‘Centre yourself’ they used to tell me when the nausea got too much. ‘Be here now.’ ‘Find your sense of home.’ It’s good advice, when you take it in your own particular flavour, but most people assume it means ‘think of sunshine, a fresh breeze, still waters and soft ground’. Those things feel most uncomfortable to me. I do not have those things at my centre. I am not soft and gentle and still and bright. Sure, they might feel calming. But they are not true to my nature.
I am ever-flowing; full of energy and vulgar intent. I absorb the emotions of others, transform them and spit them back out. I puff myself up, I stand on my competitors, I give only when I want to receive. And ultimately I am nothing. I am not a permanent fixture in this world and nor would I want to be. For as long as death is at my tail, everything I experience is being thrown into a black hole.
The key lies in understanding that that is where the magic is; where space and time follow no rules; where all that we know becomes all that we don’t. Most will deny the true centre, and most will shy away from immersing in it, preferring instead to paste a photo of a meadow over the unsightly chasm.
I don’t hide from anything. I embrace the darkness and the decay and the unknown. I drink my coffee black, I drink my whiskey straight. I smoke cigars. I revel in guttural vocals, rasps and blast beats. Any transmitter of white noise is my church, connecting me to my core frequency.
So you see, when I stand in front of a full length mirror, wearing my tailored black suit and tie, cleanly shaven, freshly showered and groomed; these are the things I visualise to centre myself. And when I do, something ignites behind my eyes. My posture straightens, my spine takes an injection of certainty, and I feel ten feet tall. I don’t feel the nausea anymore. I am without fear, and I am alive.
Fragments of Void is an illustrated, hand-bound zine compiling short bursts of creative writing about nihilism and dark spirituality.