Blue in the Face

You, tempest, shudder
Grasp trunk, handful muscle
Direct me not, in violent tares
You, bit in my teeth, I’ll grind
Back arched, enduring
I bow to feet, not hail you

Weather tricks,
Feint purpose, liquid fancy
Shame, loathing, mount me
I’ll clutch back, nails sharp, severing
Black drape eyes, bear through leering
Palms clamp ears, my pulse loud

You’ll flee one thing
Black mold shrinking, sun
Silver seeing, bright, starched, succumb
Remnants, squirm
Thread a twine, lace myself
You are, gently, Mine, just as you had mocked me.

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Note to reader: I’m sorry for the hiatus, I hope you haven’t been holding your breath, though it would be appropriate – see the blog title. I have been working on a short film for the last month or so and I hope to share it with you soon! This is the first of two posts today. I’ve jumped in the deep with this one, but a good friend of mine encouraged me to trust the process, so this is that.

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These Moral Bodies

You are one of them, as am I.

Not just spectators, nor just politics, attitude and sensitivity.

Here is my go at laying something down:

Murder is evil, though it can be understood.

Understanding, forgiveness, and acceptance are all types of kindness, they are good, and should not be reserved for any group. And kindness should be actively preserved and protected.

Shame is wretched, and makes those that bear it so too, it readily becomes torment, and should be treated as violent.

We should not distill anyone down to Ideology, Politics, Society – we, people, are not sufficiently described by these things, we are bodies, and thoughts, love and hatred, passion and work, amongst other things.

We are all people of faith, though our dogma may be secular. We all choose our idols, we should recognise that in ourselves and not lose sight of this choice.

Finally, we these Moral Bodies, are both broken and complete, don’t judge any of us, wholly, as either one.

Josh x

I sit up from a bleached bed, bowed. I might try a jig or a stretch, not for relief, but just to know my body is something more than pain. Somewhere inside my gut my tissue is inflamed, I worry too there may be some wayward blood, but I don’t have time for those thoughts. I am having a bath! Beetlelike I make my way across the room. My feet are bare, sinuous, on the teak veneer floor.

My P.E. teacher once said my feet reminded him of a horse, It was not meant as a complement but I took it as one. My feet are strong; though a donkey – a beast of burden – is a more accurate association.

Once at the bath, I sit on the side, next to the taps, and let it run. That sound is the beginning of the ritual. I cover the window, the daylight is too immediate, a candle will do better.

In a church, a candle can be lit in memory of someone. I light mine here to forget.

When the water is run, no sooner, I de-robe. The clothes are piled on the floor. No folding, it’s needless here. Then tentatively a foot is placed at the vanguard, first to feel. Impatient to scorch the rest of my body and yet drawing out all the sensation I can, I lower the rest of myself slowly and definitely down.

I am a fighter pilot, soberly lowering myself – stark naked – into the cockpit and soon I’ll be in flight.

I grab my phone from beside the bath, play a song that will sooth me, and sit back, eyes closed and skin tingling. Then, for sometime, no more than 5 minutes but no less than 1, I will feel my body is fine.

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Now if that is the prelude to the bath, the following little video I’ve made is the bath itself; along with the song – Water Copy by Hiroshi Yoshimura – I mention.