Can art teach? Can it help give a clearer account of the world? And besides suicide what other philosophical problems exist?
Nok said I was in and out for three days. That due to a fever I ranted and raved primarily of a women, time spent with her and lost. I remembered none of this but since he could have read my letters maybe he knew more then I. My Host whom I still had no idea of maintained a fortress and well stock. I hadn't seen foods and tobacco in months, years such as what he cornered. He had my letters too. Ones I haven't read. But Nok had. He told me of places and moments only she and I had known. Why couldn't I've been content being a vegetable expert?
It was over a week taking short walks under the care of Nok for me to start losing the pains from solitary. The head still hurt but it was a small consultation for having survived, but to stand here and try to fix my life is just a big waste of time. We don’t want our lives fixed. Nobody wants their problems solved. Their dramas, distractions, or stories resolved. Their shit cleaned up. What would they have left? Just the big scary anonymous. Members of simpleton fuck.
It was another four days when I met the Host, returning with Nok from hall walks he sat on the stool using a sharp pen knife cleaning under his finger nails. He didn't look up when we came into the cell. Nok picked up another stool placed it directly in front of him and motioned me to sit. I studied the face and cloths. Body shape. Manners. Ten minutes passed and still he cleaned. His most interesting facet being the chameleon attributes he possessed. He looked so simple. You'd pass him and not think twice. His long hair and beard cover the face well. All very neutral. Had we meet? How then did he know me?
I shifted on the stool as my ass still hurt from the abuse. He stopped, folded his knife, placing it in his pocket, and spoke for several minutes without stopping, always looking downward. When finished Nok touch my shoulder, placing the other hand under my arm lifting me, meaning time to go and we walked the halls. Still in shock from his words I was very glad Nok was near to keep me from falling or being beaten as in the halls if you are timid meat.
I was very tired when we returned; fell asleep before laying down, with Nok sliding me into bed. I dreamt of dark, blackened skis. I was in a school. The buildings were in ruin. I searched a way out, seeing hills not far I wanted to reach. Each room I passed became empty the moment I crossed its doorway, leaving flashes of student ghosts and teachers. Books, projects, desks all from the 1920-30's shined for a moment, then gone. Walking into one room I stood waiting, listening. I felt pressure against my lower calf. Looking down it was the feral cat I had known with her we used to feed, rubbing its malformed face, a raspingly wheeze as he always had, the only sound heard, came from him when content. Thinking he might vanish too I reached to pet his thin head when he jumped more than ten feet onto the window sill. When I last saw him he was practically dead, even with our care. That can induce a good mood. Smiling he reached up unlatched and opened the window. It smelt like rain had just passed over. I moved toward the window. The cat jumped out. Almost next to the open air my foot caught and I couldn't move forward. I tried again. It could only happen here, when looking down I saw the reason why and started screaming.
It became hysteria when Nok slapped me and I woke. Before that he said I clawed at my leg, screeching to have it cut off, rolling on the floor. He said he tried to wake me but he'd had enough when I tried biting him. I sat rubbing where Nok struck me and wanting never to sleep again, with wisps of dream leaving, taking its hint.
I'd been rolling around, moaning for an hour till he woke me. When he shook my arm is the moment I lunged for him, mouth wide open wanting chunks of his neck. That lovely taste of blood draining on my face, down the chin. Wholesome. And if I didn't have that I would suck it from the rats. Or so that's how he told it. Nok said I became wild, that my eyes shone another part not there before. What part? What the hell was he talking about? It was just a dream. A bad dream, that's all I explained sitting up, rubbing my neck wondering what had come out of the dream, and if it was lose in this cell. With me. Trapped too.
Nonsense I reassured him, probably caused by weakness and slight fever. Is over, nothing to think more of. Now I had to get to work I said. Nok looked down, his frame crushing me, focusing deeply. Chosen well by my Host. There's more in some then you might think. Certain beings just have what it takes looking right through you noting the inner workings.
Nok brought me papers, pencil then stood back watching. Observing every move with responsibility. I knew as he did, if harm came to me in his company, he'd pay. His fault or not wouldn't be questioned. Action would be swift; the Host knows the way. The way? What for love or money is the way in this place?
I needed a plan. Life plan. A plan to escape. With the Host and Nok. Or so that became the demand. Or not. If not, then I would never read the letters he had, or read at all. He would pull out my eyes and then cut off my fingers. It wasn't clear if I was first to watch him start cutting, or have the eyes done. I got the gist, and didn't listen very well after the first minute. It was always the same. One holds power over another and sweet love comes forth. Here the I didn't want to be a table slut, I needed those letters. Escape wasn't on the map, but if you need you play.
I wrote two names down and gave them to Nok. He looked them over folded the paper and walked out closing the cell behind, and locked it. And I thought only guards had keys. While putting the key into his pocket the other hand reached into his back pocket. Walking away he threw a folded, tanned paper through the bars landing a foot from me. This communication of discriminate pieces of factual information seemed appropriate for Nok making least communications in order not to have to disclose the entire truth because of the prolonged time of explaining the entire truth or possible bullshit thereof. Fact of life around him.
The head swam as I bent down picking it up. I probably would never recover fully. Always plagued with retarded ailment syndromes caused in part from alimony payments for the fucking you get for the fucking you got, as the bitch gets the house and you get the shity duplex. Fate, or difference in energies. It all comes up the same; the clever with least amount of soul wins. How easy it is to be evil.
Fumbling for the stool I sat waiting for that disappearance of those conscienceless stars. When the blinding subsided I partial opened the paper, seeing the handwriting, refolding it, placing it into my pocket. Cowardice. Always that. Behind big deals and decks steamed the ship. I was skilled to the level of being as good as currency. Now fear of what I had done writing those names, and her, melting together as the good drug does, and when the head is in a complete state of confusion and anger usually caused by another person. Me. Afraid and angry at my own ineptitude, out-of-practice-life, I tore open the letter proving I am a whole-ass of a man, committing one's self to seeing a task through. By any means. But how do you comprehend your own demise, your own unimportance in all that man created enormity, through all the marble crypts and stone bridges and incinerators that lead to the market place? That immense ego of folk, believing the world will end with your death, is perhaps more rutted then life anywhere else in the city.
Dear, I believe you meant well. Your love was what you knew. It shaped you. From when you became first aware of it, it held you close. It never cheated you and always told the truth. You cherished one another in folds of blameless lust. Not questioning you felt at easy. So, you moved through life with the care of a traveller knowing your path. It was the grandest of moments for you both. Then we met. And you changed. Or rather your loved changed. It became aware of me, grew solemn. Defensive. It had no idea of how to share. It never had done so before. We became its enemy. And it smothered. The weight of age, time and want of others grew stronger within this love, so you abandoned me. To save us? Was that it dear? Was your thought to free us both so you sacrificed your love? Had you gone to that place where such deals are made? I know I loved you with all things. With all energies and meanings. I saw through life and knew this was caused by you. I could. Live. And learn love. Because
of you my dearest. You turned, leaving, caring now a deprived existence. Of me. I too stopped. How could one enjoy after you? You dear always, always would be my joy. And you have gone leaving behind that shell which you first knew as that child. But there was a part I could not tell you. Till now. In not wanting your pain, I kept it close. I knew you would return, in fearing this I neglected life. I became finished with what it had to offer. Till our sons were grown could I then tell you dear. Of how you changed the scent of my world. Of your leaving, and what remained of this world. Of your bringing life to me, your departed spirit returning in the twins. So, dear. Again, you leave me and still stay.
I remember laying down after having read that. I wanted to forget what I had just felt. I must have dozed off. Deeply in fact. When I woke it was dark. There was something imitatively felt. In the cell I was not alone. It was not moving but I knew it was there. And very near. I could smell it. Sweet, musty. Blood smell. Laying still, it could not know I was awake. But it did know I was awake and I knew it knew. My brain gave in. Sending signals I'm going to die, drawing whatever it was closer. It now hovered over me, the stench growing stronger. I felt it. Please I have to live! I have two sons that need me. For the love of...!!!
Something touched my face. What was that? Who are you?!! It touched again and ran along my check down towards my uneaten ear. Fucking shit!!!! it was cold, thick, slow moving. It would take a year to reach the bed, and I am certainly not going to wait. Brain said to hands, 'Let’s move Goddamn you!!' but too late. A hand grips my shoulder knowing my minds act was to flee, disappear into whatever, whenever. I rabbited on, thinking thoughts of glee, sunshine, non-conformist sex, booze, big ass tits with great hard nipples, money, lots of that, sky diving, fucking up the ass, being fucked up the ass, wanting to be fucked up the ass, fucking an animal up the ass, fucking animal up my ass, fuck wont some cock fuck my mouth!! fucking anything not to think of this fucking shit!!! FUCKKKKKKK!!!!
It kissed me. On the lips hard it's kissing me. That wet musty, sweet stank everywhere. Now on my lips. CHRIST!!! And its staying there. It’s not leaving. Just fat lips. Stinking shit lips of some fat fuck I'll fuck latter. Oh yes I'll fuck you with rusted iron bars! Fuck I hate this shit! If there's tongue I'll bite it off. Cock sucking dick fuck. Yea give me tongue bitch! Oh yea. Do it now! Your sweet wetness I want. I'm going to open wide and you're going to shove it deep in my wanting hole you slovenly, dirty bitch. Umm yea!!! Happy times again. Excited thinking of this erotic stink-fuck scene about to happen in the dark I started getting hard. My cock stretched wanting free. Pants to confining. Reach down and grab hard. Please....
The lights came on and the lips left mine. But the hand remained that being well as I'd have fallen off the bed screaming, aiming for the nearest corner. What hit thy eyes with light and thou shall see. But God did not make things which stood over me dripping saliva and darkness onto my face. Nope. This was not that creation. It was made entirely from this place.
In focusing lay two options; wait, or fight. It was considerably larger then I. Fighting would be difficult, and considerably painful. The answer revealed itself through that pause, those few moment deliberating which action proved best. As the face grew distant, retreating from me I concentrated on it. Covered with some dark, now in areas drying fluid, it became morbidly apparent Nok had been loosened. And returned home with a prize. A modern day vampire gargoyle sanding almost erect, watching my every move, no doubt feeling my fucking thoughts too. Jesus what was this? Returning from a war against a greater army. Single battle with the minions. If I'd not know his shape, then I would not know him at all. It is just that. You witness events, yet the mind cancels their ticket. No see, no harm. There were chunks of blood everywhere. The side of his face. Neck. Back of his hands. Shoes. Shirt. All carrying someone who once breathed. Looking him over I thought how odd the size of his ears have become. Cauliflower shaped. And that look. That way he had when there, but not. Dislocated. Then the light fell away, replaced by a gentler one. The cell now had its own life. And the Host slide past Nok coming directly towards me. So swift he took the back of my neck in his one hand, the other gripping my wind pipe. Then the nails started digging their way in.
Instinctively moving backwards I felt Nok's bulk against me. The Host new this and tightened. Coming closer whispering into my gaping mouth, 'Done well Mr Bank. Now. Let's see if we can exhibit that same sort of enthusiasm. Who's the richest of them all?'
I raised my hand against his. I wasn't having fun without enough air. Nok grasped them, yanking both to my sided, squeezing my arms together; choking what remaining oxygen there was out. Giant pinch. Grandmother to her grandson’s cheek. Touching.
'Mr Bank. Try harder.'
My mouth worked but only farts came from my ass.
'Now Mr Bank. That's not exactly what I wish to hear from you.'
More mouth work. No gas.
'What's that you say? I'm the richest? Well indeed Mr Bank you are very correct. That also makes me the most influential. Wouldn't you say Nok?'
'Yes', simple enough reply from Mr Nok I thought. Still I'm losing clarity. Without that air stuff things get fuzzy.
“Would you agree Mr Bank? You don't mind me calling you Mr Bank do you, seems poetic knowing your past endeavours and such?'
Blacking out when he let go I dropped like all good stones do. Flapping on the floor wanting as much air as possible but finding little, the Host whispered into my eaten ear, 'Do try get your rest. Nok will see to your needs'. And floated off. Christ there are real monsters.
It took time to gather my brain. I sat up resting forward both hands on the floor, fingers curled under. I wasn't thinking. It is after all a painful fist lesson here, that should you fall, never, under any circumstance, ever curl your fingers. It is the easiest way to have them crushed. Nok just did that. One foot on the left hand with his weight was enough for me to pass out waking later that night in that place you never mention at funerals. Hell.
As he looked down wondering if I was human, I saw why his ears looked malformed. They were stuffed with cotton. He still hadn't cleaned off the chucks of blood and flesh. I looked away. For her.