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When you're in Written a long time ago... When you're in (but not quite connected), when the state waves through, envelopes, everything opens, all is understood, you know the why, but not the spoken words, that is all contradiction: oxymoronic phrases bleeding a heal; primal whisper a shrieking hum; busily buzzing the manworld, the distractions, blowing them off to wallow, collecting on legs, in pure sweet. Fazed, you've phased and for a while, a foreverwhile, you never want it to end as your senses are scoping wide: music, a page, a flower --things you've seen held heard-- are vibrating cohesive shocks, biting sound and sight remote flesh flailing you through sadness, anger, laughter, shivers of tears crumbling walls, scabs blasted off open wounds, sheer joy original thought oft repeated repented click lust a blank unmoving drain (once willing to conceal the throb blush, thick loosened thoughts, rather than or otherwise wanting the rush in a planned propped theater) stilling motion, the flash in the twirling leaves! the ripple lawn airheat! the roiling drops, the widening fuzz of skin, the wrinkling taut lips, the hipsway upturn, the plungeshot humpheart liftlower fingertips, the head of the honey, the bitter slosh, the wrigging torso mistaken for a marionette (fool swan neckhung diving flightdrown off plummetcliff pushing air rock-on-chest air snake scales drying invisible walls of swallowing clickthroat ticklefingerpins needling self chuckbile gigglewhipped float away-- spiky gorund a mossy bed, slumber ahead scratching back), the fill of light, the musicbeat dance the song a loveromancelie all wistful understood joke lines punching, the seared ends the burn, the ember redpoint ashes shadowsimulacrumsilhouette crumbled ground print carried into wind. And when you edge out, and out to the glare silence, then people you know (slam up walls, remember the peace, resist the thrust of heel into head grasptake tensetremble gush sweetshake rattle the globe), they poodle grimacesmile "I hate to see you like this; it's not you; I hope you will get over this" to become normal praiseflatter beautifulyou'rebeautiful I like you, like the way you stay in control: pulled back calculated light touch; blithertalk promoting self's proficiencies; closed eyes steering away from roadkill uglysight; a trite fillinghead trivia, seen as safe, as entertaining, as a resource of hum pixel-digit comfort (behind it all, tuned out, transformerelectric crackle tear grate slicing cells but blocked, no doesn't hurt, doesn't nail down, down, down). You, as them, would hurry from worry, eddies of info pooled in head, ignoring how easy it is to go in, the drone of distraction, but you cannot now, you don't want the in, the waked alert unconscious, symbols emerged floatknock, wetsplash sockets, all this to cease, for this, this tapping the flow, this hards into mush. Slog, oozed to the out, the safe, the realnormal distance justified. At the closed door, you peek though the keyhole and chide yourself. "Regret," you say, for lack of a better word, "is not a thing to waste time on." What were you doing? You lick and fold the envelope. You brew coffee. You put on some tunes. You scan the paper. "Fog? Again? ...Fuck..."
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all photos + words copyright snarl 2002 |
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