The Scream

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I want to scream every time I think about relieving myself. What is this damn machine I’ve been stuck between?! My cells are conspiring, my path is obscured, and my teeth need to be cleaned?! It’s just not fair that I signed on for a life-changing path, a cairn or cornerstone to admire in pathetic undertones of the unknown. There is a plan, I feel in the soul of what I brought with me, but the feet of this thing I ride in have another design entirely. There are vibrations propelling me into this strange and viscous place, time dilating then expanding and becoming null and void because of its birth, because of mine being me…

I spew forth matter that has no relevance, not matter at all. What matters is the meaning behind the expulsion of fluids, the excrement left behind in this world of ‘no matter.’ Whatever… I chose it, supposedly, when I was under the duress of wonder, wandering in a place I can no longer remember. So, the corner of chaos that I once knew no longer exists, and just rots in my memory floating about and stinking to high heaven. It’s not about that, I know… but, holy hell—it sticks to this skin as I expulse the refuse clinging to its core, forevermore... At least that’s what I think when I think of it, the being that began before—there is really nothing more.

I am a fine art painter and a self-taught writer living in Zikhron Yaakov, Israel. I have a background as a woodworker, have taught drawing/painting, woodworking/mixed media, ceramics, creative writing, English, conflict resolution, and diplomacy

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