Some Candy Talking – 11
La porte à la tête des escaliers.
La porte à la tête des escaliers est fermée.
La porte à la tête des escaliers est toujours verrouillée -
Il n'est jamais facile, rien est jamais facile, toutes ces pensées négatives … mais attente, ce qui s'il s'ouvre -
Stop! That’s enough.
Do it properly or don’t do it at all.
You know that they don’t understand, they really haven’t got a clue what this is all about – tell me, go on, tell me who finds it amusing … that’s right, nobody – subtle be damned, if it is a joke then it is too far above their heads … it is just embarrassing.
Now do it properly … (Ed.)
On the road to ruin one more time ……
Will this pain never go away.
The silent voices echo these truths but you still do not believe.
Sirens call … oh, please, again? Give me strength … and I suppose that the lifeguards will all be trooping out again, to the rescue, as usual . . .
I don’t think you’re listening … I think I’ll tell you again.
What does it all mean?
The door at the head of the stairs.
What does it all mean? To where are we all being led?
The door at the head of the stairs.
The door at the head of the stairs is shut.
The door at the head of the stairs is always locked – is it not?
It is never easy, nothing is ever easy, all these negative thoughts – just try the handle … but wait, what if it opens – will there be some revelation like the lost secret of the last veil or merely that empty feeling of disappointment so frequently experienced – which would be better, what would be worse – hiding behind the crumbling wall, lying there looking through an old and broken picture frame, it is far too quiet and there is no safety, never in the comfort zone – in these times of high tension, inside the war zones, ripped and torn by the silent missiles in his head but the heavy shells still continue to explode, outside, intermittently, listening … he pauses, expectant, waiting for the next gut-
The investigation had certainly not proceeded as might have been expected. It was true to say that x did not actually have any expectations and so was not at all dismayed by the lack of success. Constant failure is all. He lay there, hardly daring to breathe, wondering – sometimes I wonder what it is all about – did they know he was there, was that gunshot aimed at him, were they actually closing in, was there much point in prolonging this situation – he knew they could outwait him – he should just end it all now, why not, it was what everything had been leading up to, it was what everyone was waiting for – it had all been such a great mistake, this waiting game. He felt the statement to be ultimately true and it was now merely a question of going through the motions – no one was being fooled. There was not a sound to be heard and the silent stillness was causing the doubts to crawl over him, social anxiety and fear, the chill was all over him now – scream and scream, such terror – are they actually there … jackbooted stormtroopers parade … the thought makes him smile, who is he really trying to kid, everyone or just himself. Fear the truth. Always fear the truth. One is quite alone when the last one who remembers is gone.
… and still, hidden, behind that possibly locked door ... just look, for Christ’s sake, and get it over with. He could imagine what he would see and this thought keeps holding him back, giving him time to believe the worst – it can always get worse – he knew that it would always get worse – he would be there, hunched against the cupboard, a nightmare, just looking, eyes staring, fixed, not a flicker apart from the small movement of the clock, the swinging of the pendulum, back and forth – those eyes are blank to the world, windows of the soul, cry for him – the tie is loosely knotted – cry for help … but, no, that way a madness lies, directionless and in denial. Just open the door and look. It is too late now to turn your back and walk away … too late now to retreat to safety … too late, you can never forget. The moving image is frozen. Everything placed so carefully … are hidden meanings in every gesture … you can never ever forget. No release.
Men in leather, men in skirts, men in leather skirts … chant the mantra, speak in tongues … yeah, you go girl – chant the mantra, shout it loud ... and wish it all would end. There is no longer any way back, no way out, forever getting closer to the edge, this ledge … be afraid. A fear, a fall from grace … still falling … again ... too late now to just say sorry … it is all so out of control … and so, who will jump, who will jump with me.
He walks with head bowed so low … what is wrong in my life … he walks like he don’t care … what is wrong … will we walk away … who knew what was so badly wrong … head down, the pain, the weight, his eyes are on the floor and always that same broken carrier, popping pills from their bubble-
All systems are now failing on this mainline, bruise … forget it, what does it matter anymore, forget it all and you just walk away. Destroy endlessly ... endless destruction … look at all of the memories and it no longer seems to be as it was, nothing is right, the nausea begins – it was not like that before … and you walk away, walk away again, time after time, until there are no more tears to shed.
It is all so meaningless, there is no point … what is wrong in my life … is there ever a reason to care? No, I will not. But I do so wish everything would all just go away. But, I wish, I hope and I pray … don’t you forget about me. Please. Please … call me, we’ll do lunch … and then we can jump ...
… and, yes … on the way down … sometimes I will wonder what it is all about …
A nearby explosion recalls the situation and with such fearful trepidation he begins to crawl, so slowly and so carefully. A few yards further in order to lie amongst some rubble that has fallen there. In imitation of life – some shelter, camouflage – some small sense of security, I don’t know. Anyway, the red dress did not seem to fit, either the dead man’s body – he was most definitely a generous 14 – or any of the other small pieces of evidence which had so far come to light. Looking back over everything it still did not make any sense at all. Anyway …
Here it comes … I knew it … the denouement.
The smoky twilight hung heavy over the ground. He shook his head as if to clear the confusion, what is happening, it is all getting weirder and weirder. The dark feeling grows, spreading all around him. Things are not easy to explain anymore. The cold chill runs down his back and the hairs raise. It feels like something is going to happen – something bad, something very bad. He could see no purpose in it at all, what was there left to achieve, what was there to gain. Always alone and forever defeated. The bitter cold wind springs up to take away any remaining comforts. As if unscathed he lays there broken. The tears come, I close my eyes and all I see is you.
Everything is outside, nothing is left within … cold, bitter cold … never a spark to kindle a flame ... so cold, so utterly empty. It will all end somewhen, somewhen soon. That cruel knowledge cuts into him like a blunt knife. He feels the truth, the God-
Relentlessly that eternal dischord will continue to sound … and ... Christ! He’s already running … please … please help him somebody ... and … and … and … and one by one we watch him fall.
Sirens call – enough already, it breaks my broken heart …
... and will this pain never end -