The Cruelty Of Memory

Is There An End To This Waking Nightmare In Which I Inhabit. One Where I Can Keep Hold Of My Identity, One Where I Can Live. However Hard I Try All I Seem To Find Is The Intoxicating Drizzle Of Cruelty And The Unblinking Eyes Of My Most Feared Adversary. The Green Pastures Promised Have Been Set Aflame, When I Meet My End I Am To Be Laid To Rest In Their Ashes. As My Skin Sheds, As My Tissue Disintegrates, As My Now Bare Bones Shine In The Light Of The Moon And The Fading Glow Of The Inferno, Will I At Last Find Peace?

Consumption Of The Soul, Of Mind And Body. Colors Scream, Echo And Suddenly Die. The Past Is Unforgiven And Unforgettable. Life Has Flashed Before My Eyes. I've Tried To Escape This All Consuming Force Grabbing And Squeezing My Tolerant Throat, To No Avail.

The Serpent’s Of Yesteryear Have Returned Hungry And Vengeful, They Seek Not Only Time And Thought But Belief And Conviction. If Nothing Else Let This Be A Confession, It Will Be Known That My Betterment Lies In Self-Hatred And Self-Violence Not In The Factious Or Resistance To Memory.

Mirroring The Distance Between Natural Surroundings And Internal Separation. Duel Vision Within A Deepened State Of Dissociation. Nature And Psychosis Side By Side, Thinly Divided And Relentlessly Oppressive. Moments Which Could Not Last, Captured Briefly Alongside Their Reckoning.

If I Can't Scream How Will You Know The Agony I'm In. As Reality Folds So Does Time, But What Is It About This Feeling That Is So Familiar, Why Do I Seem To Be Reliving The Same Sequences Of Lamentation, And How Is It That The Rain Falling From The Sky Sears Through My Skin And Flesh.

Heavily Distorting Footage From "Hour Of The Wolf" By Ingmar Bergman. With An Express Focus On Faces And Bodies. Hollowing And Pronouncing Facial Features And Through Repetition Of Movement, Furthering A Preexisting Horror, Creating An Intensified Alter Reality. Form, Flesh And Soul Buried In Distortion

Nights Grow Colder, Days Turn Dark, The Whispers Have Turned Into Screams And The Silence Of My So Called "Saviors" Is Deafening. I'll Continue Down My Path Of Destruction, Evading Deception And Shivering Through The Night In Hopes That Maybe Someone Will See That I'm Running Out Of Time.

I Don't Remember Feeling This Urge The Last Time. Usually When I Get Such An Urge I Act Upon It Unless It Continuously Screams And Burrows Inside My Head. I Don't Think There Is Any Other Way Of Stopping It? It's Getting Increasingly Difficult To Distinguish Between My Own Thoughts And Feelings And Those Enforced By My Afflictions. I Gave So Many People So Many Chances To Do What Was Necessary, But Apparently It Wasn't Enough. Think Of All That Could Have Been Spared.

a hypnotic light mandala

Voices Calling Telling Ripened By Truth Listen To Them Cradle The Consequence Things Get Worse Not Better Barely Breathing Sightless Seeing Beneath The Eyelids Even In Dreams Memories Sinless Image Carving Its Remembrance Over Scar Tissue Left Freely To Drown In Ones Own Bloodless Corpse Controlled And Freshly Abused One Sharp Brutal Instant To Become Painfully Immortal Deprived Of Everything But The Cure.

It Seemed In A Dream Like A Half Deceased Memory Failing In Its Own Relationship With The Truth. Buried Under Consciousness, Suffered Externally, Scarred Internally. A Great Silence Prevailed And Threatened With The Sanctity Of The Fulfilment Once Sought. Breathing Through The Walls Of The Attraction, Below The Waste Of Time Lost Under Confusion Found.

Brief And Buried Glimpses Of Abandoned Creation. Flashing And Fainting Towards A Distant Sorrow. Layers Of A Reality Rippling Wild Through The Solemn Slits Of Eternity. Returned And Exactly Violent As The Bodies Worth, Soundless As The Sighs Of A Gentle Heaven, Mirrored And Upheld. Transformed Through The Irreparable And Absurd Assurance Of Indefinable Loss.

Trauma-Weighted Memories Overburden A Grief-Stricken Physique. Depleted And Agonized. Shivering Inwards In Sufferance Of Lost Innocence. Pillaged, Tarnished. Those Few Scattered Sweet And Cherished Memories Smothered And Beaten Against The Granite Edifices Of Absolute Absence. Every Retained Image Of Love Once Shared And Safety Once Obtained Violently Becomes Spectral Before The Utter Certainty Of Solitary Damnation. Mocking, Relentless, Hideous, Motionless.

Short Visual Experiment Repurposing Footage From "The Snake Pit" 1948 Directed By Anatole Litvak. Pronouncing The Nightmare To Further The Nightmare, Drowning It In Distortion.

I Can't Stop Thinking Of The Possibility That Where I'm Trying To Escape To Is Far More Sinister Than What I'm Trying To Escape From.

Everything Has An End, I Have Come To Mine, My Corpse Wrapped In Red Velvet Laid To Rest In A Field Of Wet Grass, Shimmering In The Moonlight. People Come And Go, They See But Choose To Ignore, Stepping Over Me With Smiles On Their Faces, Conversing, Laughing. A Thick, Bright Smoke Emerges From My Carcass And Engulfs Everything In Sight.