Disintegration
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And I have no sort of religion
I am a fire burning without an ignition
And I have no sort of map
I am a needle aiming without a compass
And I have no sort of reason
I am the sun shining on mean seasons
And I have no sort of reaction
I am the bladder urging for satisfaction
And I have no sort of emotion
I am the static labour of a world in motion
And I have no sort of limits
I am an eye-mote trying to be squeezed
And I have no sort of conversation
I am a train of thought, traveling without a station
And I have no sort of politics
I am an idiot, an unbreakable wall with no bricks
And I have no sort of mind
I am an empty book, blue pages with a kind of white
And I have no sort of power
I am the mud, awaiting to be a support of your flower
And I have no sort of apology
I am the willow, the kick I hope you have notice
And I have no sort of dice to be thrown
I am the sacrifice, the infant who want to live on
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...My Iron Tail.
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By: R.E.M.
From: Up (1998)
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444Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXItL0VIzJi
The rain kept pouring into me, as if it was trying to break my bones, the last of the things that still sustain me, besides her. This place, this rain... It feels like home. Nobody recognizes me as they did before. Only this failure I've became, without any efficiency other than attempts to return to same state as before. Ice melts into water, and so do I became a common figure, yet someone there keeps me floating above them. A Dragoon Knight, she said... that was who I was before. This head hurts... it feels like it's going to explode. A vacuum like yours wouldn't do any damage, beside your own, and who else would watch you disappear? You already did it so, but I've returned. Yet, nobody noticed me, because they expected the him. Besides promises, my ears are filled in by water, and a voice. My own, pleading for this to stop. Stop... I was meant to. Truth is, truth is told... same for the lies. When you'll get older, you lose the sense of lies, because you either know others are lying, and with same knowledge, you don't eve know how to lie. I didn't lied to her, I just offered a promise she had to keep on that heart, the most dangerous place to allow such to be there.
I was there as well; now I am all over the place by now. Unlike this pain, unlike the promise who once filled in that heart. My skull is about to shatter on any instant, same did that promise left for me, that me. I can't even remember what I've said, I only know that I was meant to return, if for her, or that place, that Burmecia... they are gone, unlike me. Half of me, half of this skull, or what was inside the same. The mind is inside the heart, or so some people used to believe into, yet I can't even believe in myself, trust this figure alike she still does. She also trusted me to be here, to do a walk on my own, althought I am still near this same castle, located on the center of this same city, Kingdom of same name as well. People call this place by Alexandria, while others call this place by names other than the one who belongs to this place. These names... they also belong to this me as well. I can't remember those, I don't wanna, because there is always someone who remindso me of how direful this place is. This me is.
...
Sir Fratley Irontail,
With the gil I have gotten during my journeys and some fights I had with troublesome people, they don't differ that much from any other creature beside the amount of teeths in the jaws, I've found an inn to rest on this city. The same Lindblum and these people who built these giant airships for themselves is also able to built such pitiful place, but anything is better than lying on this street. Now that I am inside, fooled by the impression the walls whose bricks remained orange and tied by gray cement, it's not bad, though there are beetles lying under this carpet. They come out in the heat, same for the winged termites; their nest resides somewhere out of this window. I remember I had my own house, so did yours, and we met each other during the training sessions, the missions that were equally easy, this if our limbs remained tied into our arms. Fratley, I don't know where you may be, or if these cards had never been sent to yours, but I know that I'll find you, wherever you'll may be, for your sake, and mine as well.
I know you may be somewhere, wandering atop these rooftops, in the frozen fields... my feet are cold, anywhere I go, with the sun only shining atop whenever I step into. The only place I felt my feet burning was Vube's desert, or when bathing of my feet. The escutcheon lying in my chest is so cold that it is taking the heat belonging to me, yet it is still cold. I had a fever this morning, but that only made me worse. Beneath my pale skin, and this steel sky, many doors are awaiting to be opened, and maybe them I can find yourself there. If not, I shall do it again, whenever I am ready and out of this bed. The bed bugs won't bite me, but then I'll have to deal with this ssmell, that makes me dizzy. The smell of the fog I've breathed also shared of same effect, althought I didn't fell in there, because many monsters reside in the mist, same for ourselvse. It's evening, so I may give you a goodnight kiss, but now I remember that we always worked better at night.
...
I can't go anywhere else, because I can be found on any place I go. My name, my quotes... not only they are restricted to her mind. Once my mind... I woke up after I dreamt another dream, not only the black belonging to same room I was. She, as well. Her name? Lady Freya Crescent, or just Freya for me. No one else willing to be soaked by this stream coming from the skies, only a few people walking there, while the others are there, inside their homes, men drinking on the pubs, vice everywhere, children inside the chimneys... They have an excuse to be on such places, so do I, away from Freya; her sight. She don't want to lose me again, so do I. She is still there, inside those walls, belonging to that faraway castle. Our land used to have a palace, before a hole had been made there, same for the people and their chests, Freya's heart as well. You might get a cold when walking on such rain, said a guard from that same castle as I've left from the main door of that place. Instead of a cold, my head is about to burn because of how cold this rain is.
Like a reptile's skin... but I am a rat instead. Burmecian, as ourselves prefer to be called by, because of our nation, and because we don't like to be called by rat as well. While the majority of his don't prefer to be called by rat, even if this may be our nature, there are some of us that despise to be Burmecians, the lowest valley to be found on Gaia, unlike this Alexandria, found at the peak of this world. Some have the difficult to breathe here because of how high this place is, yet the clouds are still there, above everything, and everyone else. They belong to the sky, who shares of azure gaps within these gray clouds. The rain seems to be warming up, or maybe it's just me who's losing heat less than before. I watch the puddles of water around this street, filling in the lowest parts, the holes dug by the people who felt there, same for their skulls... My head feels dazzled, yet I didn't even felt on this same floor of cobblestone. These blocks are more organized than my mind will ever be... same for my memories. The only thing I do share in relation to these streets are the gray belonging to each block.
I needed a reason to be here instead of there, with Freya. Would she ever notice me, with that book with a hundred pages? So many pages, so much time to be spent... This place may feel alike home, but it isn't. The same goes for Burmecia, and it's remnants. What does define that place isn't only the architeture. It's the people who used to be there, who still do carry on of their own customs. Their own food. Alexandria's cookery may be the world's finest, yet it doesn't resemble anything I've ever eaten during those times, same ones I've spent, or supposedly I did, with Freya. I wouldn't say it's unreal, but rather 'different'. That's the least of the words they used to define me... and other people who share of the same as me. This skin, this muzzle, these ears, these claws; I look like a frightening creature, yet I am the one who does get the shivers instead. I do not even need of a mirror to notice this me... like I said, I am everywhere, same for my memories. Memories of a man who attempted so much, while I just attempt without any result coming into my mind whatsoever. I just let her do what I had been meant to do with myself... to help my own self.
...
Sir Fratley,
I woke up this morning, feeling better, until I've took a bath, only to came across red dots all over me. Those bugs have bitten me, and now my body is itchy, full of these marks. It's like I've gotten chickenpox once again, even grown up like that. Today is my birthday, but nobody else is here, not even you. The fly has landed atop the ointment, and I am afraid to use it. I don't want anything crawling inside my skin, besides what I do feel for you. Someone here may had saw you, yet why didn't they told me already? I guess I should do it on my own. My coat is red, not only to hid the blood of the dragons, but also same belonging to myself. You already know it, Fratley, as much as I already know you, unlike the place you may be, on this Gaia we step. I've never doubted about the unnexpected, small enough to not be noticed by anyone else, other than me.
I went to the market, to see if I could borrow some medicine, and so it began to rain, like home, but my skin burns. Many statues belonging to this Lindblum, mainly the industrial district, had been burnt by this same rain. Unlike me, they can't move, other people do it so for them. Ladies, gentlemen, workers, salesman, children; the rain doesn't let anyone go, just like home. Instead of being essential, it's just another hazard for the living, so does the sun for the people who lived below the mist. You may notice a red dot on it's side. I've cut the tip of my finger with one of these papers. Don't worry, this is the least of my concerns, and wounds left on me. I hope that I'll find you soon, or that you may find me instead. We may be even, because you won't even recognize me, besides the appearance; some men look at me as if I am an object, same they did back at home, but I know you are unlike them, Fratley. I know you do, because if you were one of them, you would easily stay with me at Burmecia.
...
That's why there is the another, sent for this world to help the others who came before. This... this doesn't make any sense, same for the reason I am here, carrying on a basket with the right arm. Freya would use the left one instead, to drink a tea, to wear her gaiters, to open that book, to do everything meant to be done, casually or not. Locked in a pattern, wearing of same clothes, what I ever had done for Freya? I have given my support, only with the arms, the touch... this may not be enough, althought it's essential, same for the food. Without any food, or water, everyone who works like her resembles a prisoner. Our people used to be enslaved and at the same time, we used to slave our enemies after a war. The only way for them to be fred was paid in blood. There are a few scars over my body, and I can't say for sure if it was me who made them, or if these people demanded me for they to be done. I would hurt, even kill myself for recognition, if I didn't had done it before.
These wounds may be new, but some of them are too old. Same for my taste for food, and people as well. I share of the ability to taste, yet I can't even recall what I've liked to eat, and what I've despised. I just eat the soup of yesterday without any complains, because I don't know what I like, and what I didn't liked. I still remember those legs belonging to a Chocobo floating there, on that same muddy water with the sour taste of cabbages, same leaves who were floating as well, same for my head on that day. I can't like everything, as much as I can't despise same everything. By the choices I had, or are meant to be done, comes the results. The weight of my choices may vary, as much as this basket may weight a lot for an only arm, skinny like this, but this cloth makes me look as if I had been working my body all the time. My body may be working well, unlike this mind... On Alexandrian, you can't only find Alexandrians. There is me, Freya, and people alike ours there as well. They were born there, they are living in there, same for the traditions kept alive. A friend of mine, not that I ever knew his, but since he helped me, I consider him as a friend, on a land of many fools, and foils like I do.
My head hurts... the cold is known to make us more sentimental, and disjointed as well. For every step I make, one is likely to make me slip and fall with everything on the floor. Within this basket, there are the ingredients for a traditional Burman coffee; althought that castle is supplied of many crops belonging to this Kingdom's granaries, they all are sweet there, not bitter as they should. Not enough ginger... Somehow, I am able to deduce it, as much as I am able to walk, not crawl like a baby. If I did it so, my kneels would be hurt. My legs share of far more bones than skin to cover them, albeit this fur growing like grass is enough to warm me a bit. These parallel lines began to fall less from atop the skies. The wind changes their direction, same does my hair, waving anywhere the wind goes, hitting the walls I avoid with the sight, and the colors they match with the bricks.
...
Fratley,
A monkey-boy had tried to steal my finances. I began to search for his, so I did grabbed him by same tail. He gave me the money stolen from my pocket back, and so I let it pass, because he was just a kid. We became friends, just so in case he don't steal me again. He is a thief, after all, and I can't change it, as much as I am losing hopes of finding you again, Fratley. I refuse to believe that you are dead. Maybe you are, only in a manner of speaking. Like the Burmecia as a whole, these people do not even know who are you, only that you are a rat as I do. Remember when we had been told of the story about a lizard and the pikeman? The lizard came opening his mouth to swallow the hero in a single bite. But he had a spear, and you may know what happened next. The lizard went dead, and the pikeman victorious. The people at the village believed that he was dead, but instead, the man was reborn out of the lizard's flesh. They never heard such story as well, many of them seem to be interested in something by the name of 'I Want to be your Canary'. I don't know what else should I write before the ink is gone, but maybe I should say that I miss you.
...
Before I go somehwere else, I decided to sit. It's this, or I may had fell on this street, collapsing like a pillar sustaining nothing but the hopes belonging to someone else. So near this place, I could cross the main entrance if I could swin. Even if I may know how to do it, who else other than me would be willing to jump on that water? And you don't need to be in such a hurry, you know what it happen in those situations... Freya, as well. I don't know how this Burman coffee is meant to be prepared, I just share of the ingredients, the same ginger that will last for more than a mere cup. This is obvious, like the layer belonging to any water srurface, where the rain keeps splattering until it becomes part of same water. It ain't dark there, seeing that nobody lightened the lamp oil near me, and this seat. There is nobody else there, yet they do notice me, and I hope they like what they see. They don't, same for me, and this puddle full of ripples, making it hard for me to spot myself other than a mess of a gray form, alike a child's painting, but they do better than this.
They share of some potential, so do the possibility of a ressurgence of my memories. It won't happen sudden, I know; nothing does, except the death. Worst than keep forgetting the past is the shame I feel for not trying my best to be able to remember it. Is there something worst? Of course there is. I also keep forgetting the new memories as well, in favour of the old ones. The only things that are new are the wounds, but even maybe some of them are just old wounds reappearing in places far more than this own skin. They don't bleed, like the coat belonging to Freya, same one who is standing there, at the front door, as if she was awaiting for me, on the same way I expected her to be, not on this place, maybe inside where it's more warm, unlike this rain, and same Crescent other than the moon who used to be at the sky, or so many others thought about me being there. Not even the sun is shining, even though the sky seems so blue; everything is blue in this world of translucent people, opaque became my memories, but not any of my sensations, and the many things that were once taught as memories but became commands instead, because everyone does the same as I do with this hand, so does Freya.
She grated me, but I could see in her eyes, covered by that layer of white fringe on the left side of her face. Freya seems dissapointed, always been on that way. Not always... but I can't remember, or even imagine us spending some times with each other, unlike we do now. Other people as well acknowledge of our relationship, yet it seems so obscure the fact that we ever had been that close to each, so we do now, or intend so. These people, no matter how they look like, they all make ties with another person mainly to give a sense of security, so do I and Freya. Besides making friends, Freya also holds of that same spear, or used to, me as well. althought we still wear these same clothes. Sometimes, Freya takes out that escutcheon, the coat of arms belonging to those who became Dragoon Knights to serve and protect Burmecia, now in ruins, so does this me. One person at time, she said. Once, but the look she gave to me attempted to say these same words. Because of this one person, five years of her life were wasted, and I don't even know for myself what happened for me to lack some communication, or contact with this same Freya.
On a boat, we crossed this same moat around the castle. She didn't even noticed with surprise what I was carrying on the chests, just gingers, unlike me, not just a Fratley. Same I've thought about the coffee later prepared for someone other than me, it needed to be me, but anyway, we drank it as if it was nothing else. I know it isn't, so does Freya, who woke up after she almost feel asleep, or so that spine almost bent told me it so. My head hurts, and so does my heart aches, or something else in the chest, as soon as that hand comes close to mine. Same did those eyes; if they were about to shed a tear, then the opportunity to do it so outside these walls wasn't wasted. She is thinking about me, or something I did to her, maybe that's the intention of same look, and this same coffee I brought to her. Besides being relaxing, the coffee also allowed Freya to stretch those pupils, same it also happened to me. Yet, I can't even tell what is going on inside that mind, not even mine. Is that the reason you are avoiding to look at her? Well, she is looking at my hand, not my face. All I had been doing was thanks to those hands, and these scars left on them, and my back as well.
...
Fratley,
Just so you know, I love you. I've tried to say it, write it as well, but this card won't share of any weight as much as the others I've wrote for you as a whole would. They are lost forever, lead astray as much as I. Not only my head feels messed up, but everything I've been struggling for. Do I really have the need to write more for you? You won't read this card, same for the others I've sent to you. I could blame that moogle for not being able to find you, I could blame myself and this power I have for not being able to suffice of my strenght. So, I am writing this card for myself, like I did before with the other ones. Instead of sending it to someone else's hands, I'd prefer to let it burn without my heat, if there is one lasting. Maybe there is, seeing that I am still alive. No, I didn't gave up of searching you, and I won't miss you, as much as this fever and your name will remain burnt in my head.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
