Months pour like golden water down a large drain shaped like a wide-open mouth, days swirls in bubbles riding the surface of the downward flush, minutes and seconds and moments to remember are simply shadows, reflections, and shimmering flashes of light that disappear rapidly upon this undulating flow.
String-light stars hover every visible night like a web that either holds back the inky black or contains the gaudy neon, halogen, and fluorescent distractions this planet expresses outward. That connection between the stars, the invisible force that holds them steady in their positions, anchors me to this ground, presses me against the strata, makes my blood work harder on the return to my heart, spins my possiblities in life around, charted on the familiar face of my compass.
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Friday, December 07, 2007
Draft Dodger
I went through my postings, from the user side of the blog, and found several drafts I started or didn't like or forgot about or whatever. I want to use them, so I'm putting them all together here for you to read in a Burroughes style of cut/paste writing. I don't know if I like or dislike these pieces, but for some reason they exist. So, here they are...
A Narrow Escape
It was a calm morning.
She screams it, "that's what's going to kill me 10 years before I have to die!
Predator
Sometimes I catch glimpses on those skinny legs behind me, following me, against the treeline as the headlights from the passing cars rush by me. I walk faster, I speed up, the shadow is there and then it is gone from sight. Never let your shadow catch you.
Begin
This inward twist is candy coated around pestilence, lick of delight and demise...sickly sweet.
Want to write about the charred insides, like descriptions of the haunting interiors of crack houses, meth labs, broken, beaten people, lost lives in the final moments. I hesitate...I have that similar downtrodden, destitue black shadow across my back for certain, but I resist sharing it even though it offers me relief.
Maturity
This blog can continue to be sadness, dissonance, caustic magma regret...or it can change and alter and tranform the way I want my life to become.
Divide
I step on either side of this divide, one foot in good and the other in anti-good. You don't want to know...you do, but you don't. I cannot poison any longer my friends, family, and faithful readers knowing that I'm a purveyor of smut. The smut is who I am.
Overcome
This blog will change henceforth. I wish to thank you for your continued interest and faithful attention. I can't just blast out the filth any longer: It is not fit for you not fair to my writing, and it is deadening, wasteful talent besides.
I might need an old-school relief from time to time, but this blog...and me...are changing.
Requires Adjustment
Short lived, burned and embitttered, wasteful.
Decadent
Derision
Self-analyzed, self-inflicted, selfish
Doldrums
Disconnect
Delination of the mark.
Auras tickle and blend hues of complimentary colors on an unusual Thursday night.
Watchful
If after lunch I seem strange,
And if I don't nod or smile,
If I ignore you, unintentionally,
Know I'll care tomorrow, later,
When we are passed and apart.
Afternoons suck my life out
Pull me apart, away, awry,
Inside out of my life.
I see the storm's forecasted
Arrival, my barometer drops,
At lunchtime, while you smile
During my jokes, while eating
nutrition to stave off the
encrouching grasp of
conclusion,
I'm watchful.
onwar
We are living phantoms of long past ways, glimpsed by most in licking flame-trickery-of-the-eyes campfires, crushing surround of breath-holding quiet fear while alone in forests, or not easily discarded gut feelings of intuition.
Those sensations constitute me and my brother, locking us anachronistically in the present time though our familiar community is long extinct, regardless of our ever-shrinking retreats of nature, and knowing that the father we both bore the loss of here on Earth is somewhere in the spirit world as hapless and transistional as we've become.
This sparce place was the surge of a positive Sunday calm folding onward into the dull grind of Monday bleakness: The lull of impending gravitational, aging, timelapsed disattachment.
A Narrow Escape
It was a calm morning.
She screams it, "that's what's going to kill me 10 years before I have to die!
Predator
Sometimes I catch glimpses on those skinny legs behind me, following me, against the treeline as the headlights from the passing cars rush by me. I walk faster, I speed up, the shadow is there and then it is gone from sight. Never let your shadow catch you.
Begin
This inward twist is candy coated around pestilence, lick of delight and demise...sickly sweet.
Want to write about the charred insides, like descriptions of the haunting interiors of crack houses, meth labs, broken, beaten people, lost lives in the final moments. I hesitate...I have that similar downtrodden, destitue black shadow across my back for certain, but I resist sharing it even though it offers me relief.
Maturity
This blog can continue to be sadness, dissonance, caustic magma regret...or it can change and alter and tranform the way I want my life to become.
Divide
I step on either side of this divide, one foot in good and the other in anti-good. You don't want to know...you do, but you don't. I cannot poison any longer my friends, family, and faithful readers knowing that I'm a purveyor of smut. The smut is who I am.
Overcome
This blog will change henceforth. I wish to thank you for your continued interest and faithful attention. I can't just blast out the filth any longer: It is not fit for you not fair to my writing, and it is deadening, wasteful talent besides.
I might need an old-school relief from time to time, but this blog...and me...are changing.
Requires Adjustment
Short lived, burned and embitttered, wasteful.
Decadent
Derision
Self-analyzed, self-inflicted, selfish
Doldrums
Disconnect
Delination of the mark.
Auras tickle and blend hues of complimentary colors on an unusual Thursday night.
Watchful
If after lunch I seem strange,
And if I don't nod or smile,
If I ignore you, unintentionally,
Know I'll care tomorrow, later,
When we are passed and apart.
Afternoons suck my life out
Pull me apart, away, awry,
Inside out of my life.
I see the storm's forecasted
Arrival, my barometer drops,
At lunchtime, while you smile
During my jokes, while eating
nutrition to stave off the
encrouching grasp of
conclusion,
I'm watchful.
onwar
We are living phantoms of long past ways, glimpsed by most in licking flame-trickery-of-the-eyes campfires, crushing surround of breath-holding quiet fear while alone in forests, or not easily discarded gut feelings of intuition.
Those sensations constitute me and my brother, locking us anachronistically in the present time though our familiar community is long extinct, regardless of our ever-shrinking retreats of nature, and knowing that the father we both bore the loss of here on Earth is somewhere in the spirit world as hapless and transistional as we've become.
This sparce place was the surge of a positive Sunday calm folding onward into the dull grind of Monday bleakness: The lull of impending gravitational, aging, timelapsed disattachment.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)