Emotional Insight #1
Brian Gagne
Published 03/31/05

He followed the disordered pathway to righteousness. Misgivings aside, the body reacted with fits of THUNDER to the new paradigm. A hand reached down from the cloud within to pick up the pieces of devotion splayed across the inner sanctum. Never could it be put together again by any stretch, but they help to fill in gaps, reminds him of where he once was, tremors he once possessed. Idiosyncrasies add up to eccentricities
devoid of judgment. Good or bad, the foundation was poured in the beginning and do we just play it out? Grab a bite, read the paper. Distract, cloud, confuse. Obscure visions of righteous action, replaced with banal, arcane repetition. He gets pushed from the bottom of his stomach. Body demands to be purged of this wretched intent. A piece of meat is
suddenly prone to symbolic gestures: nausea. The head slams the wall from the recoil.
A sharp musical note emanates from the apartment window, scaring the birds away.
It’s noontime. Dust floats in the sunlight. The horizon between the dark, faded room and blinding, hot, luminous dust is sharp and straight. Piecemeal prose are there, palpable in the solar striped wallpaper; words here, rip there, smudge in the corner. The incongruencies are laughable. There are blunt words, sharp words, idealized dogmatic response to hip-shot, speedy sermons. Like slippery, basic liquid, oily and hard on cuts, flimsy ideas slide all over the wall like naked people in vertical, rollicking maneuvers, back to wall and chest to chest. They trip each other up, end up on the floor with a leg on a chair, hand on a book, pencil in the back. Clothes and trinkets are thrown through the slicing dust. Two contortionists roll from hardwood to rug then tile. A head slams a cupboard, upending drying dishes and raining bright ceramics on the parade. A cleaning bucket is overturned. The refrigerator is kicked open. Foods and liquids spill on the headached nudity that goes on moving to a rhythm formed from those spaces, between atoms, between dust, between body and clothes. Ruptured, enraptured energy is pulled into wire, wrapping our subjects together.
This showing of force is like a fist in the cosmic fabric, sending sinusoidal waves rippling out onto the city, turning heads with blank expressions. The ripping energy creates a localized gravity. The tattered implements of the city are raised, and with each slashing blast of energy turn in midair. Pets, furniture, pantry items float in a dance of convective energy. All items, including the source, the coiling mass, levitate on the singularity. Suddenly, one by one, tongues of fire from the thin air combust and feed off of the prickly hot chaos. Countertops cave as if from a sledgehammer. Doors fall off hinges and float briefly before tearing themselves to sawdust and igniting. Snakes of fire whip at everything. They rise to strike, rattle menacingly and bare their teeth. The structural supports for the building succumb to the heat. Entire floor collapses on entire floor, forcing out air. The detritus contributes to the swirling mass, now a globe of strange make and proportion, astonishing minions and drawing them into the ever increasing diameter of the crashing, personal super-nova.

-Brian Gagne