It was like, sneaking in and out of the blades of grass, the front yard creatures glowing and shrinking
I am never going to come down from the roof, I like the texture of the ground and the fact that the ground had no wall or ceiling. I cant see very much from where I’m sitting, I like it up here because of how much I can’t see. Reminds me of the sand dunes …. But I feel so torn. I am without my usual stimulators. Pleasure receptors numb from anticipation. A memory capsule explodes. Beat of the passing streetlamps, a scented melody, something like the city after it rains, but fresher sine it was still cold. There was tension, but not the negative type of tension, tension of the collected fantasy and the thought expressions in my mind, mental artistry. Where each image sequence is repeated, but with every new loop there is added a layer. Maybe a mood layer or a chronological layer or a character layer. But I’m scared and my layers have fallen through I cant be anywhere else but the roof. I used to be able to watch and now I am immersed in performance, decisions being made of importance, objectives and goals and reason and truth.
Mechanics and grammar and style mistook. I can’t be anywhere else but the roof. Which may be alright because the streets are flooding
Red green cloud gas brass knuckles contested next to resting employers who are next to signs that say don’t rest on the, there are towels and underwear bras and sleeveless wife beaters hanging from the wire in the sky. Over the buildings, overhead there’s a silence in which howls of children without brothers are crying. A lost picnic is always on time to surrender your life over into the hands of some random tree as if it had outstretched limbs because of you, hah why are you such a selfish thing to think that the growth of this enormous plant was grown for you to land on you know its not true I need to do this more often I just realized that this is another form of meditation. Maybe I can teach myself to type faster or how to make less mistakes and spend less time having to use the backspacebuton. Look it is so strange how bleached but peaceful everything is right now. Like freshly dead ashes, it almost has a warm feeling to it but I know that its freezing cold.
dark tinctured broken somewhat like a bat wing or blown out umbrella. It lay like a piece of trash by the trail.. I’m malgumfloress no need to translate cause its already in your language. Mental sickle tuxedo wrapped around the handle, bow down good sir and serve the tiny ants that balance on the grooved carvings in the flowerpot, ashen flowerpot made out of cement and holding no plants but having that strange dark dirt speckled with white clumps of who knows?
And what captivated you so much about magic? I would have to say the reason is that its hidden but its right in front of you and it permeates to all corners of your perception. Can you give us an example?
Close your eyes and see the brownish black crackling of film. Hear the fuzzy crackle of vinyl. Pips and beeps and boopos. Light that dances but has no form. No shape but a rhythm nonetheless , the color can best be described as the color of a hole. And then a very silent explosion! And your eyes are open and the dancing light hole have become one and begin surrounding your head like a white blood cell gong for the prey. This is the immutable intranslational part of the experience, the things in front of you quietly screaming that every single section of everything, (because its all sections sectioned off) every section is completely unique. All things animate or not have a personality and character . Think of the human being as the tip of a pyramid which can easily see itself but and is exalted in its surroundings but has no sense of what is underneath him or the inverted pyramid above him.
Coming in and out of peripheral experience so fast it ceases to exist but only in the past. …and maybe I’ve lost my audience. But I have just now decided that my audience is to consist of those who find this paper half soaked in the street and look past its obvious bulkiness of print and decide to investigate the code I have presented.
Cmon get sucked through the hourglass of disbelief and blast out the other side.
Messin with me
You’re trying to dpersonalize poetry
Watch out for the scissors
Putting the box around me so I can break out of the box?
belief in foreign obstacles leads to instant relief
what a cliché but hey so is saying cliché today
and rhyming out of place with uneven sentence structure and pace
page master brewing over his spill pot of robot gut stew
to me and you there is no other better tasting stew
than the one made with a
half empty half full of liquid brain of a head of this guy.
Trying to find a story line.
Beneath the perceptions I saw in front of me was the mellow swirl of almost digital proportions and the planets wouldn’t stop spinning for that either. But the plants stood still. But the opium poppy stood still, would probably never even want to try the stuff.
But because of the rain we cannot go to the outdoor show we must go to the indoor throw hole beneath the stove of metal sole sold in ground lantern but psychosis.
SiSittin gtrying to find the inspirational itch…
Such an airy mist
My vision’s almost blue
A sloping curling trellis
Meshed with sinking glow-skies hue
A precious drop of color
Beneath it in the bushes
Humbly vibration pushes
Towards my squishy eye organs
Bouncing back to empty space
But firmly embedding itself
In the galaxy behind my face
I could burn my ten thousand taste buds
I could snort my nasal cavity numb
I could paralyze the nervous superhighway
scream into an amplifier until I’m deaf and dumb
Or I could sit
Sit and let the ceiling of my consciousness
Drift and fade away
Like watching something sink
In a bottomless ocean
The walls next to go because
the ceiling held them in place
Then the floor becomes a vacuum
But this isn’t outer space
Its pouring inward
Melting the whole
Holding together notion
While at the same time
Filling all sections of the circle
Finally not a part of an appraised nation
A relation in which I gain reassurance and elation
For the station of thousands and manifestation of place mark intervention contenders contention place ranking durations
Whew I wonder what that was all about
Where did you really go?
Oh I didn’t go anywhere
This is sandwiched time
Last time you left off was now
Such a sloppy composition
A retarded symphony of symbolic heritage
I’m not going to pretend like I deserve to be last anymore
Eggnog cluster mist
I couldn’t take it any more!
It could make you think its glorious
Pay no attention, to the irrelevant
Connections between what you read here and was you associated
With in your prior knowledge.
Its all in here self explanatory
ITS ONLY US
I could begin, If I did ever begin anything, you know this isn’t going to end either don’t you?
And if you are confused already. I apologize, there aren’t any tricks to the many moods of mechanics , just follow to the end. They all find their way in the end. We need to have something important in here about something people actually want to read about.
When I start thinking thoughts like that it stops my fingers from moving thus stops me from writing thus is an evil force and shall be dealt with in the only way that will truly kill it which Is to ignore it because it has lost all meaning. You know, or should know by now that meaning is what you give it.
Look a window in the blank white wall.
Its nighttime outside but I can hear thousands of birds cheering at echo her in the really tall trees. Do you see the really tall trees. ;underneath the purple sky. The stars are still white but the purple is the sky. The kind of whether that sets the mood for a jazz musician to take you to an incredible high. Here up on the mountain tops with the not quite dead guy on the hot rocks. They stay hot even when the sun goes down. Now your not supposed to stop’
Sing at a gathering because the wood isn’t flammable et. We need some ti\ype of fuel . We need some type of fuel.. Swing bounce jump hop„, fun motion to the beat drop
Some of this advice im getting… makes me laugh a little more at my mission.
A mad galaxy stretching and kicking above the roof of the sleeping stone cold family. The oldest son still awake playing marionette to the dreamer in the sky. Laying sideways in his bed a waterfall pours out of his chest onto a notebook. He must remember this
I can only describe it as a rainbow mist, not quite a solid not quite a liquid not quite a gas. Surrounding and flowing through everything sticking to our glassy mind bulb surface like fog to a mirror, forming little multicolored condensation ornaments. The beauty of the horizon is the change we meet on its infinite approach. A journey is none other than a molding and reshaping of our awareness and perception.
I’ve got to find which parts of you I’ve polished enough for me to see my reflection in. I want to connect with you on what the heaviness of artificial sunlight feels like. I want to flatter the ensemble of your emotion orchestra. Unconscious maestro, creator of epic unintentional symphonies. I want you to see everything as a transparent liquid. So I’ll begin by using my words:
All but a burst of lightning Carried on the backs of the anthill workers And thrown into the sky by a fit And the red glow of the digital clock Out of the corner of my eye
All but a burst of lightning
Carried on the backs of the anthill workers
And thrown into the sky by a fit
And the red glow of the digital clock
Out of the corner of my eye
Was illuminated by my mind
Its pretty cold out here tonight. Its pretty late. I sit slouched in a lawn chair by the pool. The water is black because the light is out. There are neon lights reflected on the water, where are they coming from? All I see are these reflections. It has been raining on and off the pat couple of hours. There are water droplets stuck to the grass. Tonight they look like glass globes, also black because the moon isn’t even out tonight and the streetlight is out. The only light source that is illuminating anything are the neon squiggles reflected on the pool and the grass. I can hear crickets. The licorice I am eating has gotten to the point where it all tastes the same. The vines on the fence have grown ever since I began living here. It still smells like rain every day I wake up.
The porch light will turn on every so often, there is a three second pause and then the door slides open with a crunching sound. They are checking on me. They can’t quite figure out why I have been sitting outside in the rain the past few hours. It’s not really raining its more sprinkling. I’m not doing anything wrong out here except maybe enjoying it too much. Watching the neon fractals, like galaxies on clear blankets, resting on the blades by the wet rocks.
They check on me because they want to make sure I am okay. They don’t think I am normal. Its because nobody does this anymore, people don’t sit and let things be anymore. They know what things mean but they don’t understand the essence of things. Sit still and the beauty of life slowly creeps towards you, increasing its speed every second until it is blasting in your face. that’s when you realize that you are no different than the small trickle of half frozen water on the other side of the house.
I saw new glittering red and blue lights in the drops. Tiny pinpoints, dazzling! I heard the most beautiful noise then, it took me a few seconds of basking in it before I realized it was a police siren. Now the dogs won’t stop barking. The birds of the night fly in maniacal circles overhead.
Because if normalcy is created out of repetition
And the craving for the new increases
Than there is no way to be normally happy
And to depend on something to make you happy
Means that every time you come to it you are satisfied
But if only the new makes you happy
Then coming to it more than once
Will pave the road of sorrow
Until the dead end
Leaves you with a feeling
Of being cheated
And so you find a new direction
And the process continues… for ever
We are now lost in a labyrinth of normalcy.
…yet the walls are only a brick high…
Distaste in the mouth… like metal, must be rust, blood.
I chewed through my lip again, accidentally crunching the old scab. Nothing’s on the radio, might as well listen to nothing. I am much larger than the trees. The trees only come to my knees, knees being wheels of steel rubber blubber coats spinning and thinning at the same time. I’ve never driven a truck like this before, all eighteen wheels under my control, small twitch of the wrist could bring down any obstacle making my obstacle course no more than a level field. I shouldn’t have taken the pills. I thought I would be able to stay awake easier for the price of a little grinding of the teeth. This is my first time on the road with my rig, just wanted to do the job perfectly.
Now I have to pull over. No rest stop in sight, the sun is about to rise and the sky is getting lighter. The black Wyoming oceans have resumed there yellow shape and solidity, freezing back into rolling fields of grass. So dull its magnificent.
Finally, the road begins to incline a little, I realize I must be getting close to Colorado. I heard its beautiful there. My head and thoughts are rushing and I need to move my legs, I’m scared because the feeling in my stomach keeps wavering. Which may be due to the loneliness I have been feeling off and on since I was forty miles into the least populated state of the country. Why? I would wonder, staring at the horizon as the sharp silver moonlight dissolved in the wet sun morning. Why of all places is Wyoming the least popular? This only made the feeling worse, as if there was something I didn’t know about hiding in the enormous amount of empty space around me. It didn’t matter that I was inside such a titanic creature. The space erased all comparison of objects, and all things became simply microscopic in these fields.
I have to stop. I need to walk around a little, I need to get some air.
I pulled over to nowhere in particular and silenced the grumbling giant. When I opened the door, it took a moment for me to realize that I had these two pathetic dangly legs to balance on, so I fell a little when I jumped off the step.
Its so quiet out here, So still. My skin feels dead because it had adapted to the vibrations in the truck, registering that as still, this is a level beyond stillness. It is said that when a person is deprived of one of their senses, the others become stronger. My hearing and sensation on the skin, non existent at that moment, gave birth to a vibrant sense of smell and lucid vision instantly to my face. Enjoying these new senses I paced around in the grass for a few minutes. The blood in my mouth became a little more bitter.
I sat flat on the road facing the rig. I had never done anything like this before, it was a test of my bravery, because staring at this monster gave me such a feeling that a fear of the truck began to blend with the loneliness of this place.
I couldn’t help staring at the lidded eyes of the massive skeleton. Bearing its wicked rotten teeth, a smile of complete pride, bragging that it was the most dense object in this universe of sky and field.
I haven’t slept in three days. Here I see the sun wake up for the third time, just in time to illuminate the colossal robotic mass. It is too much. I need to fix this. I run as far as I can but the smaler the truck gets the lonelier I feel.
I decide its time to get back inside and become this thing in order to feel better. When I got back in the truck I had a hard time focusing because I was in such a confined space. I felt like I was unable to hatch out of an egg. After I started driving I felt a little better. I started singing “I got space… you got space… everybody’s got space…” an hour must have gone by when I looked down at my fuel gauge and realized that it had barely moved at all since I had gotten back in the car. After driving such a long distance already, I have been able to watch the gauge go down as the miles go on. But it was a lot higher than it should have been.
I slammed on the brake when I realized that my entire trailer was missing, skidding to a quick short stop. For a second I didn’t believe what I saw and the mirror and I sat still afraid to turn around. How could I not have noticed that my trailer was missing? I decided to go out and see if something broke in a connection somewhere.
The empty space was even bigger than it was before. The sky seemed a little higher now that the sun was climbing.
There was no damage whatsoever. It was as if the trailer had vanished into thin air. The connections weren’t even rusty. I had to clear my head so I walked a little away from the truck. I kicked some dirt which floated on the wind.
I saw the trailer-less rig against the sky and the field, I smiled. My smile grew into a laugh, it just looked so silly sitting there all alone, no body, no strength, helpless, just like me. I could not stop laughing at its awkwardness.
Suddenly the color starts to fade and the ground rushes up to meet me.