that backwards optic nerve

(February 19th, 2013 – – concise scent observations and ruminations, lost love)

There is a damn pool in the backyard, the sounds of the highway as meditative as crashing ocean waves and I’ve consumed the elixir of dreams, the deja vu that you feel the next day without much subtlety, this is exactly what I dreamed about seven years ago, somewhere in a deep past of forgotten present and the terrified thoughts of a future, now in hindsight, through that backwards optic nerve, the looking glass illuminates truth powerful enough to burn retinas, or melt the frames of cheap sunglasses.

If I only knew then what I know now. Would have been like showing Mozart or a Quentin Tarantino movie to a caveman. Imagination a sudden, transient, tear in the space-time continuum. You will make quantum leaps and you are given time to decide what you bring on the journey with you in order not to be hunted or killed ruthlessly, or to survive in at least mild comfort, what pieces of you bring in order to survive in this distant and foreign land, even if it is your own backyard, fully familiar even with hundreds thousands of years of growth and climate change, continents shift, sky darkening and shrinking.. You will notice them look at the sky and feel small just as you would in present. The cloud coverage burned off just perfect to frame the moon. The rain weighs things down, makes them heavy, and the appeal of warmer temperatures is what causes lemmings to follow one and other to their deaths off of green cliffsides… scouring the beach for their lost horizons..

And then after all that observation, the scent of an angel drifts in through the paper thin walls, they conceal nothing at all, and fills the room with a melancholy stillness, accentuated by the string lights in the ceiling and soft music from the speakers on the ground, no neighbors below to complain of stomping around, general lime dance disarray, the tango and other famous moves from famous movies, and the jukebox will spit out quarters at you to prevent another selection of Louie Louie…

The scent is one of warm nostalgia and fills the heart with the lungs, and the eyes with the heart, bloodshot and watering like garden hoses, in the blossoming spring, the colors of words that are untraceable, the origins unknown and of sovereign quality. If I traced the scent back the curiosity would kill me like an alley cat, begging behind the jazz club for scraps or inspiration… I would be dead on the floor to recall that summery smell. The feelings of fresh love in the face of mockery and ultimate crowd disapproval. But then realizing how enormous the world is… To travel and to soak up the adventures, to experience full versions of every emotion possible and I realize with wide optimism that once I develop a more articulate voice I have powerful things to say based on what I already know. Words to the wise. I can recall specific instances of bravado or cowardice and then you can use them for personal reflections. If I can write, the stories may as well be based on something truthful and then with something important to say through it.. The meaning resides in the ability to portray an accurate, researched, novel with the importance of a tide turning story…

Fragrant waves of motion toward me. Refreshing sense of what it tastes like to be in the perfect place at the right time. This is where I need to be, you say, damn proud of yourself. The smell of a tangled web of commitment, something beyond spoken word, slam dance poetry, with lesser intentions of prolonged coexistence, but hey, we said, it sure would be a treat. The move in date and the desert. Boxing up hopes and enlightened light bulbs, with black light intent, the pieces of glass that are artfully manipulated into things that will immediately make you paranoid if you smoke out of them, wait what the fuck am I holding? but then. this is the question after all, the self doubt and the reassurance, there are beautiful blue vibes emanating from this scent, this singular scent, this idea of perfection that we encapsulate so well in the past, distractedly, that we have to see if our brains played a trick on us, the way separation anxiety can cause the distance to make the heart grow fonder, and there are similar sayings of such nonsense that normally would not apply, holy christ, then at that point you begin to believe in the words of others as if they were your own and you are caught in this spidery web, indisposed like the rest of them.

Contemplate the contained fire. Congratulations on your entrance into a deeper catacomb. Open the caksets, they have been emptied by god. This catalyst will cease if fully replaced. But the coexistence is important and diversity is not our biggest fear.


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