❝ THE SUNLIGHT WAS LIKE LIFE TO ME, THE OPENED WOUND.
in the storm, padmé remains alarmingly calm. what is left of her body absorbs the bitterness, the acidic taste makes her cringe at each syllable though she doesn’t show it. whatever the darkness chose to throw at her, whether it be the sharpness of the other’s tongue or a rotting blame from the innards of a tree, it would surely pass right through her deathly glow and each time, padmé will try to catch it and hold onto it as her own for she is just as responsible as any for the devastation. she promised a holy grail before she perished, and the word of honour wasn’t kept. because of that, she will clasp onto the blame irregardless of what is and isn’t rightfully hers, and in her chest it will bloom again; a never ending apology to those who have lost and to those who will lose.
she gulps; her head stays high and her shoulders are back. she will not fall at the feet of the witch today. not because she is petty, but because she knows that the woman is hurting, that she is mourning a home within a person and has since replaced it with a dilapidated version of it within herself. this she understands —— she was that woman. she will always be that woman no matter how much she tried to detach herself from the former jedi and his reckoning. both women will remain crushed, spat out versions of their former selves, navigating the cosmos with repent, acerbity, and dolour.
❝ i’m not responsible for the ending of your story ——- ❞ then what is her purpose? it’s a good question and it’s not something that is easily answered. padmé couldn’t answer that herself: at first, she appeared only as a dream, a beacon of hope in face of her passing, a candle that will never go out. then, with all the rage of a dying light, she clung onto the force with a connection she hadn’t fostered when alive and acted as guide, a new form of the light that she had been during the clone wars.
Q: but what is her purpose? you’ve explained all this, yet there’s no answer accompanying it.
A: i don’t know.
❝ —— i am trying to offer you peace. ❞
❝peace —— i’m tired of pulling your teeth, senator. ❞ when her ghost lies with your concussed demons awake, dull eyed and ravenous, every incision her reach carves and wounds her tongue soothes becomes a vicious, hungry mouth.
peace, she vindicates, dismembering the tattered loins of your disjointed rib cage, sinew by sinew, until all the intent her once sun - lined fingers sows, deep into the seeping mulberry of your exposed muscles, becomes a surrogate for each corrupt beat of your fickle, sordid heart.
do you see it now, wound? her knife practices something cleansing, something holy. dismemberment, however, poses its advantage : god gets to see all the dirty parts as she slices your sins lose for all to see, until you’re forced to look at yourself and see that all there is is the hope she’s forcing down your throat.and the look in her eyes, like sunlight through the window, makes you want it too but fuck,your father’s doing something bloody and murderous in the broken flesh of your mouth and he swears that between your first and second fang that i’ll always there, girl, always in you, and you know that as long as he’s hungry you’ll never be good enough for her or the peace she promises you’ll choke on.
GOD SCREAMS AS YOUR SENATOR, LIKE A TREMOUR OF PURE SUNLIGHT, HOLDS YOUR LIVER FOR ALL TO SEE: can’t you see that you want it too, just like the decayed corpse of your father’s ghost? he sees what you see, darling. he knows what you know in ways you don’t know yourself. (you can’t hide from your daddy’s crowbar hands forever, girl. )
❝offering peace alludes to an indication that there’s something you need to atone for too, senator.❞ and in ways too, you want to scream at her : senator, in ways neither of us can ever understand, we have come home. i did this to you in ways you will never understand. lay your liver down at the altar of god and wipe the blood off her trembling hands. whisper into her dying corpse as you coddle her ghost in your tired, wilted arms. wound, try not to wet her with the blood oozing from the wound on your jugular : how did it feel when you died, senator? did you feel me there, too? ask for the purifying cross and your mother’s knife as you plead to her so : senator, senator, we are singing now while naboo burns.
( the cold Force of the jedi temple succumbs to silence under the old sole of your used, tattered boot. the Force molds itself, devouring whatever’s left of your being as you venture closer into it’s old bones. you wonder if it feels her, too. now, you feel it as it shifts and knows what you did. it hungers for vengeance. you welcome it home. ) ❝ i’ll admit to mine if you admit he was yours. ❞
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SIKEN - WAR OF THE FOXES. ACCEPTING. STARTER.
‘ this is also part of the story: how the story changes. this is something I forgot to tell you.' @amidla
❝ you forgot? just that easy? ❞ it’s bitter. tastes like pine thorns as they scrape flesh in your warm, raw mouth.
to think there is blood on your young hands.
❝ you haunt my nights for years, and you only think to remember now, sweet senator? ❞ careful now, lazarus. choose your next actions with the absence of blasphemy. take the rusted end of your daddy’s old crowbar and pry out the broken pieces of god that lay corrupt in you. show her the parts where she too had the most sacred part in its apollesthai corrupting, front center and holy stage.
❝ tell me, did you remember his love, too, or did you forget that as well? ❞ pry her fingers from your fourth rib and tell her how it was her love that did it. ( no love is stronger. no heart more abandoned than yours, my sweet senator. ) scream about the little boy with the heathen eyes in the sweet town lost in the sands of a lovelorn settlement and how he went missing, tell her how the town treated it as nothing new. tell her how he was resurrected only in rhyme the same day her heart bled for the heathen boy she loved, and how the galaxy continues to drown in its bloody sacrament. tell her about the pastor with the snakes in his hands and how he ripped the jugular straight from a girl’s neck and called it homage to their starcrossed love. tell her the girl was you.
you are a house swollen with the dead, but still a home.
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RICHARD SIKEN / WAR OF THE FOXES
Change pronouns as necessary and tweak sentences as appropriate!
I am faithful to you, darling.
When you bang on the wall you have to remember you’re on both sides of it but go ahead, yell at yourself.
Some people don’t understand anything.
He’s easy to desire since there’s not much to him.
No one wants to know what’s in his head.
To make something beautiful should be enough. It isn’t. It should be.
You’d break your heart to make it bigger.
Will you defend yourself? From me, I mean.
Let’s kill something.
I prefer to blame others, it’s easier.
All these ghosts come streaming down and I wish I had something else.
We all move forward anyway. Ripples in all directions.
What is a ghost? Something dead that seems to be alive. Something dead that doesn’t know it’s dead.
All thoughts finish themselves eventually.
Can we love nature for what it really is: predatory?
When you have nothing to say, set something on fire.
I wanted to explain myself to myself in an understandable way.
Something’s not right about what I’m doing but I’m still doing it.
The enormity of my desire disgusts me.
Look away but I’m still there.
Want something to chase you? Run.
Take only what you need.
Never finish a war without starting another.
I’ve seen your true face: the back of your head. If you were walking away, keep walking.
The fear: that nothing survives. The greater fear: that something does.
All these things and what to do with them. We carve up the world all the time.
I like dead things. They cannot hurt me.
We like things related to our survival: soup, arrows - they expand the range of the species.
My body is a graveyard.
People like to think war means something.
Let’s admit, without apology, what we do to each other. We know who our enemies are. We know.
There are many loves but only one war.
You will need to comfort him, or we will never be finished with this.
You cannot have an opponent if you keep saying yes.
Its roots in the ground and its branches in the air, a tree is pulled in two directions.
The boy is a bird, bad bird. He falls out of trees.
You cannot get in the way of anyone’s path to God. You can, but it does no good.
Some say God is where we put our sorrow.
In the wrong light anyone can look like a darkness.
What can you know about a person?
Difficult thing, to be scrutinized so long.
Even when I look away I am still looking.
Everyone secretly wants to collaborate with the enemy, to construct a truer version of the self.
How much can you change and get away with it, before you turn into someone else, before it’s some kind of murder?
Why build a room you can live in? Why build a shed for your fears?
There wasn’t much left but it felt like him, wild and scared.
The best part of spirituality is reverence. There are other parts. Some people like to hear the sound of their own voice.
If you don’t believe in God, then who are you talking to?
But truth doesn’t count in law, only proof.
Was I discovered or invented? Feels like I’ve always been here.
Measure yourself against the truth and not the other way around.
Perfect and completely dead.
People don’t learn anything unless they are afraid of being left behind.
Logic is boring because it works. Being unreasonable is exciting.
I am your arrival, there is no refusal, we are here, you see, together, we are already here.
This is also part of the story: how the story changes. This is something I forgot to tell you.
You might like it here. I think that you might like it here.
I tell you these things because I love you.
It’s nothing like I thought it would be and closer to what I meant.
Maybe we will wake up to the silence of shoes at the foot of the bed not going anywhere.
It reminds me of where I was going without you.
You know what it’s like to be alone: gimlets and vermicide. You know what it’s like to be alive, so forgiveness.
You asked me once, What are we made of? Well, these are the things we’re made of.
I turned my ears in all directions. I’ll live alone or in between.
Everyone needs a place. It shouldn’t be inside of someone else.
Your body told me in a dream it’s never been afraid of anything.
I live in big spaces, so I’m left alone in big spaces.
We made ourselves cold. We made ourselves snow. We smuggled ourselves into ourselves. Haunted by each other’s knowledge.
To hide somewhere is not surrender, it is trickery.
I try to guess your trajectory and end up telling my own story.
I surrender my desire to be healed.
Take it or leave it, and for the most part you take it.
Shame comes from vanity. Shame means you’re guilty, like the rest of us, but you think you’re better than we are. Maybe you are.
There is no new me, there is no old me, there’s just me, the same me, the whole time.
Don’t try to make a stronger wind, you’ll wear yourself out. Build a better sail.
You want to solve something? Get out of your own way.
What’s the difference between me and the world? Compartmentalisation.
I hope it’s love. I’m trying really hard to make it love.
I clawed my way into the light but the light is just as scary.
I’d rather quit. I’d rather be sad. It’s too much work.
I mean, maybe it’s better if my opponent wins.
What happens when I no longer want to meet you?
Nothing lasts forever: we know this.
Longing and suffering? Of course, of course. You want it to mean something.
You can disconnect it or you can try to glue it all together.
We could pull it apart, spend our whole lives pulling it apart and have no time left to do anything smart with the pieces.
The sooner you embrace it, the sooner it will leave you.
You are what you cover up.
Noise and more noise. Noise up to heaven.
One wonders why a story like this exists.
I want to give you more but not everything. You don’t need everything.
Someone has to leave first.
He was pointing at the moon but I was looking at his hand.
All this was prepared for me. All this was set in motion long ago.
I stayed as long as I could. Now look at the moon.
What does all this love amount to?
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