Love's Naloxone Or Taking the Anti-love pill. Part Fourteen – Hawkmoon 269

The darkness was unfathomable as the black sedan roared through the desert. Time and space never felt more intangible then it does now. It reminded him of what it may have been early in the birth of the world as eons passed over before life had enough sentient thought to look up towards the think and heavy blanket of stars and know that they were alone. How the need to understand and define what could not be explained with sight alone cause them to look above and find any meaning to why they were and why they leave. If he knew his history well, as we all know he does, the Kachina look down upon the Hopi when have simply passed on the mantel of mortality to join their ancestors with understanding, love and the precious rain that had fallen some time ago. The blessing of rain is in many of their songs that they were questioned if all of their music had a desire for rain. The elder smiled and responded to the anthropologist that humanity has always sang for what they needed most and that his people living in such arid landscape had always looked up towards those favorable Kachina and asked for the water that falls from the sky to make their existence passable. He also remarked to the anthropologist that his own people sing for love and yet they still sing for it now.

Like a runaway train

Like thunder needs rain

His voice joins them tonight.

Like a desert needs rain

The sedan's V8 was a suitable choice for the venture and even though he would have favored something a bit more sleeker the engine alone made the return pilgrimage forgiving. Not everyone can say that they had spent their last moment of time with someone they love dearly only to discover that just a few hours from now they would be gone. Perhaps with the Kachina. He held that thought closely since his conflict with faith would take another decade to manifest in a night of blood. Time did not exist here and simply moving took on sinister notes as he floored the engine to what he could. He understood that he could be pulled over at any moment, but he was against a clock that did not exist here and needed to be ready for an hour of time that he spent under books and the bedside of a dying woman. He needed to punish himself as well of all humanity around him, yet for now he took it out on the engine as he roared the beast forward across the dark sands.

When the night has no end

And the day yet to begin

His companions have fallen into slumber that is not restful, yet only enough to chew up hours of time. They lay back as far as the ample seats will allow only to know that even in this beast it's not as favorable to deep REM as one's own bed, something he has given up in some form of penance since the age of 16. He had never had his own bed and chances are he will never have it again. Nomads with vagabond tendencies somehow do not find solace in such material safety nets as he had either slept near some sort of 'fuck it' bag, packed and ready to leave into the oblivion of a new venture or depended on the comfort of a stranger. Having no sense of peace that some rely on sleep to deliver he has opted on drifter shoes and lain on floors, couches and yes, if lucky in the bed of a warm and sympathetic being. He favored the first two, yet secretly dreaded/yearned the latter. The passing of flesh has lacked some restful aspect that if lucky his eager and dedicated action would earn his bedmate some respite, yet for him it had never gave him true peace. Sex would silence Prometheus bound, yet it would never give him those moments that he yearned most for.

As the room spins around

Like a rhythm unbroken

Like honey on her tongue

Like a sheet stained

They say heroin is the same way, yet he had chosen his vice and found it's choice just as destructive. Thankfully it is the kind of destruction that would only incinerate him as moth to flame.

Like oxygen

Like the hot needs the sun

Like sunlight

And how that moth burned.

Like a Phoenix rising needs a holy tree

Like the sweet revenge of a bitter enemy

And will continue to burn. Flames change, yet the moth still burns.

Like tongues of flame

Like a thought unchained

Being the only one somewhat awake for the passage, his mind wanders as it has always wandered. Without methods of keeping his subconscious at bay, his thoughts run rampant after such a noble attempt at preparing for his fast approaching task. Plant phyla can only keep certain thoughts away without thoughts of reproduction. His mind wanders the last time he had slept with anyone and the names change as quickly as a child runs through the alphabet with fear of loosing such attained knowledge as a tower of blocks would fall. His enslaved mind always worked in chains that interlocked into the depths of his mind he didn't want to approach, much less be trapped in a speeding car towards what he called civilization. Here, time has no bound as he would then add several more names and issues to his long list of lovers who had either left him empty or had torn off another sliver of heart that would soon be up for the price of sustenance and Shakespearean spending cash. Here time warped and changed. His appearance would change with the length and color of his hair. Words would haunt him and let him know that his most primal of needs will not be met, yet you should take consolation in guttural sexual satisfaction that would just leave him in dire needs of more. The fist hit of the white serpent always promised more and neglected much. It would never be the same as he slowly spoke each of their names and how devastating they had left him. Some left some lingering need. Others left him shaking and enraged at his weakness and folly to have chanced a moment of joy under such deaf and insolent stars. Others would only be a mystery and have suffered the fool to hoard and nurture hope that would only leave him willing to fling himself against the self mutilating affect of his only addiction.

Like a town needs a name

Like a drifter needs a room

Yes, he can admit that now. He is addicted. There will be a time that he would understand that he only wanted on thing for individuals who would only want him for conquest or even fodder for their own needs. Some would foster his delusion. Other would simply take use of it to squeeze out of him what they could not from others. In a matter of a small time he would be tossed aside time and time again. He would grown calluses and simply understand that he had some unwanted attribute that would attract just enough attention to be tossed aside. An expiration date that he would either cut relations close to the end to make sure his moments remain sweet yet unfulfilled or wait his time longer and simply fall out of favor. Other times he would chase flames that would call to him time and time again and like the fool he would fling himself close only to suffer enough pain to force him to recollect another attempt.

Like a needle needs a vein

Like drums in the night

Like sweet soul music

Jaded? Of course. Hopeful? Damn him, he would always be. When one's vice is the love of strays he would always have hope. He would offer sanctuary using the tatters of his heart. He would build them up and offer them advice and hope and love just to reach an endgame where time was reached and strays would leave despite his need to reach out and love those who needed it most. His choice would only be self destructive and if he dared numb himself in the belief that they would find permanent homes in the hearts of others as he would remain as tattered and worthless as the shelter that took them in. And yet, some still returned only to have him raise them back up to have another, mainly themselves, to tear them back down.

Like the muzzle of a gun

Like powder needs a spark

Such a stupid fool masquerading as a being of pure logic, your chaotic nature always betrayed you. So much as to have others take hold of what remains as a heart. So much as he still pulls away from others and yet know he starves himself from a  need that only a vice can make feel as urgent and needed. He suffered and laughs and wakes up broken and worthless. He cleans up and calls his shield men to grow in ranks and adds another layer to his own protective beast.

He floors it once more hitting state lines as he trades one desert for another. It would be hours before he can close his eyes for only a moment, drag himself into a shower, drive to his obligation and do what needs done until his eye sight ends the cartoon and all the caffeine and nicotine would finally fail him. He would slumber shamelessly on wet grass until he could walk towards his mule, slumber for a few hours more to allow him to drive home safely enough. Such a noble whipping boy. Sleepless moments would only grow as he traveled to floor where he would sleep two days more to recover his senses.

Like black coffee

Like nicotine

Yet that was then, and the desert still had hold of him. It would always have hold of him.

He brings up that immortal puzzle once more. As the moth returns to it's flame. As the criminal to it's crime. As a masochistic fool who returns to his beating somehow expecting new results that only a brilliant man can call madness. He punishes himself over the constant details and the continual scrutiny of staring over the same information as if a hidden detail or a new lead would just appear in the right angel or frame of mind. Each and every time he compares and think. He wears many shoes and takes on all the roles only to arrive the baffling answer of 'I don't know' and a more frightening realization of 'because they could'. He changes the perpetrator and their role only to arrive at the only x factor between them all: himself. He is the x factor that links all these different people together. It has to be him.

And just as any good horror writer can convey, the forbidden answer arrives. It chills him to the point where he swerves the beast roaring at 90 mph, waking his fellow travelers as they sheepishly question their rude awakening. "Rabbit" is the easiest answer he can muster and lets them know he needs to fill up at the next station. He'd tore into that tank of gas and made great time. He might get back my 4 am. They mumble their incoherent comments and return to slumber.

He walks over to the pump and fills the beast with the best. At least one of them will dine and work well. Why not? It has doesn't better than anything else in his life. Funny, the concept of rewarding one's work and loyalty does not go to far past machinery. His own sustenance differs as he walks over to the small store light with florescent light. He is not looking for a decent meal, but what will get him by. He reaches over to two silver cans and some sort of packaged food stuff as he walks over to the counter. The pretty cashier smiles and comes awake with his arrival. Small talk is had as she offers a bit too much kindness for his taste. How is it that you would turn from this? They smile and he even makes an effort to flirt while asking for the restroom key. She obliges and smiles, making a comment that all the cuties seem to be in a rush somewhere else. It would take him 5 years to discover that charm is only an act that is mastered by the bored, sales workers and serial killers.

Like lies need the dark

Splashing cold water under this harsh light made him see his understand that he is a child of a future past. The lines will appear in time and hard earned gray would creep into his temples. His brow held some doubt lines, but he always held doubt closely. A few more hard lessons must be learned and a handful of women must pass through his life. He stares into his face as is the truth is on the surface and time was being bent to tell him small preventative secrets to prevent hell his way.

"She will use you to clean her conscious and toss you aside."

"She will only want you as a fetish and abandon recant once you shared he bed."

"She will only keep you at arms length, yet leave you on a shelf so no one touches you"

"You are the 'other man' and you will know when she leaves. She will then try to burn all bridges only to build faulty rafts from the charred remains"

The cold water washes it all away. He is not a creature to understand a warning, but one who must pay his price in blood. He would learn his lessons in time and the answer will fade away and return as the song of the turtle does. Funny, the cosmic joke plays on and he still does not understand how on who is miserly with things hard earned could ever survive. He would become that miser and hold back what he always wanted the most. A small circle of companions not met yet would help him more than he would know and yet, he will hold on to his need with a fury. It's funny how those who hunger are willing to share measly morsels of food with others. Those with nothing give their coppers willingly. It's always those who know how important and valuable something is are more than willing to give you all that they have in hopes of fostering ......love? Is that even right? Love? And yet, after so many times he would give it up his trust willingly it would be his trust that would crush him once more.

Or as Stephen King would write, "Their love.....he used their love to kill them both."

Oh cosmic joke, how can you make anyone laugh?

Like a preacher needs pain

Like faith needs a doubt

He paid for his items and made the beast roar once more. Time was being burned and time must move on for now before it moves on. The beast roars onto the 10 once more and head to the respite of Angels and land of the deviant. He calls this city home now and ever and would not call it any other way. Many would come and go, beg him to leave and curse him for staying not wondering that his soul is more than attached there, it's the city itself. Not one where others would be disenfranchised with phonies, posers and "insincere" but one where small plants struggle against the pavement and heat to live, an ocean that washes more sins way that any preacher can market, and hidden places where he can disappear and call holy. Those who toss aside his home would never understand that they seek only an ideal that never was and will never be. An ideal built by fools to entrance more fools. The city was a test to see if those who had eyes can see and if they can understand that using one's illusion was more than a means of presenting, but a way of life. A filter that pulled those who can not see from those who see him as he suits them leaving those who see him as he is.

Like a freeway out

Simply a fool giving what little he values most to those who would only step above him to their own goals and ideals.

Not all sacrifices are killed. Some are tossed aside and allowed to bleed out meaning and thought as the cosmic joke plays on. Some will call it culture. He would call it survival and simply limit his moment of joy to less that two years at best. As much as he wonders, the truth is disturbing and harsh as he spurs the beast out of the desert and into what some would call civilization. Time slowly beings to have meaning and this timeless moment will end and moments move forward. He realizes now that if he knew what was in store he would bleed himself out at that border of time close enough to see himself disappear from existence. Yet who will please the Cosmic joke, but Ka's fool? Salvation and enlightenment for all who bleeds him, yet none for him.

Like coming home 

And you don't know where you've been

See......funny. How else would you treat a sacrifice than to make them immortal?

That would not matter now. He had a test to take and suffering to live. He had to prove a point that only the shallow will never understand unless they have twitter to question, yet not to search.

Ah.......why not? Legends are born of suffering for those who know not the meaning.

And his Legend was only budding now.