Post by Steve on Oct 22, 2005 6:04:54 GMT -5
It was still early in the day, so Renea decided that she wanted to display to her friends and show me downtown Tacoma. We head up that steep little hill above her house and cross Pac. ave. to catch the 1 bus downtown. The usual questions were inquired about: How are you? What have you been up to? Talk to anyone from school lately? Then came the ones more constructed for this specific case: -How did Faith take it?- - Not too well, i kinda fucked up and just ditched her ya know. couldn't really tell her in person, but i had to go back and meet her in a wawa parking lot. it blew, but i'm not anything that can't be gotten over.- I don't know about that last thing there ian, but, eh...- and there were other questions that were similarly personal, not creative in any way, it was like being interviewed by an elementary student when all you want to do is rant ramble about oldmen bleeding out orchids making tubes from spare parts of a lawn mower and intravenously administering it to their dying wives. About the Diamond Sutra and if anyone has ever tried picking flowers from Lumbini Grove. How the moon is strung out from huffing gases from sacred solar temptress, hanging low in these recent years and always watching ensuring the fragment of time when it drops from sight will be caught and filed and compiled in your memory. If crickets are reincarnated violinists, fish once pirates, humans the reincarnation of some greater species long since deceased. No. there were no discussions, only mere surface questions cause it seems that's all she was ever concerned about, making sure that the surface was managed; up to date; presentable to a certain degree so that her uniqueness didn't rely on her thoughts or creative intellect. I will write more three years from now and tell you how i really feel.
Renea introduced me to her 'friends' and spent a few wasteful days prodding me before leaving and not making me aware of when she would return. So, for the first week i was petrified to leave the house because i had no way of unlocking the doors if the housemate locked them while i was gone. i had arrived july 1, and now it was july 4, Faith's birthday, and there was no way i was about to let another fourth of july pass without seeing fireworks. Renea had gone out earlier that day, for what i can't remember, but was due to come back around 8pm, so that i could take a walk and introduce myself to her friends. The night became later and later, the sound of bursting shells ripped through walls, shattered glass, pried dreaded tears from my clay eyes. Tiny me afraid to move from the chair i remained smoking cigarette after cigarette wondering if she would even come back before morning-it turns out that in fact she didn't. renea had hooked up with friends that she hadn't introduced me to, that i never met while out there even, dropped paper tripped in the woods drunk with violent crashing bursting bouquets falling behind the heads of trees. i learned a lot from renea, never hold hope or people to high or close-so i could take poor lonely slapping feet walk down 13 blocks and smell the radiance of infection yellow streelights, cold coffee beans from the shop at the corner of Garfield ave and C street, lingering sulfar from the now sleeping fireworks and the scent of memories so vivid world around you transfigures itself into past, leaving more heartbreak wingless than before you thought about them.
I left the house, shut the lights off, drew the sliding blinds of the bay window, and walked out the back french doors leaving them unlocked as i closed them behind me. The night was cool, a soft exhale of mint breath running the contours of my shoulders; circling my knees and drifting up my shorts, a sigh from lunar goddess herself. Puget Sound was filled with aggravated 'thuds' 'booms' and 'whaps' covering the sky with carnival coloured constellations. I was no longer worried about theives and vanals harrassing the house. Nothing mattered now that i was outside, in the world, once again piercing my way through atmosphere and life with ink tongue and notepad mind.
methheads fireworks and lonely walks july fourth 2005
The sky was beautiful. The only thing worth looking at. There was a continual fog of burnt sulfar gliding along the sidewalks like a Frisco fog. Tortured ear drums jump crazed with the sudden blam of detonation and squealed at the gunshots blooming colors. Kids of eight running `round with wooden matches, racing from rocket to rocket setting off piece by piece creating skyward gardens for their moment flowers to blossom and wilt within.
I felt the need to scream aloud, talk outside of my head, laugh without my hand covering my face. I did so. I gallopped along the sidewalk cackling to the patch of grass that was untouched by any work or litter from there of. I crossed the street, walked in the middle of the road, the yellow dotted lines were planks beneath my feet. Each one was a line left by some hand that was either dead by now, or too old to remember the roads that they had driven down.
then the night became older. An hour had past,and i became antsy about leaving the front door unlocked for such a long time. I walked with my head down,
tweekers hauled their kids by the arms to light Chinese Spinners in the middle of the road, and others sat in beach chairs. Drunk. Splurting out anything that came to mind while watching the fireworks.ALthough not one of them said "what the fuck are we doin` buyin` beach chairs when there ain't no fucking beach around here?!!!" No, not one of them said a thing like that. Instead i heard the moans, and the coughing that had plagued me in my loneliness while inside of the house.
When i arrived back at the house, everything was safe. I managed time to the point where i witnessed myself sitting down at the glass table writing at the time before i decided to take a walk. As the shadow vanished i sat down in the seat and began writing, picking up the comfortable sweater of unhappiness that i have worn far too many times before.
Renea introduced me to her 'friends' and spent a few wasteful days prodding me before leaving and not making me aware of when she would return. So, for the first week i was petrified to leave the house because i had no way of unlocking the doors if the housemate locked them while i was gone. i had arrived july 1, and now it was july 4, Faith's birthday, and there was no way i was about to let another fourth of july pass without seeing fireworks. Renea had gone out earlier that day, for what i can't remember, but was due to come back around 8pm, so that i could take a walk and introduce myself to her friends. The night became later and later, the sound of bursting shells ripped through walls, shattered glass, pried dreaded tears from my clay eyes. Tiny me afraid to move from the chair i remained smoking cigarette after cigarette wondering if she would even come back before morning-it turns out that in fact she didn't. renea had hooked up with friends that she hadn't introduced me to, that i never met while out there even, dropped paper tripped in the woods drunk with violent crashing bursting bouquets falling behind the heads of trees. i learned a lot from renea, never hold hope or people to high or close-so i could take poor lonely slapping feet walk down 13 blocks and smell the radiance of infection yellow streelights, cold coffee beans from the shop at the corner of Garfield ave and C street, lingering sulfar from the now sleeping fireworks and the scent of memories so vivid world around you transfigures itself into past, leaving more heartbreak wingless than before you thought about them.
I left the house, shut the lights off, drew the sliding blinds of the bay window, and walked out the back french doors leaving them unlocked as i closed them behind me. The night was cool, a soft exhale of mint breath running the contours of my shoulders; circling my knees and drifting up my shorts, a sigh from lunar goddess herself. Puget Sound was filled with aggravated 'thuds' 'booms' and 'whaps' covering the sky with carnival coloured constellations. I was no longer worried about theives and vanals harrassing the house. Nothing mattered now that i was outside, in the world, once again piercing my way through atmosphere and life with ink tongue and notepad mind.
methheads fireworks and lonely walks july fourth 2005
The sky was beautiful. The only thing worth looking at. There was a continual fog of burnt sulfar gliding along the sidewalks like a Frisco fog. Tortured ear drums jump crazed with the sudden blam of detonation and squealed at the gunshots blooming colors. Kids of eight running `round with wooden matches, racing from rocket to rocket setting off piece by piece creating skyward gardens for their moment flowers to blossom and wilt within.
I felt the need to scream aloud, talk outside of my head, laugh without my hand covering my face. I did so. I gallopped along the sidewalk cackling to the patch of grass that was untouched by any work or litter from there of. I crossed the street, walked in the middle of the road, the yellow dotted lines were planks beneath my feet. Each one was a line left by some hand that was either dead by now, or too old to remember the roads that they had driven down.
then the night became older. An hour had past,and i became antsy about leaving the front door unlocked for such a long time. I walked with my head down,
tweekers hauled their kids by the arms to light Chinese Spinners in the middle of the road, and others sat in beach chairs. Drunk. Splurting out anything that came to mind while watching the fireworks.ALthough not one of them said "what the fuck are we doin` buyin` beach chairs when there ain't no fucking beach around here?!!!" No, not one of them said a thing like that. Instead i heard the moans, and the coughing that had plagued me in my loneliness while inside of the house.
When i arrived back at the house, everything was safe. I managed time to the point where i witnessed myself sitting down at the glass table writing at the time before i decided to take a walk. As the shadow vanished i sat down in the seat and began writing, picking up the comfortable sweater of unhappiness that i have worn far too many times before.