Untitled
By Antic Clay

A mouse is penetrated by worms, snakes, fishes and human beings. Thus the mouse becomes human. This portrays the four stages of the origin of mankind.
-from Man and His Symbols by Carl Gustav Jung

Holy fuck. All I do is try and care and force and try to care and pound and all I meet is goddamm resistance. Fucking walls, on all sides.
I try to care. Holy fuck. I force and breathe, is that so much to ask? Well. I ask because of the fucking complaint in my fucking side.
Like a spear. I guess this is my reward. I'm breathing, taking deep breaths, deep deep breaths. Slow motion. Snow starts sleeping; steeping down the
mountain night side. Stupid to describe some understanding between the swollen pile that is me and the cold mile of sideways pain that outlines me in the eyes of other folks. I mean what the hell? I know something has been boring into me. But I can't tell if it's just a muscular anomaly or a true invasion. I can't breathe true.
I feel a sidewinding; something that alters my posture, something makes me wince and halt and turn. Alright. Alright. I'll calm down with breathing.
I look down under my right arm, there was an itch, I lifted it up slowly, I revealed a horror to myself: A sliding, segmented shiny, filmy being, forcing itself, boring into nothing other than me! My breath heaved and my guts curled! I've been working to get strong but the usual aches and winces have not revealed themselves--there is a roiling in my belly; an impulse that makes my heart thrill with anxiety when it SPLEENS--there is no better word for it--it makes me think I am dying when in truth I have fallen into the inane role of asinine vessel--and they all burst forth from my center--worms, snakes, eels, fish--all manner of slippery beings, forced out by God knows what and going no particular where; flailing and appearing quite frantic to at least one observer. I actually smile in wonder as I SEE the wriggling mass, vile and senseless, marking the floor of the earth. It came out of me. Hollow blocks of stone. I'll will it to that. I'll take comfort in the grit as I run my thumb along the mica; along the pyramid. My teeth gleem in the starlight. I angle my head so that she sees my eyes, the flattering disposition, the highlights of the jawbone of the ass.
I start my ascent, I hear ligaments strain and creak; just beneath the femur; I pass a cracked window, filled with firelight, I'm looking for a source of mellow comfort, but everything threatens, my side swells and winces, reminds me of the terrible reason for my outset: I consider prayer and its direction; I think about having uttered the phrase HOLY FUCK and feel slightly penitent--my ass is leaking; my diet has descended into something less than I preach. I have huge lungs that bellow but sing with such ignominy that I mull the unused diapers, shrouded in plastic, and how dispensible EVERYTHING is rendered. I have huge lungs that crave coalsmoke and other forms of death. I set fires with all things flammable. I put them in a square and dare all other beings to cross the walls. I put them in a box and cross my crotch and goddamn the world and say Holy Fuck. And I pour a little cup and say a little prayer and I send it up to God knows where. And I force it raw. And I cry.
In a faint fire's glow I force things. And the resistance I meet makes me hard. I conjure a woman's name and and say it and get harder.
I recall with sentiment the first day of summer when I told the world, "I'm doing this because I can." with sardonic pride. I get hard and inverted and wince and smile and now I understand how the defeat will occur: My will is a massive and lovely boreworm: It culls and kills and I have only to implement my silent will to see it move to grave, grave understanding. Praise god. Praise fuck. The slithering twist does not define me. Snow on the side; pale pain in gentle chill propels me onward.
This is how the defeat will occur: Within small curls of meat. Bored within small notions of carnal relief. Planted by wasps in moist nests of soaked flesh.
And other vague segments.

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