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DEATHMASK by James Joyce

obviously  he was party to it    

                                           Departied

before walking away from his house to go to work he stoppedfast

he reentered through the screen door through the front door

a second time pressed to elude their huge outdoor cat Bigfoot their what-could-be-a-stone-guardian library lion ensconced at the foot of their brief staircase

a stubborn cuss who every time they opened the front door insisted  battering it with his broad skull  that he belonged inside with them 

 

Bigfoots insistent vigilance thus far had only inflicted superficial scratches 

the few times when he mouthed the hand that fed him he resisted touching canine to canine while it was well within his purview and savage ability to execute 

 

they watched him tear up another cat whose misfortune or dereliction was that it set paw on Bigfoots terroritory

it was gruesome

but thats the Animal World 

 

they played the Game hard 

only the hardest and luckiest survived

 

inside the house he scribbled on scratchpaper on his clipboard with a black Sharpie permanent marker

                                                                                  DEATHMASK

he experienced a profound urgency to do so

something underlying  bullying

that he couldnt qualify

he was always confident he wouldnt forget what he told himself not to forget but for some reason late this afternoon he recognised he was second-guessing himself
a maddening red pennant slapping him in the face shaking his confidence
                                                           DEATHMASK

to forget it begged boded something unforgivable
and he wasnt of a mind at that moment to propagate any unrest or be unsettled

he took its Order
when he rarely ever took orders

it was a busy evening little letup the way he liked it when he had to work

his co-workers really liked him because he picked up any slack they paid out
which is human nature
and rather than become disgruntled he played what his human nature dictated

they closed the store

he walked with his female co-workers to their cars then made his way to his car parked on the curb under a streetlight

it was the time of night if one paid attention when traffic was scarce and he could pause on the long unbroken street at his car door tilt his head back and up take in the stars through the tree limbs and listen to the song of the breeze in them to the roosting birds squawk or quibble to have the last word

he unlocked the car door

sat behind the wheel

started the engine

he paused once again before turning the headlights on to enjoy one more moment of the night before fixing it odiously with long stuttering shadows reflections and memories strong enough to ride the surf of headlights or run ahead of it
and peer at him as he passed

even before he picked up the major artery to run the striped concrete between parked cars and angles of lighted storefronts red yellow green trafficlights and cones umbrae of streetlights DEATHMASK rustled its harsh black wings inside his head  

it accompanied him home

more than once it obscured his windshield where he had to cover his brake fearing something was going to run out in front of him

his twenty-minute ride home felt longer than four-and-a-half hours he worked

she left some food warming in the oven for him and had gone to bed
 

her shift started at Four

he poured himself a glass of milk set it on the kitchen table then fetched his dinner

he sat eating in a small cone of soft light

all the shadows that could be hid wisely under the objects that might cast them

DEATHMASK stood fast
quivered ecstatically at the edge of his vision

trying to influence or dominate his senses

he ate with his hand at his head taking the abuse

                                         then suddenly recoiled  wha  wha was he doin
he never took beatings he didnt deserve  why would he lay down for this  he wouldnt 
he held the answer to Its calculated shivering  in his hand

and with that surly acknowledgment his skull pulled at its iron chain and thick leather collar it barked and snarled  spittle lashing its muzzle and spit radiated into the air like bolts of lightning

where this dull yellow skull found its tongue outside of him  articulated its words  from where the air blew or whose throat bemused him
 

it was as confusing as the DEATHMASKs rigid harrowing deadpan exclamations  monotone   grim

the skull offended
               chided the Mask a poor second to itself  the Original  chided it as a miserable come-along whose affectations infections were manufactured by so-called-cultures of civilised men who had to intrigue and deceive to prosper
defending itself by selfish ethos 
strangling any perceptions of logos to remedy their errant words

All your features are mine They are hung off me  superficial  nonexistent if I were not their founding

the Mask attempted to repudiate arguing the skull was detestable  too raw and unfamiliar  virtually unrecognisable to numbed and grieving survivors
 

a skull would be distressing  the human head having to be rendered to create it
Who would do that

Time and burial in consecrated ground  Patience   Or the cretin who fashioned you

Ossuaries existed within cemeteries until Man ventured in their vanity to immortalize their features   Hence you

I can more readily accept lifemasks  youthful  but now thats been circumvented  photographs depict that ceaselessly  Sticks made to enhance their disquieting Selfies  their selfish adoration  selfish marketing

My miserable deathmask 
I am culture

Culture is what is left after you have forgotten all you have definitely set out to learn
                                                                   before you modified your face

There have been nothing but constraints at every turn because the stranger the machine the bureaucrats rule impose their will

I am without their will

I am rooted at your heart

I tediously grieve for you

DEATHMASK withdrew collapsed its black wings  receded into its roost

  

he had to look very hard
                    but he could make out one simmering red eye peering back

watching  he believed


for its opportunity

    

    

1234 (0034),  Sunday,  7  2. 16