i got my ticket to chino in the outskirts of la trying to hit the grid and be captured by the cable i wanna be electric and extended stay america ina pocket just between the riveting room for you and me… a queen bed in a salt valley flat in the middle of november a room service setup so not to disturb alone in the center of a spiderweb of circuitry flashing mad in the pan like a siamese fighting fish all the betta to see you translucent of the soft sheets you ink on
I had a great idea but got dehydrated and lost it. It wasn’t really mine, I just held it for the world for a moment and gave it away without even knowing. You could call that irresponsible or even tragic. Or just super special. The only painful part was my headache, but I cannot blame that on the idea… Now someone, maybe even you, has it and you could hold on to it and commit it to paper or the internet or the ethernet and let people discover it that way (like I had mapped out, myself, when I had it). Or let it come to them the way it came to me, suddenly, superbly, like it was really mine and not something I found online.
There are those fictional and real beings who happen to silently make their way through city streets. Their real or imagined relatives may not even feel them for the blood connect got lost as matters with less import took precedence. Even if you’re make believe, you have your fiction to fall back upon. It’s a basic human right of the future, just ahead of actualization. You have yourself. Such has been proven on a non-empirical level by five sense deconstruction, boiled down to clarity of the sense beyond and boiling down, I mean the process, was never the most compassionate practice unless you were boiling rocks down to the mineral soup which cures most disease in the distant future. Mineral soup will not taste any better than the idea of liquid rock, but it sure will be good for you and your kids if you have them –not recommended but where there’s a will– don’t worry, it won’t harden your arteries and even if it did, in the future it’s a luxury to live by your hearts. Turns out all this preaching to stay present was unnecessary. Tense-bending will create new dialects in a world where then now and soon become great playthings of the mind, impinged upon by harsh realities, softened by mineral soups. Filling the void where time once meant so much, with a concentrate of former here and now fullness of life –the great store of it must come to some use, if not refuse, some pretty brilliant bastard decided– was considered a new discipline and people both fictional and real were paid to do it, in something that resembled real currency. You can still consider a lifestyle choice, that’s what currency buys, but time will not be of the essence and watches no longer adorn wrists. Some are hidden under clothes of the nostalgic, tugging on ankles and scraping the pavements. Most everyone loves the sound and it’s easier than live pets when on walks.
when we supposedly die, of the living only the closest to us remember us for very long and some of them keep to themselves, going to work coming home and maybe thinking aloud sometimes in a language the cats and dogs cannot decode, so only a trace of us remain, supposedly, and the witch hazel closes the roads and leaves us separate somewhere beneath the moisturizer beneath the foundation of a cover boy’s Covergirl world… only those closest to the ones who remembered us remember someone remembering us, whomever we are, in black and white or monochromatic, sepia seeping slow into the imaginations of someone else’s great grandchildren, who wear the looks of believers on buses to schools, and play on the playgrounds in old-fashioned ways, under timeless suns sucking up light and commonplace clouds through their straws, easily, atmospheres removed from the old pressures we once shared, before we learned our division, mettlesome in the worlds we changed and changed us, brought us up and down back when, gave us the resilient half smiles we wore for one another, and shared with the world sometimes, filling them out for the ones closest to us, supposedly, as we laughed recreating other faces from the outside in, in a purportedly powerful way, carrying beyond anyone’s wildest dreams across time and place and various things, young and mettlesome just like always, and never dying at all, anyway
i got all your friendliness, you made me soft in the abdomen for us, we could have shared a smoke and a crazy secret, a kind of bluetooth pair. vital was the origin and splitting off the infinitive, in a low-pitched bad news lesion in motion. i wish they had been there, the ones bobbing between bookcases with their fingers at their lips. but it was only me and you, clicking with exclusion. the time has been measured and planned in your head, now you needed only to conduct an orchestra of one. i was in great demand, apparently, before i stumbled off in tails tattered, in league with papers, my reaction mute, understated, in shadows long and growing… my darkness, unwanted, degraded in your spotlight.
once i got back to my dear beloved light of my life, well, i had some trouble it is true, pulling tooth was blue, but my man spoke of god and my friend she spoke of other important good things to do, and yes i undressed. yes i took my silence and rest, the blonde mouse he showed white belly up for trusted scratching. catfish hung back in the shadows. when i got myself up i rose up, i felt real, i wasn’t any such pale as the spotlight made out, i wasn’t any bit angry toward you or the world, vitality was mine again in the doing what needed to be done. another usual kinda day. the kind i keep then to myself, and to myself a secret melody.
This morning I found myself splashed across the walls like water. This morning I woke from a nightmare being hunted by a man with a shotgun. Before dawn I am docile and careless, the sheets you tore up and me within them, before you left for your job and an eighteen wheeler and ten thousand gallons of oil. If only I can gather my self and my focus, today, the cell phone my natural enemy flat-backed on the dresser. This morning I shower and untangle my hair. I wanna good cut, I wanna change, I wanna punk it out with a streak of black and some sharpened angular curled tight at the nape of my neck in the back. The necklace my friend gave me several years ago, the silver icon hangs just below the the new one on the thinner chain, the hanging dove I got to remember my own ancient history. The light comes up blue in the city around me, loyalty and new love arises in me and I don’t know how to handle it. How can I fall in love again without fear? I cannot withstand another fall from great heights. A burgeoning skepticism clings to the edges, the water mark, and won’t wash away down the drain. I wanna live is all i know anymore… i wanna live or there’s nothing left.