Sight Unseen Possession 2 - The Dispossessed - Queen Mob's Tea House

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5TH FEB 2015 IN MISC BY QUEEN MOB TAGS: SIGHT UNSEEN Like 0 Share Post 0 COMMENTS Possession 2: The Dispossessed I don’t know and can’t say it. I remember that much. The film’s not all about me but I watched it in a hotel. I was many floors up and when the phone rang it was for anyone else. I spent the night asking for more time. I had my wife beside me in a cage. We’d been going through something, the kind of something where a sequel only gets risked with one of us behind bars. I become so honest there’s blood. We admired how difficult it was to pull the leads apart. I’m there afraid at the bottom of what’s difficult and true. A man is unfaithful with my wife. I watch him fuck her in the eyes. They’re asking me how I’m feeling, but I’m verbally obtuse. The film has promised to reconfigure my realities, to feed my greed for it with even less of itself. As successors go this one plans on staying. If I’m not possessed by the end of it I can build a family through my wife. And

we’ll all wear pink socks in memoriam of what we failed to become again. I remain untouched by the magic of how it is done, how anything ever ends. The action on screen plays out my wife’s secrets, and for half an hour I listen as if I’ve never been able to speak. The film pauses while we throw the baby we had back and forth between us like a ball. In the air it’s inhuman and when the film starts it’s gone. The mommy and daddy thing that happened will not outlast us. I look and the cage is empty and my wife is messing herself on a chair. Jesus crawls all over her, makes her skin into a sweater. I drink to the family no one will crucify. When the phone rings, it’s the sound of my son refusing to cry. All I have is crude jokes and polar bears – this same film got up in a wig. I’m aspiring to be something and then a father to a mountain. The fabric of the universe was harmed in the making of this film. I articulate the noises of car horns as a token of my love for it. Even my loss of identity is sexually explicit. The stink of men from my wife in a sandwich on the floor reflected in the screen. I face the phone to the film and it puts my son to sleep. When you gaze long into an abyss your wife is there fucking monsters in the dark. Who can cum inside this misery? I’m an angel. I’m extinct. I shit into the cunt of my wife and stir it with a teaspoon. She had a job that I made her give up so I could spend all day pushing her down stairs. My wife doesn’t live with me anymore, but when she’s tired of happiness she visits. The family in the film is hurting. Its members are afraid of madness and windows and the man in this room watching them, eating Turkish, drinking wine. Her kids are in a forest hanging from a tree. My wife and daughter are psychic and drowned in the bath. The water over them is continuous with the film. I’m shown pictures of me misusing a dog. It’s the magnitude of my love. The Zen in my brain is popping corn. God is someone I like. And his children are amazing: they can scream till they forget how to pray. They’re so deformed they get drunk on heart attacks. My only ambition in life is to finish this film. I say this to the telephone. My son laughs so loud I know it isn’t him. My son is darker than a stomach. He asks if his sisters are still drowned. I snigger cancer or madness, I can’t tell which. Maybe I’m too stupid to be evil. I tell him to get back to the film. I can think more clearly now, says my wife, messing herself again. We’re all asking to die first. Even the dog. I’m wondering how long I have left to become wise. My strength is how alone I can be. Michaux has a cameo this time round. He’s telling jokes with legs like insects. Going to the toilet gets to be so automatic I forget I’m doing it, which is less sick more corpse. Now the film is ending we can kill people. Dead bodies make good wives. And it’s less of a shock when they take lovers that aren’t human. Murdered is the wrong way to find clouds. God’s light comes out my son and out the mouth of the telephone. If my wife wakes I won’t ever get home. I worry that my son’s body is nobody’s address. My soul is in a rush to act dead again. The one who kills is unhappy in love. Even hurting a child had me confessing to dogs. I was a boy in a car being driven into the sea. This could have been your father left open by his wife.

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