thoughts: part one inspired by the band hum... and life over the course of one particular july I. you swore that magnets wouldn´t ruin the tv, that the moons elipse wouldn´t keep us from sleep but there´s purple in the bottom-right corner i´m awake & hungry & there´s nothing to eat and the bathroom sink isn´t dripping and there´s not a rat in the attic plotting our bloody murder but there is & there is and you should never mention schizophrenia around a crazy man unless a burning bush stated holy decree or chiseled out commandments; say this but don´t look them in the eye when you´re hiding facts: --what happened today after work? --who was that girl in your photo album? remember to look down before answering.
thoughts: part II lightning struck the house again and power´s out, cable´s down no southpark at midnight just the dark & time to think on crushing voltage crashing down on white-hot electrons, the peal of thunder on a shockwave spreading for miles around. And you´re away in dreams of raver-beads thunder turned to bass-kick & techno-pop dancefloor powered by a supercell, driving the party to screams & a feeling that´s inexplicable / undefinable / enigmatic just as the how and why of tornadoes. You´re afraid of cyclonic motion of breakneck winds & destruction but you´re sleeping through a thunderstorm not even disturbed; I can´t understand how your age changes with the lunar calendar and did you catch the news last night? this month there will be two blue moons, venus & mercury are in equilibrium the 900# astrologists are frenzied commercials running 24 hrs a day. how long will it take for science to catch up or capture spirituality the duodat of ancient sumeria take us to heaven in fire & smoke the cause & effect of a cigarette is the same as a launching rocketship as a meteorite entering the atmosphere as my blood when your eyes turn to me like meeting the gaze of a basilisk the termperature´s such that it shocks the nerves is why you´ve noticed my nervousness in a public place, let alone a dinner date how to act / what to say / how close to get when i just want to get away from prying eyes with their teeth & unimportant thoughts but when your dream is to entertain an audience you get used to examining public opinion.
thoughts: part III you’d swear there’s some planetary configuration that maybe mars pulling on venus is chaos affecting affection and I understand, agree, it appears everyone’s afflicted with second guessing themselves, unsure if their feet can feel the ground, is it solid or are they sinking into a swamp of drowsy, drugged up dreams dug up from countless subconscious caverns and I can tell you now, don’t ever listen to an appealing person appearing from thin air they’re simply air, weightless, an apparition with words / thoughts / feelings that turn to fog and dissipate once exposed to sunlight. parapsychologists will go on to explain the earths magnetic field, an underground lake and a high quantity of electricity will create some pretty fucked up things; waking dreams that leave cuts on your ankles, blood in the tub, the smell of earth and a spine tingling feeling you’re deep in this hole about to be filled and you can believe this new-age science stuff, study the stars, mark the movement of constellations; I’m not saying there’s any proof of the paranormal, Just that everything’s fucked up, that’s all.
thoughts: part IV a summer night and it’s actually kind of chilly the hairs on my arm are on end, I’m trembling and it could be hunger, anger, apprehension or recognition of odd behavior; hot and cold and snow, I swear it could snow thirteen feet this july night and I’d not be stunned, in fact it would fit perfectly, represent the feeling that body, mind, and spirit are going numb. the coke cap said please try again so I called, to get what, I don’t know; happiness to hear from a friend, to feel a desire to see this face and I found out that yes, there’s almost nothing left and so I’ll adjust the attitude not call, not push, and not care. and so all weekend I was at the new apartment and it was quiet, and my mind wasn’t racing over the review of mistakes or the harm of heartache; I felt like healing using nothing but intelligence the power of the brain is the same as a bullet as a ten ton wrecking ball breaking buildings apart the strength is such that it stretches beliefs and now I believe pressure shrinks the world so I’ll go reactive, live only by responses.
these skinny arms are elasticized, stretched between two telephone poles and can’t take more torture, so please don’t remind me we were once friends that we’ve been stranded together with no electricity no hot water when those inches of snow stuck to the street and we buried the beer on the deck and dug under the blankets and survived off of body heat I don’t want to remember the bombardment of our faery tales the evocations countless poems create shut these preoccupied eyes, go to another place, think about what? this stellar year in review? permanent full moon madness fell and no amount of anti-matter could reverse the tidal destruction and so the oil leaked out my engine blew I moved returned to the starting line you got back that wrecking ball and flew so fast away I turned into a pessimist just like that just one more chance, she asks can’t the coffee house accommodate two comets on a collision course her eyelashes fling hypnotic hooks I shuffle my feet indecisively and thank god I remember
five thirty five thursday (inspired and based on "heat factory" by GauchoTony) four fifteen pm tuesday and the sun coming down in spotted beams from kudzu vines over the window and can you imagine if I approached like that all disconnected, intense and blinding? people would flinch make fun fall in love cross my heart hope to die there´s an angel there stepped off a cumulus almost makes me believe in god cos divinity sculpted into the shape of her shoulders her tricepts, I kid you not I´d do anything to cut to the point to talk about that pink kitty-cat stamped on her shirt and stop the chit-chat and so we smoked all night, watched high fidelity it was the strangest because at seven reality started matching the movie telephone rang when it rang someone came over when they did then someone sang let´s get it on and we went to my bedroom I said this will last only twenty minutes but that was yesterday and we still haven´t slept and today like now we´re still here talking about things that really matter and we´re strangers two totally different creatures, really she thinks she´ll leave and I won´t call but how in the world do you get off and not sleep and not call someone the next day and be able to live your life. I am as average as anybody, I know my looks my wits won´t win a war but I don´t know if you´ve a middle name but you´re not married and that´s something. while she was here I kept asking are we ghosts on the dust in the light coming in through the window or will there be a saturday morning when after I wake up and wash up we´ll meet I mean I´d like to know this isn´t dreaming but she wouldn´t answer, just moved her hips so it, I mean so I was rubbing and her hair fell over her eyes not so she couldn´t see, just covering and I noticed a hemp choker necklace and reached behind her back and she jumped, started laughing and I really thought that after a nap she´d be gone, that I´d never know the calm on her face in the morning that it´d be five thirty five on thursday and I´d be writing this feeling sorry.
I love -elasticized- Talking about your ex? Great stuff, I've read about one third so far...slowly but surely I'll get through it.
ocular assisted, tattle-tale communication decodes emotional transmissions, routes them out her iris to the notepad where i record the paths of lions stalking her spikes how her toes taste oxygen but still feet don’t get dirty from dancing. her arms move in patterns, & she twists her wrists to match the growl of an angry sound driven by a furious drumbeat. she whispers, she smiles and with a quiet, cat-like quick look her eyes swerve to the side-line and the up-link cuts loose, i drift to find delusion on a unstable stool rock forward-- remember an aftertaste… return back-- music holds no rhythm… the lights blind and so i’m in my car to get home to get drunk to get sleep
revised: over many days / weeks the apartment smelled of incense strawberry creme and peppermint smoke and we were on the floor in the envelope of clean air between the cloud and the carpet the lamps were on your eyes looked outsized and if you were cold to the touch or always staring up at the stars or just hated all human beings, well I'd believe you were an alien maybe you've only some of their blood awarding an ease for complicated math, are a hybrid race with paranormal powers can read the innermost thoughts and desires have the ability to walk through walls and anyhow, I must admit, seems unlikely so just hold still, I won't kill you or tell you to close your eyes because I'm melting, these thin wax arms fuel the wick and there's no word strong enough to make a body combustible but you whisper to me and I'm on fucking fire the moment will elapse eventually and we'll pass out in the early morning talking about those crazies at i-hop bound by horomones, insecurity, and unrelenting intake there's such a lack of character, charisma tombed in neurotic slug-shells still at school playing follow-the-leader, finger over lips :: quiet little mice.
Rated the thread - exceeeelent. A lot of personal things here, it's real interesting and a pleasure to read.
I’ve heard that hands can heal could comfort with only their heat and speak the deepest of desires using only the slightest pressure. hands once touched my chest and kid you not I arched my back and ached for those nails to tunnel through the skin break bones & tear tissue I wanted to feel her emotions in my blood I wanted to taste the tremble of her lip I wanted the world to catch fire in its awe but it didn’t, it’s still cold and cruel to honest sentiment. It turned my familiar neighborhood into a dark jungle of mean things lurking in the shadows salivating for a tattered, confused kill who took a wrong road somewhere and just sits there expecting two hands to reach down and pull me away from this. I mean, this constant escalation every day a tempest, a maelstrom; if I could but conjure magic say a few forgotten mystic words, with a motion of my hands these events would slow down so I could examine the significance of a stray, wounded feeling the composition of friendship and how I ended up backwards staring point-blank into a pillow with every inch of commitment blasted, scattered into the millions. my hands are shaking from a lack of food and while I may not die my body might grow so thin the wind could pull me toward the window and the light would still shine in.
so I don’t ask questions am afraid of coming off dim-witted mindless hollow it’s a dark corner of the closet a deadpan to solar energy imposing premonitions telepathic abilities a flash a vision you had a headache behind the eyes along the line dividing left brain from right at the joining of the jaw and buried in the temples and you were crying not so you choked, just shaking small tears out shut lids I wish I’d studied acupuncture long needles, pressure points, nerves little rings of knots along the neck that I could diagnose and contest in a burst of neurological success but I dropped out of college they lost my file, I swear I was studying psychology social behavior / psychoses the composition of people who wash their hands who can’t go outside who can’t commit and I’ll commit to science now the chemical path feelings follow electrical pulses in the thalamus I’ve developed actualized tendencies a positive environmental view this office with no windows a computer, a phone, a radio is everything I’ve wanted minus the eight hour routine but such is therapeutical theory the desires of people everywhere to relax in their summer wardrobe
I came across this girl yesterday and all I can say is fuck, and oh my, for although there was a gloom falling from beneath her eyes there was still this glitter, or glow and it wasn’t from a consequence of lamp, candle, or kitchen light but spirit, and yes, I know it’s a rundown word but there it was in every glance & movement and there I was, on the couch it always seems the couch delivers recognition, but no, there was a glimpse, a revelation this girl speaks brilliantly and I’ll be damned, I know bricks will never bust perception from their blow but a lesson was released; I met a girl wonderfully familiar to another I knew
I stared at her face, caught up in a frail attempt to describe her. she was the gold/orange glow that outreached the skyline about to burst over the horizon and send the world blinding light, raise the temperature by body-heat. she sketched my vital organs my skin, spirit and psyche in that five-star notebook she hid in her blue handbag, or on the floor somewhere in her room. my heart was forced to become a fan to cool the flow of her fluid dark beauty. I saw all this in the reflection of those blue gray green eyes as she glimpsed at me, sending a shock of electricity from the shock of perfection that hits me every time our eyes touch wires together. this was all distant now; distant as the stars we wished on. still, I remember that I wished for eyes that’d bury time in an elastic brain of waterfall thoughts, pained past memories mixed equally with the pleasure of the moment. there were complete weekends spent with the door locked, the lights off our clothes in the dark under the bed, us under covers pleasure-dancing and she’d leak hushed abbreviated groans, shiver for five/ten minutes afterward in an embrace as we caught breath. she made me think, for the first time, eros is instinct, passion primal like a predestined twitch you catch in the fog of approaching headlights. I ran a finger down her spine judging what the response would be of every fine, barely visible hair. I thought I knew every inch of her as if I’d written the screenplay on her involuntary reactions. I forgot that shadows are stealthy, that they hid in those dark specks not noticeable in the color of her eyes. so now I stand here in my best shirt staring nervously at my shoes, trying to advance my feet forward
Anti-Terrestrial and College Optics I. I'm away from myself, dancing waltzes in ballrooms, asleep on the porch in a chair. My partner's a mysterious lady who grew from a rosebush, blushing all the while. She had the grace of a swan in an emerald gown, green eyes alive, staring. Her beauty alone prooved this was nothing but a dream. We danced to a funked up Turkish ballroom piece which blitzed us to attempt moves that nearly tripped our feet. Spin and dip when oboes jazz it up. Look her in the eye when finger cymbals tinkle the tune obscure. Soon we settled into mechanical steps and began conversation. We talked of my neighbors, a sizable family of nineteen. Every other year one would disappear; they claimed this was due to aliens. Rose said she wasn't sure, the unsteady eyes when they talk make her nervous; these aliens are probably projected from characters as reality to forget reality. I gotta agree on grounds that I've witnessed their shakes, one night I swear they ate dirt for dinner, smiling like it was food fit for royal court. II. The dance slowed, stopped; conversation ended with her inability to believe: she's anti-terrestrial, that's all. A quick run on Latin drums announced our favorite dance, the samba. No hesitation, we hurled ourselves onto the floor: exotic dancing fray. I looked at her with college hormones, saw that dress riding her thigh in imitation of x-rated movies I've seen; nearly passed out when she threw a kick high above her head. But I matched her in both grace and style, the fever was in my blood. We were synchronized, mirrors to each others moves. Our hips popped and we glided along the floor like floating ghosts. I twirled her out then snapped her back into a lullaby motion, smooth rock, side to side. I was getting tired and Rose knew the time had come: the rise back to reality. The knowledge sat on my nose and stared me in the eye. Maybe she could come with me; there's got to be some inbetween fate where every moment I'm awake doesn't resemble watered down champagne.
Love your flow in -met a girl-. It was so light and fluid, I got carried away down the steam of your thoughts.
"Anti-Terrestrial and College Optics" Made me grin!! What a dream...so visual and vivid, I could picture everything perfectly and I liked what I saw..by the end of it I felt as if I was the one dancing and was a bit fatigued! "The knowledge sat on my nose and stared me in the eye." I love these two lines, absolutely lovely. "Maybe she could come with me; there's got to be some inbetween fate where every moment I'm awake doesn't resemble watered down champagne." And of course the ending is delicious...Watered down champagne...I love what you made it imply with style and wit.
thanks for the feedback KX, always a pleasure to hear your perspective... and now back to storytime.... bumble-bee blonde it was cross galactic antipodes joining, pulling me and the bumble-bee blonde into the same taphouse one saturday afternoon. sitting at the bar sipping old mcdowell talking ghosts and wielding magic wands; she yields heavy spark showers: dense golden stars pouring off her shoulders. she revives kinetic kids, high school forget-me-nots playing practice games where a stolen kiss beneath the stairs might take your breath away, might leave you with that smell of perfume locked in a cerebral recollection room. she´s eyes and smiles, bound up, wrapped in a net of lightning bolts set to let loose. bee´s buzz-dance, flutter-fly her wardrobe into black and yellow, every garmet black and yellow. in a new culture fashion, big pants and untucked t-shirt, i´m thinking we don´t fit but we do cos this is destiny, fate, kismet. we´re here tossing talking hooks for a reason, precise destination preprogrammed already so we can say whatever with no regard. what´s really going on, i don´t know, i´m just drunk, disordered, spilling my first thoughts while attempting to leave an in and out, while trying to figure whether my perception of her hasn´t distorted the reality.
