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Girl, You've Got To Carry That Cross
- Thread starter phlebas
- Start date
malins
Stumbling Seeker
Oh yes.#5 is painfully good, especially the guy behind her for "moral support".
Don't we all long for some support in our most difficult moments?
It makes a much more intimate scene
I have a very few drawings from this artist.
They are all "painfully good".
malins
Stumbling Seeker
I'll confess I find thise two drawings furiously erotic, and yes I need some "support" 
Anyway, I started here with some silly idea, and now it looks I've talked myself into a lot of trouble... how did that happen again?
A theme has been evasion, but there is no evading what comes now.
How exactly to evade the sensation of a nail splitting the solid of my bone?
That will pin me down, very literally, no trying to slip away now.
Yes, I could hope to faint, but that will not help much. The next spasm of pain will have me back again.
After all, isn't my body made to react that way? - to focus attention on any serious pain, in order to escape it.
Futile, when nailed to a cross.
Worse than futile, once raised on a cross.
As the attempt to escape any one pain escalates the next.
And it's not just the nails ... soon, stretched out like that, it feels like my chest wants to split along the middle, every breath raw burning, knots and cramps, splinters and sores.
And you don't even have to do anything.
Oh you can always make it worse if you want, you barbarian, with your whips and brands and what there is.
But if you just step back and see: then it's really something I'm doing to myself, not?
It would be so easy, if I could just convince this silly throbbing thing to cease, and rest for good.
But it doesn't listen, I'm cursed with a treasonous heart.
The problem really is me, and that's who I need to give up, to be free.
Anyway, I started here with some silly idea, and now it looks I've talked myself into a lot of trouble... how did that happen again?
A theme has been evasion, but there is no evading what comes now.
How exactly to evade the sensation of a nail splitting the solid of my bone?
That will pin me down, very literally, no trying to slip away now.
Yes, I could hope to faint, but that will not help much. The next spasm of pain will have me back again.
After all, isn't my body made to react that way? - to focus attention on any serious pain, in order to escape it.
Futile, when nailed to a cross.
Worse than futile, once raised on a cross.
As the attempt to escape any one pain escalates the next.
And it's not just the nails ... soon, stretched out like that, it feels like my chest wants to split along the middle, every breath raw burning, knots and cramps, splinters and sores.
And you don't even have to do anything.
Oh you can always make it worse if you want, you barbarian, with your whips and brands and what there is.
But if you just step back and see: then it's really something I'm doing to myself, not?
It would be so easy, if I could just convince this silly throbbing thing to cease, and rest for good.
But it doesn't listen, I'm cursed with a treasonous heart.
The problem really is me, and that's who I need to give up, to be free.
This is the "crux", isn't it. We are designed to fight for life. Even in extremis, in agony and despair, our bodies will struggle for the next breath, the next moment of survival.
Endurance is not a choice, it is involuntary. The only choice is how we face it.
malins
Stumbling Seeker
So why exactly do we use this word... the crux of the matter...
But it's not just the endurance.
Consider your whipping me.
It's your task to throw every lash, it's your choice where every swing goes.
And when I squirm and twitch and twist and kick up my leg that makes it easier.
You don't want that? - it's your choice to reprimand me with harder blows, for too much fidgeting.
Now raised on the cross, it's all changed.
Nailed, each shift of weight is a flash of pain but I have to.
The mere fact, that I inhabit a physical body, condemns me to a vicious circle of agony.
And yes, I'll reach the point where I might gasp, I'm finished,
I give up my human being! I agree to vacate the premise I have been inhabiting!
But I'm locked in, until the ruin of my self collapses about me.
And that's what it is, when I say, it makes my body my dungeon.
And how do I face it? I can't!
But it's not just the endurance.
Consider your whipping me.
It's your task to throw every lash, it's your choice where every swing goes.
And when I squirm and twitch and twist and kick up my leg that makes it easier.
You don't want that? - it's your choice to reprimand me with harder blows, for too much fidgeting.
Now raised on the cross, it's all changed.
Nailed, each shift of weight is a flash of pain but I have to.
The mere fact, that I inhabit a physical body, condemns me to a vicious circle of agony.
And yes, I'll reach the point where I might gasp, I'm finished,
I give up my human being! I agree to vacate the premise I have been inhabiting!
But I'm locked in, until the ruin of my self collapses about me.
And that's what it is, when I say, it makes my body my dungeon.
And how do I face it? I can't!
Being boringly pedantic, I think it goes back to scribes marking difficult,
much-debated passages in the Bible and other texts with a cross,
signalling 'check what the Church Fathers say about this bit'
Those who study ancient texts still use 'crux' for a tricky point.
Yes, this is it. An inescapable ordeal, an unending display. How does time pass, in such a situation? Does the victim enter a state of suspended consciousness? Or is every minute experienced, drawn out, suffered as if an hour long?
Betrayed by your flesh, the body hangs on, the mind wants release.
malins
Stumbling Seeker
The hammer falls,
And all I see is stars.
Jets of boiling lead shoot up the marrow of my bones.
Head thrown back, I'm searching for my air
the scream strangled in my throat
as I claw through sods into deep moist earth
robbed of breath,
flailing, gouging, tearing,
is there not a hand to hold me down?
is it too much asked, to be not comforted
but at least held fast?
Lightning splits my soul.
it breaks the mirrors of my eyes...
and I feel a soft dark cloth engulf me.
Nothing.
until...
And all I see is stars.
Jets of boiling lead shoot up the marrow of my bones.
Head thrown back, I'm searching for my air
the scream strangled in my throat
as I claw through sods into deep moist earth
robbed of breath,
flailing, gouging, tearing,
is there not a hand to hold me down?
is it too much asked, to be not comforted
but at least held fast?
Lightning splits my soul.
it breaks the mirrors of my eyes...
and I feel a soft dark cloth engulf me.
Nothing.
until...
Malins,
A well sized and placed spike will not shatter your bones in you wrists' bones. I would not promise the same for your feet. Muscle and tissue, well that can be torn to hell...
Who or what are you?
Tree
malins
Stumbling Seeker
That is true. Here, they are nailing my foot first. Otherwise, my hands wold not be clawing into the grass, if they were on the cross. Before , I said of my approach to the cross, it is like testing cold water, as my toes touch the wood - now I am beginning to be immersed in this. I placed my foot there and that is where the first nail is put.
I am writing here as the victim of a strange barbaric ritual, on the first level, and on the next level, I am just a victim of my own over-active imagination.