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I just like my cave. Dark damp. It gives the appearance of being natural, it's all man-made. You'd think mother earth summoned her forces and tore through mountains of granite where time carved out a cavity. After it is no longer whole, gorged by fire, smoothed by wind dimensions never existed until this day. It wasn't so beautiful as the image of a fearsome force of water or a graceful old river leaving their print. Instead tiny creatures bludgeoning. And they knew what they were doing. Dynamite. Scattered about and dropping away of their wills and time of day.
Tonight I puked myself into surprising states of clarity. Just pureness which is nice now and again. It is not surprising to me. My body and I have a strange sort of purging system. At particular dates of calendar importance for one reason or another, my body physically purge itself of old feelings, old residue. In a wretching sort of motion my body rocks itself into a tornado frenzy. It builds. These times arise, I repulse all hesitations, run sparkling next to the night, come crashing to the floor. Wings spread and hearts pushed further towards eachother into the future.
Tonight, a nice slow and softly moving night in history. It was the date of my twenty-fifth birthday and everyone got along well. Many people did not come. Those who did were just so. Combinations which fit together in a certain way and a swimming pink and yellow night for all. I like combinations of people. I like windows that lead into another time of dimension. Something is different or not linear to the lives we live everyday. It is those special pockets of time from which I like to string together my memories. Like popcorn on a tree.
In this part of the dream, everyone reclined on large stuffed straw mats. Not too soft but not uncomfortably hard. Felt more like the way it tends to look than one would expect them to feel. The eyes win because they assume first. Other senses always left to wonder that perhaps that time they really were right, having been dismissed prematurely by eyes. This time unusual it was, they were all equally correct and aghast by the results of their observations in this strange place of brand new fear and texture. A preference for not learning so much as experiencing.
The universe rewards those who take risks. It has to be true. The reason I cant sit and wait any longer for my airline coach to drive up to my attic window and pick me up. I have to make step one, let step two run up behind and gently push it out of the way. Until then still kicking still cleaning unwanted residue of unfulfilled dreams out of mind and way. Clear path of laughter. Small ideas like flowers line the road. Some form trees and structures greater. Providing shade over heads fuming with perspiration of intent and love.
It took me six to eight weeks. You don't know how bad that was. Twenty-three days late. Done that, That's bad. Yeah. I need to get that. Means everything. On my mind. I have the idea. That is odd. They'll do it. I have the backyard to smoke in. We'll have that. Hell yeah. Its a really good idea. Drinkings bad, shouldn't drink. I'm wasted. No shit. I didn't even know. That's not true. Yeah. I lied. That's all right. I don't need anything in my addiction. You'll pickup. It's scrambled. There's lifetime. I've got it.
–Jon and Jeff
Today as it rolled, I watched. It wasn't so different than any other day except for the way I decided to treat it. This did not include people. A thought reserved solely for this day. It has long since rolled over into the next but I still treat it the same, just trying to get that last bit out of it. It was not a great day, some parts were not even good. Others downright useless! Reminds one (or me, without adding distance) that there are reasons, they will be revealed after a short bit of time. Relatively.
Last minute girl. Waits for everyone else. The night is over food and drink are out of sight. Last minute girl rides up. Looking for someone to snack on. She takes what she wants right out of the dark. Last minute girl with the style of something wrapped in a paper bag. Arriving just when the door is about to close she jams her foot in slides through. Last minute girl walking along the street sort of running, sort of skipping. She is furious. She has to turn around and go back. Every time she leaves something is always forgotten
There are some people who give you life more so than others. They are like the food you eat. According to Frank Young when you eat dead food there is no energy because you are ingesting death. When you eat foods that are alive, you are putting life into your body. Its true because when the light went out I couldn't sleep. Little leaves and flowers dancing around in my systems. Keep me awake. The cats never eat live food, They are always asleep! Rest your head because this vegetable is going to run you yourself right out of town
Flowers grow in dirt. Dirt is ugly. And dirty. Flowers are clean. And beautiful. I am surrounded by dirt, am I a flower? Or worm? They also help the flowers grow. No matter how scared of them we may be, they only help. Maybe they move nutrients around. Or their waste is nutrients. Again, waste. Reused. Scavenged by the earth, turned into the very essence. There are some who live off other people's waste products. I mean their trash, their waste, their objects deemed useless. And since one need very few objects in order to survive, a true scavenger will
Today the sky was blue. Blue became infected with flames and burned orange reflecting red on its usual blue. The sky today soon turned black. It filled with voices and blurred with tears. The black gave way to grey and rolled and rolled. Obstructing all the blue. At sunset, the sky was bruised. The dark grey almost green, blue fighting, pink seeping through enforcing serenity. Tender and painful. To capacity with pain. All day today it twinkled its blue somehow. It was helpless. It could only hold in its giant hands this catastrophe. As it laments everything, every single day
Smoke still trickles from the hole in our city. Hearts heavy, candles outside of stores and homes remained lit despite the wind. Minds plagued, questions mark every face. Our president provides no solace. His dumb primate face fills the screen. I want to throw bottles. I don't know much and can keep it that way. I get no license to rant, so I'll stop there. I am scared for our planet and the people I love on it. I want to stand on a corner and give out pictures of white flowers and doves. I want to try.
Fastened to the earth and strapped to this life. Our laden planet large and beautiful, banished from its own eden. The earth has created its own amazing places. We enhanced. To the point of unwelcome moderation to her surface, her climate and her surroundings. Do we not have eyes to reflect the colors and light changes? Do we not have ears to process its wave into sounds? And souls? Can they not teach us anything these days? Have our spirits been quarantined to a more convenient time and place? Do we refuse to see under the covers of our flesh?
This day has stretched on and on. It is 9:27 in the morning. My back lying on the bed is so crooked only certain vertebrae meet its cushioning. Others tense or tight like strange broken piano keys. There are so many things going on that the shadows on the wall are flickering like fire and lawnmowers buzz like bees. This is my farewell, day attempted, I missed. Over shot by about twelve hours and now my head can only buzz along with the blades of normal life downstairs. I take it back. It is what is it but it aint normal.
Maybe the closest thing to journalism I have ever placed on a page. Tuesday was the day of catastrophe in New York City. A Wednesday, a Thursday, a Friday and an entire Saturday have since passed. The missing parts still smoke. A luminescent white blue against black sky and usual twinkling lights of the skyline. Still smoking. Another curious observation, the hazy malaise of the people around. They are not really all there. Some may say some sort of post-trauma, others a something kicked up into the surrounding air. Tough to say, have never seen war. Or heard it.
Sent down to the most bottom ground. This is not the normal stage of events in the largest of cities. I see clear. The variations abound. Today someone else makes decisions of the life we all lead, separately and the daily things we think about, in private. Our sacred homeland impeded. Our innocent minds, exposed. A pause. Maybe we will appreciate punctuation. To honor a pause. To stop and revere masters. Those who train their lives before us and in an ultimate situation act on instinct and skill. Some drink too much and then cant keep it down.
Today a hot cold sleepless experiment. Drove all over the streets with no car. A man stopped me in the book store recognized my shirt with dominoes on it from lunch. Asked how I was> Fishing around in New York for a familiar face to smile and say its okay. I did it over coffee and our brains learned for a while. He recommended the Tibetan Book of Living and Dying. Its Buddhist literature. I search for inner peace. He showed me to the book. Ha! Religion next to the Movie and Television Section. Just near the music. Entertainment? Funny.
I got a call from across the sea It was simple, I listened slow. This call from a friend so strong the sea is not large enough to obstruct his power. I heard him as if he were just outside my window calling up to me. If there are people sent to other people from unknown origins above, then he was sent to me. Now others get to share his wisdom in far away places.... I think he is what the world needs. So here I sit and think while writing words to describe the indescribable flotation of his soul.
Things are a good and bad ball of string so tangled the cat wont even go near it. I bat it with my hand and it drops to the floor rolling under the couch with many other undesirable things, out of sight for a while. I, grown bored, now look for the next thing to toy with that will keep hands from being idle and head from resting too comfortably on the pillow. I know that time will reveal to me simple answers to my cryptic questions. Until then I do silly magic tricks and balance things on my head.
Just one month ago, we flew in from Spain. One month ago, skies were free from threats swarming over our heads. September normally a month of colors. We have been seeing mostly red. The summer ended with the giant sound of a monstrous door being slammed by a huge gust of wind. Today, twenty days in and half that amount out, I pray for a fresh breeze to clear the streets. If they are predicting years of darkness may I walk with a flashlight. When the battery runs out may light from above filter through me and unto the Earth
I talked to a friend today who told me that she was almost sleeping when she flew out her window and into the backyard. she found herself floating over the garage, looking down on the yard when she got scared and shocked herself back into her body. she never tells people because she doesn't want them to think her crazy. she is and claims to be a very sane person. she has in her life felt a certain presence that would someday tell her something or show her. this happens to may people, i told her. especially the peaceful ones
These days. Uncertain times. I had needed to shrug off. A release into the sweaty atmosphere of all those toxins plaguing my system. A night out dancing and screaming and banging heads and laughing. I could do without the 12 tons of White Castle but I did have one double cheeseburger. I'm only human! We danced until everything hurt. We looked like we just got out of a pool. Andrea's and my jeans were like fruit roll-ups. The lady in the bathroom was so nice. She was singing along to Bon Jovi. She probably hears it like a broken record.
can't hear you. It is only a screen. It would make sense if you could not hear me through glass or something but it's screen, I can breathe on you. Yes, its the noise. No noise can pass. I only hear white, I only taste white. Touch and sight are fine. What is this feeling? I am not sure. I do know that there were many colors before, though. When will I have my chance to step into them. To surround myself and emerge new. Let me know when you see my time coming? What? I cannot hear you.
I asked Erica if her cat's nose was still black. She said actually it is pink with a brown outlines. Outlines. I remember learning very early on in art class not to outline everything in black. It must have been the coloring book familiarity influencing our impressionable little minds. I remember Larissa did it the most. Probably still does. I also remember liking it very much and not agreeing with the rule. It never looked real anyway. Now I dont have to follow anyone's rules. I can draw any kind of outline I want. I can outline the whole day
The Teenage Prayers. They followed SOS who were loud and fast and full of life. Their music spewed out all over the room. The second band didn't appear to break a sweat but came through with their Velvet Underground tambourines and Tom Waits rough voices and those big drums you stand up to play with those big sticks with big marshmallows at the ends. She's a brown bottle they said and played also a train song which included clacking two wooden sticks together. Very effective. I liked the little train toy too. No one got up to look but me
There are X's all over the walls. The blades of the fan stand still instead of pushing light breezes all around the room. Everything once swaying with movement is dead. The curtain hangs so heavily the wrinkles do not stay in them. Everything backward, inside out. The night full of unfamiliar sounds and ideas suffocatingly real. A million guns go off and do not cause a stir in the humans' exteriors. Prison's hot. And ugly. Silence is a jackhammer. And thousands of breaths are released at once. Peace prevails not where oxygen is scarce. And nothing grows without the sun.
A thought burns momentarily at the end of my cigarette and turns ashen as I inhale. It rises up with the smoke and disperses as quickly. Can I retrace that random heaven-bound trail to capture it midair, I don't know. I have doubts as to its validity and like the same cigarette, it can only be enjoyed for a short while. Proud of the metaphor realizing it was all a shield but for what wasn't a thought so much as a feeling. A shudder that has return to peace as I stretch my neck and rejoice in its completion.
It is hard to speak for yesterday. Regret is useless. Possibilities of what could have been are as endless as the possibilities of the future. And as utterly unknown. Speculation upon this subject could consume a lifetime, hindering intentions of the future. The past has been written,the book closed. They contribute to today and tomorrow and make only the person who lived them. If experiences are not acknowledged for what they were, they are playing a role that is imaginary and somewhat harmful. Like a curse cast in ancient times, to have no choice but to constantly face backwards.
Brick mortar brick mortar brick mortar brick. Fine the textures of the mortar produce finer work. Each element joins easily. Cement is thick and rocky. Large pebbles force against each other. Grass grows between neglected squares. Working with finer grain, the focus of the eye is precise. No detail is ignored by deep concentration. The same eyes swoop over the sidewalk, filling in with assumption the spaces in between. I ponder the philosophy to of the space in between as being just as important. The angle can never be negative. So I continue. Brick mortar brick mortar brick mortar brick.
My final night of many things for a while. September for one, a certain kind of anxiety I have decided to quit, two. Useless worry and foreboding feelings ruling my mind which would yearn to be otherwise busy. So, so, so many things to do. Squeezing all my last juices out into a promised five month window from now and continue carrying on in some new place where I do not let my ideas fall flat around me. Somewhere I am comfortable to take myself and my creations seriously enough to stay floating. And not just above water, above sky.
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