TUMULTUARY

1 M E M O R Y G O S P E L

₁ I can’t begin to explain the first story that brought me here, into the middle of the desert, looking at stars.
₂ I can’t speak clearly anymore, there’s something holding my tongue and it’s bound me.
₃ When I speak, it is in dissuasions as a permanent advocate to the devil.
₄ I’m untrusting and slowly withering away against the heat of the sun I’m stuck under.
₅ Who built this desert anyway?
₆ Who designed the sun, a hot fiery ball of rage?
₇ The closest star to me but somehow the least kindly.
₈ Unlike the distant stars
₉ which I so desire to be close to.

I AM TOLD THE LIGHT OF THE SUN MAKES ALL THINGS BEAUTIFUL

₁₀ We were told that there’s a certain second of the day where you can just–and only just–look into it. But that second is a mystery known only by the most faithful.
₁₁ So I studied the saints, and when I felt my most faithful, tried.
₁₂ I looked right at the sun, right at it, right into its rays.
₁₃ I was deceived. In a flash, I didn’t see anything and lost everything.
₁₄ I lost my memory, I lost my sight, I lost hold of reason, gravity, and logic. But I did feel. I felt everything slip out of my hands. From that moment all I could do was feel.
₁₅ The imprint of that flaming ball on the inside of my eyelids was enough for me to deduce what had happened. I had looked into creation and would never be able to see again. Were the saints right?

When you look at the sun for clarity you get what you came for.
A black dot blur eclipsing the world before you.
Forever.

2 F E E L I N G S E N S E L E S S

₁ When I looked into creation, I lost sight but gained perspective, and here in the desert, while I burn for eternity, I would like to share my favorite lesson.
₂ You can forget your memories, but you can’t erase the history that created them. ₃ History is kept alive and forgotten collectively and communally. ₄ For example: if you forget, and you’re unimportant enough, you effectively erase a piece of history; however insignificant. Like a tree falling with nobody to hear it, a memory dies without a witness. ₅ As opposed to history, memory is selective. Because of this we can all collectively forget and with a little time added we can erase history’s conscious existence.
₆ I think that by existing you become apart of a contract that dictates the course of history as an observer and a bearer. I needed to think silently and escape the collective, to keep my history alive.

₇ To get rid of the weight of this contract I go out into the desert to look at the far off stars.