Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Saturday, December 4, 2010
750 Words- Day #9 (12/4/2010) Compilations from the Past
Don't want to think about thinking or I might stop thinking. A lot, even when it is a little, is still a lot.
It's funny how telling someone something about yourself can make them see more of themselves.
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Seeing myself in the past with my future eyes- seeing myself in the future with my past eyes.
The retrospective glow of a time not so long ago is electricity to my veins. Eyes get hazy, neck cracks- trust not in separation, the fee is too great.
Listening to thinking bombs.
Collapsing to night time never more.
Crawl the nearby creeping flesh.
I hate days that die with their mouths open.
-------------------------------
Sometimes music floods over me like dissonant, soul crushing hymns far in the eternal distance. Melody sinking into whatever vast gaping pit it finds. Why do certain songs stick to us like rubber glue, enmeshed in our skin, under our fingernails, flittering in our hair? Seeping crimson penetrates the only shadow left to cling on the corpse.
On that smoking morning after, sinking into putrid rest, tile melds to one central vortex in the searing middle.
--------------------------------
Love watching smoke rise, grazing the forest with kindling embers- illuminating a moment of waking still. Talking through wires, we are all so pale. (In this blue rain-light bedroom, on a sleepy Saturday unveiled.)
I thought I saw the sun coming up and I got sad. This sort of half-rain-half-silent-midday fog is just so soothing. (Thought "so" was the problem, but it was really "just")
Pages of loss weather and erode
Becoming dirt and insect food.
(to populate colonies for their impending invasion.)
-------------------------------
Dark or light, it doesn't matter. Light is sweet and brimming with possibility. It grazes fresh cheek kisses and close skin. Dark is warm and penetrating, tingling to the core, shaking held close to stop, overwhelmed with love.
Silence is full and noise is still.
Light is still and dark is full.
Cold is full and heat is still.
Hard is still and soft is full.
Together, we can do anything.
--------------------------------
Why not perforate the edges with something soft? Death by feathers and sunshine. The contaminating effect of well being. When it leaves, once experienced for even a moment, the loss is almost too deep to bear. Had it, lost it, do I have the strength to find it again?
But why not let it leave? Then you have extra incentive to reclaim it. So the sweet tastes sweeter.
Randomly overcome by emotions past and present, acting on fire instead of still. Truly, these are extraordinary times. And surely I will make it through. Certainly whole. But always with one sock inside-out.
Night time of the somber soul. Distilled moments more bare than alive. Pale white, misleading lines pass the center- hit the wall and scatter into a million razor shards. Uncleanly cut and bleeding dry, the walls seem crouched to greet me. Curtains bow and bedsheets stand in salute, the silent ache of frozen floor is all that embraces me now.
-------------------------------
It's funny how telling someone something about yourself can make them see more of themselves.
-------------------------------
Seeing myself in the past with my future eyes- seeing myself in the future with my past eyes.
The retrospective glow of a time not so long ago is electricity to my veins. Eyes get hazy, neck cracks- trust not in separation, the fee is too great.
Listening to thinking bombs.
Collapsing to night time never more.
Crawl the nearby creeping flesh.
I hate days that die with their mouths open.
-------------------------------
Sometimes music floods over me like dissonant, soul crushing hymns far in the eternal distance. Melody sinking into whatever vast gaping pit it finds. Why do certain songs stick to us like rubber glue, enmeshed in our skin, under our fingernails, flittering in our hair? Seeping crimson penetrates the only shadow left to cling on the corpse.
On that smoking morning after, sinking into putrid rest, tile melds to one central vortex in the searing middle.
--------------------------------
Love watching smoke rise, grazing the forest with kindling embers- illuminating a moment of waking still. Talking through wires, we are all so pale. (In this blue rain-light bedroom, on a sleepy Saturday unveiled.)
I thought I saw the sun coming up and I got sad. This sort of half-rain-half-silent-midday fog is just so soothing. (Thought "so" was the problem, but it was really "just")
Pages of loss weather and erode
Becoming dirt and insect food.
(to populate colonies for their impending invasion.)
-------------------------------
Dark or light, it doesn't matter. Light is sweet and brimming with possibility. It grazes fresh cheek kisses and close skin. Dark is warm and penetrating, tingling to the core, shaking held close to stop, overwhelmed with love.
Silence is full and noise is still.
Light is still and dark is full.
Cold is full and heat is still.
Hard is still and soft is full.
Together, we can do anything.
--------------------------------
Why not perforate the edges with something soft? Death by feathers and sunshine. The contaminating effect of well being. When it leaves, once experienced for even a moment, the loss is almost too deep to bear. Had it, lost it, do I have the strength to find it again?
But why not let it leave? Then you have extra incentive to reclaim it. So the sweet tastes sweeter.
Randomly overcome by emotions past and present, acting on fire instead of still. Truly, these are extraordinary times. And surely I will make it through. Certainly whole. But always with one sock inside-out.
Night time of the somber soul. Distilled moments more bare than alive. Pale white, misleading lines pass the center- hit the wall and scatter into a million razor shards. Uncleanly cut and bleeding dry, the walls seem crouched to greet me. Curtains bow and bedsheets stand in salute, the silent ache of frozen floor is all that embraces me now.
-------------------------------
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