The Dismantled

"We are the Dismantled" is what I would write if I still cared about any of you. But that was a long time ago, before the islands, before the faucet broke and this ocean was poured from where your dirty fingernails broke into my skin, the only skin I ever had. "We are the Dismantled" I would write and would follow with something like "and so we are doomed to walk, together and alone, through a weeping jungle, this world that is all we, being Dismantled, really ever had". But that's not what I'm going to write, since you fucking pushed me off the path, drowned me in the tears of the jungle, set fire to the hive, to the trees, to the leaves that cried as they tried to softly shelter me from your nails, your dirty appendages digging into my skin, the only skin I ever had.

You are the Dismantled. You are the shattered left overs of yourself, the hanging skin, nearly detached, from where your core should have been, from where you should have been, if you had any fucking guts, any valor, any truth to you at all. Truth is not a term I use willingly but the absence of it in you is so apparent, so glaringly bleeding, so profusely screaming the filth that has been born from the half-measured surgery you preformed on your self, that I cannot ignore it. It reeks. Where you should have been, where you should have built your self, there is only a gaping hole. Where the foundations should have been. You dug that hole, you see, you dug it searching for some pre-conceived foundations your god, or your parents, or your society, or your savior, or whoever the fuck you believe in this Tuesday should have given you. You focused on the digging rather than the building, not knowing that there is no capsule, no message, no warm season greetings, no blueprint that is buried, nothing for you to excavate.

They are the Dismantled. Look at them, your brothers and sisters, your doppelgangers, your mirrors. Shattered, bewildered, thinking they are lost. You made them think they are lost. Do you understand how fucked up that truly is? You took these people, these brave, depraved, sickening, amazing, beautiful, ugly, wrecked, insane, genius people and you convinced them there was a road. That the foundations would unfold, that the path would be made clear. If they only kept digging. So they dismantled themselves for you, gave up on building and focused on digging, digging into their own dirt, the earth that was not even there. For they hadn't built the earth yet, do you see? You caught them so early, snatched them from the cribs, that they didn't even have time to build the earth. "And god said 'Let there be Light, so they may search all their lives, let there be Darkness, so they may think it hides the truth, let there be Me, so that there will never be a You". Thus you spoke.

I am not the Dismantled. That's why you will kill/is killing/have killed me. Look, you've sullied my island. I'd threaten you with their revenge, but the idea is so preposterous that my laughter will accompany me back to the ocean. Hello, cicada swarm. Here we are again. Look at the Dismantled. They will try to follow me, cicada swarm. Try not to let them OK?

The cicada swarm hates you Dismantled. At least I can count on these alien, blood thirsty, sex thirsty, cyclic creatures to protect me. In the process they shall devour me, as is only just. Goodbye Dismantled. The cicadas will soon fill my own blank space, the blank space you created. And then, I will forget you. And I hope that, once forgotten you will disappear. But I have learned not to count on hope. I'll be seeing you around, Dismantled.

Seasons greetings from me, your god.

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