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Wednesday, September 15, 2004

dour

"Midnight in the subway
She's on her way home
She tries hard not to run
But she feels she's not alone
Echoes of footsteps
Follow close behind
But she dare not turn around"
subway song - the cure

im frustrated.

my eyes blink, body moves. i watch through the lens and life swirls. it pulls and tugs, screams and lies. it slaps the inside of your thighs and if you cry out, thats when it gets really turned on.

sometimes, i can count the layers of light. i hold my eyes open longer than eyes want to stay open. straining. resisting that tired urge to close. to close and refill those cones and rods and nevermind all the light, the layers, nevermind that, we want the dark, and the refill, so we can bring you the lush-lush greens and make you puzzle over the particular density of treebark, or make your skin crawl and your mind race when you ponder what might be growing in that murky cigarette water. they have such long tails and they curl into s and c and w and the alphabet unfolds before the disease ridden beasts reveal themselves. even so, we still want it black. want it back.

give us what we want.

and it starts to hurt
just the right kind of hurt
so i close an eye
take a breath
and close another

there's a deep tribal beat driving us. its angry timber strikes a cadence unsoft, arcing through our hearts like a thouand fat cheeked babies. the dust, free-riding ridges till now, finds the deepest recess. the boards shake and hum. there is nothing but the staccato now. nothing. our hopes and dreams have dried, failed, abandoned us. we wave them off. unchain them for the cacaphony of browns and blacks. there is nothing left but the richness of our fat fingers and all the tastes we can pass over our tongues. everything is lost. i cried out. everything is lost. but this, this simple rapture, soft as a lover's hip, is found. i hold it tight.

i shimmy. shake. move. walk. humanquake. pound pound pound. is it blood in my head? driven up through me, by the force of a heart? is it the blood? my ears full with its recess and attack. is it the blood? or maybe the bounding-footsteps, throwing thumps, down long, flat boards? yes. its that. the boards. the dust free-riding, and the boards. nothing is being driven up through me. nothing ever will be.

i will sit now. and listen to each step. this walking orchestra. this medley. still-song. a beat custom craft by legs-length? a sore toe? shoe height? attentive parents? something silly and ridiculous. something so banal we won't even admit our knowledge of it. no. i will ignore all that. the why. the how. the lift-light list of particulars outlining exactly why this step-after-step concert of vibrations is happening. I would rather die here, now, than look at those promises, brother. don't tell me why, ever again.

don't tell me anything
again. just lets sit. just lets sit and listen together. i hear your breathing and now, we play jazz. our breath pushing the smallest specks of nothing around the room. they dance and foil. they move unknown and unseen, they move. to these specks, we, are gods, and we take this moment for what it is. the singsong of two people about to speak forever. the herald of breath in. the lips partway open. the eyes stuck on that: oh-oh-i-ve-got-to-tell-you-this-now-or-i-will-burst like a four year old scratching and wailing i don't want to go, dont want to go, you're not the boss of me, your some fat assed pimply girl they found in the buy-and-sell and i dont,

i just dont want to go to bed,
just yet.

yes it's like that. there is a swirl of arms and legs, and we just marvel at how anything so small, so meaningless can expend, can engage, can manipulate so fully.

it can either just slip out the corners of your eyes, like the free-ridge riding dust, or it can rip your guts inside out and count. whatever you decide, i dont' care, brother. just don't tell.

Posted by ruzz on September 15, 2004 at 02:52 PM in we are givin this shit away | Permalink

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Comments

so many things in there that i feel connected too, awhirling dervish of disjointed joinings. days with fading eyesight, water creatures, crying babes, and brothers connecting are just the surface. finding the depth, diving into the deep, that's a journey ew can take.

and, yet, there's hope.

Posted by: jude | Sep 19, 2004 12:52:04 AM