Friday the 3rd

Tonight I equate the soft pitter-pattering rain to gentle kisses of young lovers. This water so graciously hoisted up into the air through mists and fogs drifts down to feed the earth. A tea kettle is reaching boil. The city is asleep. My bobbing head, with the rhythm of words, and anxious, rolling ankles coerced me up out of warm bodied bed. I felt there to be a poetry to convey in some way. I felt there a need to explain myself in a few thousand letters. Letters signed and post dated to my future self. Or to you, young lover, in my rose petal bedroom with shining star lights and tapestries situated perfectly all around those moist chameleon eyes. 

I know you all too well, darling subsiding fire. This relaxed rain will put you out of your misery. 

I’ll climb up all that coliseum ivy, to surprise you on your balcony

She’s got bolt cutter eyes and a sidelong, savage smile that will cut you into pieces if you are soft. She knows beauty. 

——

stream of conscious

11:41 pm – 12:06 am

Now I must morph into a rant for a number of minutes while the tea cools and my head swells with information and intent. I’m looking close to all the city maps in my head and attempting to analyze which route to take. How can I know which diversion is best until I trial and error? There are so many routes and modes of transport. There are harrowing details and great hikes all uphill without significant shoes on. There are roads that dead end in the sea. There are round-a-bouts and switchbacks. Anchors and chains tethered to the ruins of the ancient mariners. My thoughts will remain afloat. I will not allow them to go back down into that abyss without intending to. But there is truth down there. Self reflection. Car accidents and shameful mistakes. Ruined relationships and blood pulsing out of open wounds. There is a lot of guilt. Undead guilt. Digging up out of the ground around my feet, causing emotional landslides, dips and ravines. They come incessant. Thirsting for derailed thought and inopportune hangovers for regret, regret, regret. Ominous dark gravestones of regret. Those buried references and speaking gibberish. Here it is, grammar queens. A written rubix cube to run your tongue over. Teach me your magic tricks, you Christ-scientists. Can you levitate a mind? 

This city map is just as ridiculous as all others, I realize. There are beautiful women and sights along the median to behold. There are collateral damages in the chipped concrete where skull fragments and teeth remain, unsightly and grotesque, even at 60 mph. If I could guarantee the creation of magic with simple combinations of words I would never stop writing. There would never be pauses to read back on what was written, or the critic in me who scoffs at everything calling it worthless. There would be no metaphysical road blocks or barricades in this thought highway. I need that police-escort through the angry mob kind of vitality and ambition. I need that drug addled empathy in the face of utter bestial ignorance and stupidity; such as drunken friends hitting on each other’s girlfriends and fighting in the parking lot. 

If I could orient myself to these streets and secret pathways. Maybe I can unlock the secrets of my universe. I can open my eyes to the possibility in full blown fury. My mind, when primed correctly, can shake a symbolic stadium with metaphoric crowd euphoria during a gladiator kill in ancient Rome. When the hinges are oiled up and this machine is fired and ready, anything is possible, possible, possible. It takes time and education. Not training. 

“To be trained is to prepare oneself against surprises. To be educated is to prepare oneself for surprises.”

Gems in the salty ocean. Waterfalls pouring out of solid vertical granite. Hawks picking at the sunglasses of tourists, amused with themselves. Orca whales crashing through dock pilings without a scratch. Airplanes pausing mid air to catch their breath. Stray cats swarming the tuna factory. Golf courses reused and recycled for playgrounds and swan ponds icing over entombing their entangled necks beneath the frozen water until spring. Flowers blooming out of chest cavities. Veins pouring out purple silk with each heart beat embroidering a new thread of this life-tapestry. Refrigerators and auto shop machines humming tunes together in harmony. Huge canyons that echo for so long, if you scream or yodel your sound will delay and repeat forever. It is called cacophony canyon and sounds like millions of dead languages screaming and yodeling their throaty, incomprehensible way into the throaty, incomprehensible present. Massive earthquake reforms the super continent. Alien lifeforms are discovered colonize our hearts and minds through a new television series. National Geographic is taken over by Google in partnership with Walmart and Budweiser. All wedding rings suddenly give spouses the switch-on switch-off power of invisibility and listening. Hearing aids fuse to ear canals. Venice, Italy becomes an underwater city, only traversable in submarines. Only residents are divers and the dead. Or if you can hold your breath.

 

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