I Make Monsters
And I’m good at it.
Out of my pit I can only see a small part of the sky. But down here there’s a whole world of suffering. I’m digging deeper and deeper, interrupted only when one of these ripping, tearing creatures of my own making jumps me from behind. Caught under this blunt trauma shock of a falling mortar my psyche is simply blown to bits. From now on I cannot protect myself.
They feed on me down here. They won’t let me go.
When they’re done and I’m alone I find myself again. Slowly I sit up in the darkness and look up from the mud and the blood and the tears. The stars are so beautiful. Heaven is a circle.
So I’ll write something, maybe something about digging my way up. Yeah, digging my way up. That’s kind of weird and wrong. You can’t find your way up from going down. Why would I even think that? Deconstruct to construct. Wait! It makes perfect sense…
I feel around in the rancid muck and find it. And I start digging again. The deeper I go the farther away the sky. The smaller Heaven gets for me. But that’s right, yes? That’s the way it’s supposed to be right?
Right?
I make Monsters.
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