Haunted by grand ideas of abstraction. A shared silent look - but with reciprocal meaning? One writing great waves and the other filling a thimble with love and nobility. Who comes next - there must be another. Awash me in your great colour. A hive of personality, seventy shades unknown. Archaic footsteps approach, sweeping in their effect on my life. Trampled. Path through a wooden gate; new leaves grow up strong and tall. What was becomes a pitied alien. Irreverence rules with fury - no time to pick up the pieces. Held up to a light and forced to sweat out anguish, useless is that which drags of the past. Shattered mirror, numerous haunted life-scapes Ghouls with iridescent faces licking at my skin and impounding my flesh. Freedom affords the naked body a unique choice, make a new decision, one without ties. Can freedom ever be accomplished when an echo whispers so sweet? Haul together the valuable fruits, taste with a wise and eager tongue.
I am constantly amazed by the multifaceted nature of humanity. I can even surprise myself sometimes at the way that I will behave in a given situation and I discover more about myself the more I am challenged and exposed. It is so exciting to me that you can know a person, really know them, call them your best friend or your lover or your parent or whatever but still only have scratched the surface of their range of expression. We like to cocoon ourselves in static situations, familiarity breeds confidence and so one persona a person might have is reinforced over time - it becomes their demeanor and if we allow ourselves to become entrenched in a static definition of who we are we risk never exploring our identity to the full.
Emotions run deep, deeper than many people allow themselves to experience, I think we are all socially conditioned to treat our emotions in a certain way and conditioned to believe what they mean for us as individuals in the world. To have the ability to allow feelings and emotions to transcend social boundaries is to experience real freedom of the spirit in a way that promotes good health, both mental and physical (we are so connected) and encourages honest and meaningful interactions between men.
People like to be able to say 'this is me', 'I know what I'm about', I've never been one of those people and at times this has been a frustration, people with steady ideas seem to move faster. I'm learning that if we are constantly expanding as individuals then we can never wholly know ourselves, realizing and accepting this allows you to sit back a little, truly open your awareness of yourself and others - go slow and get a better view. Certainty is a fallacy. The unknown is what it means to be human, it's why we open our eyes in the morning.
We live in a time where where every commodity has become a fashion accessory, people have to decide which group they want to be part of and then organize their lives accordingly. We love brands, we like to be told 'who' is the best and what is the statistical favorite. We seek certainty. I think we could learn a lot more about each other and ourselves as the human race and what that means if we are brave enough, enlightened enough to look inward, at the individual and immerse, submerge ourselves in the things we don't know about ourselves, things we are scared of. Time and time again it's always the scary things that are the most worthwhile and I guess that why bravery is such a noble trait.
Presumably they call it a hangover cause when you have one you can often be found hanging over the toilet looking for Huey. And the association that a hangover has of being undesirable is maybe not least because of what you might dip your nose in while hanging over the said toilet. Well I don't actually 'hang over' very often, in fact I usually just lay on my back, holding my head, occasionally moan. So it occurred to me that maybe it should be called a 'lay' but then I remembered the other connotations that that word has and thought that the people would probably think it untoward if someone were to announce they were so very 'laid', people wouldn't know if they were coming or going. I suppose the phrase 'hangover' isn't necessarily specific to the toilet. You can hang over the sink or out the window, you could hang over a bridge or if you were really taken by surprise you could just hang over the side of the table or the sofa. Anyway the point is I'm hungover and I'd rather be upstanding. I'm off to the pub, I've finally managed to track down Huey.
A sight befell me on the draw bridge.
A suicide? Or something more strange?
A meeting of souls alien to each other,
Patients in arms.
Each more unable than the next.
The sun set and another union was dashed;
Perhaps too soon.
Yet the night ended with lighted souls and fresh spirits.
Breathe on till tomorrow and gasp hard and fast.
More is your way forward into the night of your own choosing.
Covered in raucous flesh waving a seeping white flag, Tears contaminated, they become aimless and their solitary glow lights the way; To deep cavernous prizes; of thought, of action.
Holding on to Rotten, entering it and mixing spirits; Again new born; new confusion, perhaps only new perspective. No matter, now surrounded in reddening flesh and in service to anguish.
Rage flows as a torrent of ill-conceived objections; Jurisdiction to send a plea is revoked. Become the play thing of temptation, dare to go farther than before.
Light goes out. Light goes on. Light no longer illuminates but further obscures The objective, which now irredeemable, explores some other dimension. Taking stock and feeding a new habit, an inability not to act, act out.
Fervorous ambition is not without some comfort, at least minute to minute. Skin off something whole, envelop a vessel of another form Let it be a catalyst to entropy.
Go again. Go again. Go again. Till finally catharsis descends And twists the head off perception; slays the Phoenix. Naked as intended, step on, step off, evolving consciousness, no return.
I was walking near the river, the light was peaking down through the leaves of the trees, it was still apart from cracking sticks underfoot. You walked by smoking a cigarette, there were a few people with you, I thought that maybe you noticed me.
I saw you again, you were standing in front of me in the queue at the canteen and a man at the front of the queue didn't speak much English and the cashier couldn't understand if he wanted the curry or the fish, I was watching you touching every screw in the counter with the same finger and the man kept repeating "yes yes yes", you looked around I thought we exchanged a glance, that we both thought the man was funny. I felt alive after and proud.
You were laughing so loud in a corridor and I knew it was you, I rounded the corner, yea I was already smiling, you were on the phone and you looked so happy, I laughed, like I shared your moment you know, I thought you knew and that you were pleased.
It's so good to see you, I haven't seen you in, a long time, well, how are you? Thanks I feel happy, I feel excited like something might happen soon. Isn't it funny when you feel like that? It's like a secret that I can never keep.
You were sitting across from me on the subway, you had huge designer glasses on I couldn't see your eyes, I had a hat on I pulled it down tight over my eyes, I closed my eyes and exposed my face again, I thought I'd just let you watch me, I thought that would be less awkward, I hate sitting across from someone you know, like if you walk down a long hall approaching someone you know and you have to make awkward faces and look away at intervals so its not like your staring, I thought you probably would feel the same way. You got off the subway at the stop before me and you brushed my leg as you passed.
You were crying. I saw you through the window at the coffee shop in the village. I Knew you needed a friend to talk to, someone who knew you well. I sat on a bench outside and I wished that it was me, I imagined your first laugh after the tears, you know the one thats always most rewarding to give someone. You passed me as you left the coffee shop and I carried on with my day and hoped you were alright.
You finished top in the class and I was second, we stood next to each other in the class photo, you grabbed my hand and you told me 'congratulations' and I said it back to you. I asked you if you were going to the dance, I thought you smiled a lot at me, I thought you might like to dance with me at the dance, you smiled so much.
Yea I'm having loads of fun, everyone looks great. I cant believe its over.
You were a little drunk and so was I. And we danced to one song, it was a hip hop song and I don't really know how to dance to hip hop, so I made a joke and you laughed and the song finished and you went to the bathroom and you left a while later. I thought maybe I'd see you again soon.
We'd had a few days of parties and fun in the snow, tomorrow came the thaw. An outright, honest question took me by surprise. I mean we do generally dance around the awkward issues, that dance that we do, i like to call it the 'anyway you like jig', I mean you come across a person who 'ums' and chums' and sporadically 'kabooms' your senses and I would forgive you for thinking they were simply charming because actually they are an expert at the 'anyway you like jig'. Well I was in the throws of a jig with an unnamed other when I was asked an outright, honest question that took me by surprise. I will always remember the feeling of snapping into reality that night, as if Dazzle and Faux had just realized they were way off schedule and suddenly flew from the scene. This is what happened, the overseer of our fun, my snowman, did his best to lean in my direction, when he was sure he had caught my attention he whispered out the corner of his mouth - "How long till morning?"
She'll lie next to me and tickle her wrists with my hair. He's not my friend, after all. She kisses me and watches me dance. She is my muse. On the dance floor we press against each other. She is brash. I want to know him. He is aggressive; his glasses emphasize his frown lines. She shouts at all my friends and everyone else. He wears old woolen jumpers. We kissed again. She doesn't like it when I stroke her face but I always want to. She stamps her thick-soled shoes on the dance floor to the tempo; sometimes. They are registered at university. There is a hole in his jumper; I know where it is. He plays guitar and he sings, quietly. She loves to dance with me when there is no one else on the floor, we look good together, I think. He loves me. She's in a club, I'd like to underline my membership but sometimes I don't know what to say or I say too much.
I hope I find.
I miss him when he's not around; there are things I think we could tell each other. She blows accomplished smoke rings; I often look at her photograph. I enjoyed kissing her. She'll make you dinner; you'll like it. She likes the word "pretentious" and she pronounces all of her syllables on purpose. I want to know him. They don't see me during the week; I wish they did. She talks more than me, more than anyone I know but I don't mind, I tell people about her, I mean what I say. She is beautiful. She doesn't care. They pick their moments, never very aptly; they support each other. She is self-conscious, I read her by her facial expressions, and I read her well. He always wears that jacket. She made me a scarf and I sometimes wear it in summer, we reminisce. She is older than me; I know you wouldn't have known. They’re medicated. It was her I called when I thought I might die, it was.
Been hoping for a fresh... with that acquaintance.
He secretly loves her; he wishes it wasn't a secret. He always ends up sitting in that same seat in that same position, I don't know why. If I am to die, she has plan. She's the same as me. She hardly ever wears underwear. They have STI's; he doesn't care. She goes shopping for me. She smells antique. I think I will tell her things that I have not told anyone else. He doesn't know that I know; maybe he does. He chokes me.
To be taken by surprise. Take what I want, to be awarded a prize or even recognize a prize.
I sit next to him and her and him and her and her when I feel lonely. He admires me. He is trustworthy and loyal and good and I think he could be my best friend. He's a show off but he knows it! He embitters me, makes me jealous and makes me doubt myself. They all said they loved me once. She inspired me and to think of those nights in the smoke fills me with hope and pride. She speaks in stirring phrases; she wears cheap clothes, they look tacky, she is earthy; she is dirty; it doesn't matter. I regret some of what I said to him. I kiss her because she wants me to. I'd wed her. She is black and white and sometimes red - often red, in fact. I don't know him. To me, she is sex. She changed my life. He stares at me when he thinks I can't see, I don't know why, I'd like to. I think we should have been lovers. Sometimes he sickens me. She is my best friend. She invited me in before I knew her; I'd like to repay her. She listens to me like I listen to her; I wonder if she knows I'm not listening. She never gave me a chance; maybe she will, I don't care. I don't see enough of her; I can see enough of him. She's a great partner. I hope she knows. She is her own contradiction. He is over confident; I mean arrogant. He keeps coming back; or maybe I do. I borrowed his jumper once.