vendredi 29 août 2008

I wake up at 6 a.m, my blood burning moist heat. It's still dark out, even when i turn on the lights; and i scrunch my eyes closed, wrinkling the nose and knitting the brows . I step in the shower, and i see bugs on the wall. Three different species of bugs, and the arachnid trio cringe and distort their bodies while the shower head spits. I stand still in the shower, allowing the spit to cogently pull my hair over my eyes, my nose, and shoulders.

I make myself a cup and recline with the 'Palm Beach Post'. Water droplets seeped through gray words I've just read. I thought about art then, and what the color gray does for me. I thought about the sea's shore at night, the fog in St. Augustine, the buckets at work, the sidewalks in your city; and I couldn't find more reason to support my love and appreciation. I thought about literature then, and wanted to write about it.

I wanted to write everything down that my lateral holes couldn't take in from the outside. I wanted to cramp my wrist, and hurt the tender spot on the pinkie where the pen lays. Something so descriptive and vivid; something beautifully important to the past, present and future. I could live underneath this world, if so.

mercredi 20 août 2008

it's during this monotonous tick when
a face floats around my inner eyelids, glowing red and blending purple.
my hands are cracking like the hands of a middle aged, blue collared worker;
and my eyes are dreary, my cheeks and mouth slid southbound.
i look in the mirror, and i see nothing that looks more similar to a basset hound.

mardi 19 août 2008

the study of the human body and medical assistance is a nightmare. to sit on your side in a pale, dream-like room, while a plump, virginal nurse injects ripe colored fluids in all areas violating. she stands watching you, pretending to glance to the nearby counter, checking her wrist for the time. you wait until you hear a slight click in her tongue; and she pets you, docile and plastic.

'The inverted human face is horrible: too many holes, far more monstrous than any monster from outer space.'

mardi 12 août 2008

i will when i stop thinking thoughts that provoke existing thoughts within themselves.

dimanche 10 août 2008

we'll be coming home
coming, coming home.
some day soon,
january or june
evening, morning or afternoon

so you just stand and wait
by the garden gate
till my ship comes bouncing o'er the foam.
we'll be together
for ever and ever,
never more to roam
he'll be coming
we'll be coming
i'll be coming home.

dimanche 3 août 2008

what am i doing wrong?

there was a deer's head hanging from the wall in my hotel room, last night.
not hanging,
but standing as firmly as he would have on his own legs,
watching me change, wash, brush, and sleep.
his shoulders were strong; and he had a thick, perfectly morphed skull.
those sorrowful eyes glared at me, followed my path throughout the room.
it felt like a security light on the back of my neck, in the corners of my own eyes.
and in the dark
in the dark, antlers stretched themselves across the ceiling, and those same eyes stared profoundly into mine; the slightest gloss left shone from the parking lot's dim lighting.
and there was a point, around 2:30, where we had stared at eachother without shoulders to hold our heads.
and i saw
we weren't very different from eachother at all.