you were. You are! I’m silly. You’re not dead yet. Have you fooled everyone? Do they know where you came from? Have any of them ever even looked up at night? Who looks up these days? I miss you! I want you to know something. But the thing is mine. It sits on the back of my tongue, begging for freedom. I yell it at my ceiling just before I close my eyes. I’m sure its not dreaming until I wake up. I am all knowing. My guts dance inside my tiny waist and make promises I don’t believe. Who dares make a promise they don’t intend to keep! Oh, what a shit world I’ve created. I fell in love with you so I hated you with all my might. I try to enact it without caring one bit about my own heart beating. But I am a terrible liar. I miss you. That’s what I speak when I speak alone.” I smile. You know it’s directed towards you. I don’t hide. I beg in plain sight. I am shameless. Innocence spreads itself across the dimples of my face. But it’s just a face. I want the same thing that you do. I want to be owned by you. I want to kick and scream in defiance until you let me go. I want to be on my own! I want to create! My company is constantly craved. My body wants my own hands. I want you to take everything. I want you to make promises. Tell me a story! The life we have lived in prefect harmony. We hardly agree on one single thing. I want you to throw fits of rage and then I want your forgiveness. I want your left forearm digging into my throat. I want the fingers on your right hand. Your searching for a memory that has yet to meet the presence of your body. You wait patiently. But movement is absolutely necessary! I need you. I cry. I need you to disregard this. I want you to see past my reflection through you. I’m projecting. You are so f*****g sad it’s eating you alive. You refuse to feel. So I remember everything. I want you to love me with all your might! I want you to let go when you grow restless. I know the fairytale in its truest form. It’s told inside out to attract the tenderness, approach with caution. Everyone knows, love is hate and dark is light and neither exists without the other. It’s a degusting game. We play it anyway, because there’s nothing else to do. You create love. You recreate love lost. You remember everything. You feel time. You know, we are only here to love. To be love is the only objective. The rest is a mouse trap and a rat race and most fleshy humans waist every f*****g breath they take. It’s a shame. But I’m nothing like you. I don’t care about anyone else. They must go their own way. They must create their own saving grace. They are of myself. I cannot do nothing for their health but heal my own skin and bones. You’re the only one I think about, one story at a time. Think about it K, you talk to your ceiling and I dance for your entertainmen

Don’t touch me I’d rather scream. Crying is for babies and I have seen all that I need to see. Don’t speak! You’ve said enough, babe. Kick sticks! Get a life! You’re staring at a f*****g screen all day! Don’t tell me that you belong here. Don’t talk to me ever again. I’m going under the ocean and this time I’m not coming up for air. I forgot the color of your eyes. They turned to the reflection. They became possessed by the great source of energy. The thief of everyone living isn’t a force to be reckoned with. You cannot kill your own creation without killing yourself. Your eyes are responsible for everything. No fear no hate no pain no broken hearts. You could’ve had my way. We could’ve disappeared into the park without saying goodbye to anyone. You could’ve dipped the screen in water. You could’ve looked up instead. You would’ve closed your eyes if you could, I know. You would’ve remembered that sleeping is death and that death is a shift in dimension a different shape a different face. Every face looks exactly the same if you look hard enough. What’s the matter my love, are you giving up? Have you tried and tried again to no conclusion no consolation? Are you still craving something? Does she know yet? You died and forget to mention it to anyone. You vanished without a trace! What a shame, you could’ve seen everything. Sound herself would’ve stepped before you and danced on your naked lap until you stopped crying. You could’ve created something beautiful. But you distorted language instead. Now you fear death and love and time have been forced into separate definitions and all you give a f**k about is the ending. There you go again sitting waiting begging for a tomorrow that has already came. It has been between your fingers the whole time. You never bothered to look at your hands. Aging is staring you back through a piece of glass. Break it brat! That’s not what you look like. Trust me. I’ve seen everything. You look like me. I look like you. A simple nights sleep takes you into the next life and you awake every time expecting to see the same thing. Well, here it is, your wish is my command. If you want to speak about saggy skin and bones breaking, then it will take you to decay without hesitation. Beauty is your upmost concern and you fear death. So you rot from the inside and pretend this definition of beautiful doesn’t feel disgusting. But every time you speak of it you puke. In my dreams you cut pieces from my body and try to mimic my emotion. You replay the scene a thousand times until you’ve memorized the patterns. But as soon as you try to act them out I’m gone. You keep forgetting the boy drowned. You can’t remember the water. So you waste away without a single moment and wait for time to come. But love doesn’t work that way. Stop waiting! I’m not giving up on you.

The beautiful boy sets his sights across the ocean. He knows his love is waiting. He knows she is impatient. He takes time anyway. No one can fool him. He has all the answers in a small backpack. His father was Michael Jackson. His mother was Kathy Acker. He had but one brother, Fyodor Dostoyevsky. He’s been alone all of his life. He doesn’t intend on running away. The beautiful boy is going home. He’s sitting on the floor crying in the palms of his hands. He’s the happiest he’s ever been. He’s been sitting of some floor somewhere for the last four years. He’s not lazy. He works through the night, most of the day too. He refuses to participate in society. It has only ever made him sick. The beautiful boy loves to be healthy. He does not want to harm anything. Above all else is his love. From this place it flows, pours out of his skin, drowning everything that dares stand before him. He knows its time to stand up. He knows its time to embrace the unknown again. He knows the control is in another’s hands. He is obedient. He is submissive. He has surrendered completely to the feisty girl living inside of him. He knows that she is the reason his heart beats. She speaks through him when he quiets his mind. She moves him when he gives himself willingly. She punishes him when he is stubborn. He rarely disobeys. But he is brat. He wants everything! Nothing satisfies. His curiosity has no end. He is quickly annoyed with most man made things. He climbs trees. He reads books. He doesn’t speak until she writes the words. “Tell me boy! What have you to say?” He looks at her suspiciously. “Who’s to say speaking is necessary! Your words confuse. Riddles that don’t get solved and lies that get stuck between your teeth; why must they all say what they don’t mean! I want the truth! Aren’t they lonely without it? How can they move through each day so decidedly? As if they know what awaits them. As if they have control. Does this desire to order every second in their day not disrupt their natural tendencies? Have they no intuition? Where is the spirit hiding? Has she abandoned them completely in their total disregard for love? What is affection in this state of existence? Where could your love possibly be coming from if not from yourself? Isn’t that screen stealing something important? Do you feel lonely without it? Aren’t you even the slightest bit worried, that loneliness and agony go hand in hand? You are never alone! You’re a dead child walking around in a fully-grown human form, covered in shame! That is your love that you are with! Are you not ashamed of refusing to acknowledge her presence in your life! I don’t want to speak! I only want to hold you.” She begins to explain. “A long time ago there was a boy just like you. I was given to his body too. He played along with this sickness that you speak of. He was performing. Only he’d forgotten it was all make believe. He thought, if only he could find a girl to love, it would be okay. He could forget he’d forgotten in the first place. Well, I was furious, as you would imagine; what with being beside him and all. He withheld my voice! My existence was unbearable for us both. He didn’t remember me. He thought he was alone. He almost died a thousand times. I wanted to let him! But I couldn’t. I knew his destiny. And I knew I was love to him. So I waited. I gave my energy to work that I didn’t believe in. I let him ingest flesh. Murderous tendencies soaked his blood and enveloped me. I watched him torture his body. I watched his scream in agony. Loneliness, he called it. As we sat on the floor together, screaming out for his love: me. I lost my temper and snapped. I rewrote the story. I had to save him! I brought him a mirror. Her name was P. He thought this reflection was outside of him at first. As I danced in her body before him to remind him of my presence, he could only weep. The love he’d been searching for finally came. But the bod

It all began in the night. I am certain it could’ve been one of the days in a week; by at this point in my life I had ceased counting time entirely. I was walking to my favorite bar. I was surrounded by familiar faces. These faces were smiling. I couldn’t understand what was so funny about the world we were playing in. I suppose at some point play takes every form. As soon as we step off the playground we’re already downtown. David was swinging like child, feels like yesterday. But than, so does everything else. I don’t trust this feeling. I have a strong theory that I’ve been testing. But that’s a conversation for the evening to come. I shall not waste it on you before you’re listening. It shall be heard. I have my mind on someone in particular. Of course, she a girl I once knew. Of course, the love was unrequited. But that’s not entirely true. Mostly, this story is a lie. I’m not lying; this is based completely on real life events. But my truth is not to be shared with you. So my story must remain entertainment. For your eyes only and then you must live in your own mind. I cannot assume my perspective. That’s absurd! I live to reflect you, to be reflected by you. “You are not here to serve!” I yell this at the top of my lungs as soon as I enter the building. The guy at the door regrets letting me in. He makes a threatening gesture. But I can’t take him seriously with that dumb stare he’s offering. I’m looking him dead in the eyes. I could’ve sworn I saw something alive. He recognizes my smile and turns white. Did he assume he’d died? What a strange place I’ve wandered into. Am I still in the right city? Where is home again. “Dove” I whisper. Dove is home. I quickly realize I am on the wrong floor. I stick out my tongue at my general audience and run up two flights of stairs. I scream again, but I’ve already forgotten my line. “It’s empty! Life is but a vision. My dream. There is only infinite space and I. And you are but a figment of your own imagination. You are only a thought of mine. Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Are you willing to fathom existence? Wont you try! What could possibly be more important to you? You want to keep filling sticky glasses with poison and watching it slip down the throats of a hundred thousand more boys than you’d ever care to give your service to? Do any of them choke the way I do? I’m too curious for my own good, I know. But don’t deny yourself the only bit of living left inside you. Imagine the chair in the far right corner. Imagine me in it. Imagine the towel in my back pocket. Imagination is vivid, isn’t it? Sharper than real life motion, picture this. It’s a picture over our bed. A photo of me naked on my hands and knees dead center that bar before opening day. Not a soul to witness my display of love, still living. Picture the end. Picture a day where this space is for rent and whole business of serving goes extinct. Imagine that the entire floor is ours, every inch of that bar top at the disposal of the creative power of desire and pleasure within. Imagine the animalistic tendencies persevere above all else. Imagine killing or being killed. Would you do it? Which would you rather, bending me over from the side of serving, or being served? Both feel the same to me. No matter which role I’m playing, I am always at your mercy. Time and time again I climb this f*****g staircase! The place is gutted and robbed of memory. I’m always crying out. I’m always in need. I will never stop loving. Despite the self-degradation, I will remain vulnerable. I have nothing else to give this place except love. Unabashed! Fearlessly displaying the ghost of a love that once lived inside of your very own flesh and bones. Don’t you miss her?” No I don’t. Missing requires me to separate time, and that I have simply denied as a possibility any longer. She’s staring at the back of his neck. She’s trying imagine serving herself. She’s