Manifesto of Hemophilia

From 2006:

“I have exerted myself beyond the bounds of maintaining health. A verbal blood gout leaps from my now spent body and all is told with its unremitting flood. The feeling of a moment like this has its roots mostly in the context of the experience; it takes advantage of any fact, any idea that one has been acting in an abnormal milieu with a manner differing from normal, giving the impression that one’s being is itself, riven.

A past moment of literally five days is years away in this exhausted scud and I cannot imagine returning to the me of before, as one that ages twenty more years above his present age recalls an outline of his childhood sentiment and sees only the lattice work of ignorance, a veil over what he still fights to be. What remains of this seeming evolution will adduce its value only when the night is extinguished and tomorrow is an antiquated term for what my eyes see in their first cleft.

Though what can be the value in the stomach rending, vestigial spell accrued in fighting ones nemesis ad nauseum? The war is necessary and the product of success is undeniably good; but madness, the creeping ivy of the bloodless creature of inadequacy can hold me agog and crush me before I realize that I have won; it being as if during the struggle I had been pricked with what held an ampule of my enemy’s own anti-rationale and abjection, concocted to stir my blood to defection. As a musical descant in my arteries, the weariness fulfills my cells need for oxygen instead with a stultifying sense of isolation, one that abates its chill only as its logic is in steps cultivated by me.

The syllogism formed from this battle and its wiles is an adventitious extremity, pulling the shadows over me by eclipse of the arbor that grows in the days to follow; and in the penumbra, ubiquitous, words of my invested entourage evaporate, shot down.”

But such will always be the case when I apply the bard pedal.