Pure and simple, the eyes do not look, the hands do not touch, the mouths do not thank. Smile; that crooked set of jagged pieces plastered on a hollow face. Drained and stained waste settled inside a gorge between the skeletal frame and the elastic outer layer containing it. Slay the ungrateful, and resent. The key in hand, renounce the relentless pretentious masquerade sutured unto the faces of the actors in this tragic play. Break the stage and topple those vintage props, placing down whatever sharp edges had been lying around. Calculate it, to reveal the determined trails of motion. Then change the unchangeable so the agents of action fall, head and necks unto blades and corners. The blood infiltrates onwards writing a historical victory over the decadent floor. Until the drippling sounds of splatter reach a harmonious rhythm; this is the beat upon which the symphony of future is hung. The melody will follow, on its own, when something clings to an edge and swings back and forth.
God pauses to contemplate the next scene. Time and space are held still. Focused, anticipating all the possibilities, the all-knowing, all-seeing, and all-powerful reaches a decision on fate. He draws a card with a stern grip. A graceful sweep of fingers he flips the card, reveals his choice; the six of hearts has been dealt. The six of hearts becomes the universe, the space within it, and the time dividing it. There are six of them. The six of them are red. None of the hearts are infarcted, swollen, bruised, or torn. One of them, though, harbors substantial necrosis throughout and within. The infection is dormant, and while invisible its source is internal, innate, and inevitable.
Each heart sings a different song; adhering to that beat, beating together, celebrating the victorious blood’s conquest and extension to the external, to its borders where it explores its own limitations. The crescendo leers on the horizon, an omen of the consequent buildup of destruction. The one flake, chosen, will follow the path hailing a calamity avalanching down. Chaos reigns, spreading, glorious and swift. Veins crawling outward and twisting through space, stroking lightning-like linear contrast; clouds distorted igniting aflame, the glow grows sporadically, erratically, spontaneously, isotropically, and randomly. The convoluted edges writhe and outreach to the untouched purity, daring aerodynamics to bring its ferocious disorder to a stop, a halt. Its rage, unimpeded, decimating and incinerating the stretches before it.
It is the hearts that brought vibrations, creating sound. The music they orchestrated aligned with an underlying rhythm that was set before their world began. The synchronization amplified their potential to delocalize a miniscule speck which unleashed a chain reaction. The avalanche sparked a fierce combustion that engulfed the world of the six of hearts. This chemical disassociation divided the permeating unification which created the components necessary to make up a new generation of existence. These children were, by eventuality, necessarily self preservering. And the hearts kept playing their songs.
The first of the six was the young one. It sang jouvenile odes that came out with purity. The world was under nurture, growing loved. The world was still under a veil of protection, engulfed in the comfort of a protective ignorance.
The second of the six was the content one. It sang spiritual hymns that spread out with sincerity. The world was almost developed, without needing. The world was … a state, long past, fulfilled, devoid of greed, when greed was abound.
The third of the six was the careless one. Grew numb through the dissolution of its surrounding ignorance. Attacks that kept coming. The adaptation formed an effective sheet of callous. Left to stray into blithe emptiness.
The fourth of the six was the confused one. Touched by other worlds, through collisions with extraterrestrial concepts. The entirety of existence pronounced in emphasis, drawn close to be witnessed. Seen complexity, tactile convolution, warps of continuity, dualities of dichotomies.
The fifth of the six was the enlightened one. Fathomed all existence, the inner being, causality mastered. The intricacies of truth were placed, organized, and labeled as the genius stars blazed the darkness of space with brightness. All was in sight.
The sixth of the six was the lifeless one. This one was different. This one was all the others —a gestalt, the combination of the five, and somehow more. Now, listen to the sixth of the six of hearts as it utters the enunciations which it chooses to represent its unrestrained thoughts. While listening, consider the determinism superfluous in nature and the level of evolution its age has reached… It says:
Everything I touch, I repel. I exude life, love, through my lifelessness; I am fascinated by them all. In doing so, I scare, annoy, them away. I sit lethergic sunken far enough into an abyss. The abyss is an abstract void filled with a deep rooted darkness, turbulent, timid, infested with a blatant numbing catalyst. All of it, in itself, a trap, restrains me. I am cold, blithe, overcast. Dim under the brim of my brows, I cannot even witness the abscence of light right in front of my eyes. The curves of intertwined lines I could no more bend, create; the strokes of my brush, quilt, spilled ink, have become the cause of fractured sickness upon the canvas. All of it, putrid media splayed, displays itself with no more than some instinctive response from a remnant form, a structural retention of the reflections of experiences from some past. Those symbols, phonetic, syntactical compositions of aggregations of scribbles, are of letters shaping meaning with etymological semantics, historical attributes embedded, placed between varieties of itself. The conjurings of summoned sentences draw a forceful expulsion of prosaic poetry, depicting symmetry aimlessly; my pointless literacy epitomizing proficiency in redundant intricacies of limerant intimacies. Frequencies, standing, harmonized, tuned, I no longer sustain melodic symphonies on plucked strings, hammer keys. All of it, cast away, my audible projections are a blurt of inconsistent cacophonic resonance, fed back distortedly, only excercise of patterns to me. I am trapped where I am far from me. Moments of anxiety derail me momentarily into a somewhat surrealistic return to existence. So that I am either dead or shortly living in frustrated angst, corroding, drowning, morbid, dying, slowly but in a single short moment lasting eternities. And because I am without life, in this stateless despondency, I don’t own an urge that compells me to change, move away from here. I am in eternity, eternally my own conjugate, where the perpetuality of eternity is both spatial and temporal. I am not lost, but, there is an eternity of separation keeping me from everything. I am not confused, because, I am something within nothing and there is not nothing all throughout me.
When one fathoms a pattern that can explain everything, that understanding becomes one’s faith. When one’s faith is dark and forlorn, lifelessness consumes when faith is given evidential support or is throttled by negating truths. The only heart that mattered was the heart that was plagued. Within the notions of relativity, persistent, each of the six hearts is unique, its own entity. So the sixth of the six of hearts cursed them all, turned black, looked at the mirror and coarsed a black knife into itself, letting the downward pull of gravity ensure it never woke again…
And that … is how the six of hearts became the ace of spades.