Archive for July, 2011
miserable and lopsided indeed; i
a mist desert,
with a vapor ground in awful shades of sweet pastels in constant motion, a slow motion, but whirring, like a restless fan.
some spans of the surface, camouflaged in the pale gradients of viscous matter, were fluid, and exploded on occasion with inverse geysers that rocketed deep into a layer below.
golden stone monoliths thrust upwards through the odd buzzing ground, a brief and elegant relief in the discomfort of floating and wading through that thick bubblegum floor. i lunged for a solid, safe rock, warm and inviting with its bronze sheen and stationary positioning, organic and familiar in the sea of tumultuous pink ambiguity. it was slippery. and it reacted to my touch by letting out a groan—two groans.. three? hundreds, now! i looked to the top and thick black cables swayed leisurely, almost mockingly, attached to faces in the top of the rock. many faces. trapped as it would seem, in vexed side profiles. their mouths didn’t open, i doubted that they could, but they cried their laments, a counter-melody to that relentless humming arpeggio, the whole dreamscape coming alive with noise and dislike for the intruder that made herself known.
mouth-clouds slid down the wire that held them in the sky like laundry on a clothes line, opening their lips and closing them silently, warning me and lip-synching to the background symphony of leave now, the volume of which was becoming unbearable. they were finding me, converging at the spot directly above my head.
i felt a soft, moist slap on my wrist, the texture of which resembled wet cloth; limp and a little warm. to my right was a creature of unsettling symmetry, a head on either side, reflective and shining as it waded effortlessly towards me. it looked up with the closer head and seemed to say something. it was a siamese snail and i think it was asking me a question.
watercolor and ink on tracing paper, layered at angles over canvas paper
i should like to keep them for a long time. much longer than the span you jokingly limit this to, but sincerely believe in. i know you believe it because i know your faces now.
these things, they rest on my desk yet, since the day i received them, through muttered curses and meager whispers and lovely days out when i laughed til spit dribbled from the corner of my happy, open mouth. i should like to keep them and i should also like to keep the bodily salts and misplaced hair and all, of the hands who offered them.
and i wonder if too close should have been the extent of it and immediately decide it shouldn’t have
and i realize what i’ve conceded and i feel proud
and i remember what i’ve miscalculated and i feel shame
and i look incessantly to the clock you’ve asked me to correct
and i know you’re awake by now and that you’d rather not hear from me just yet.
a method to seep back into the sewage systems of your neural networks, your internal ventilation tubes. but the risks run high, as i have come to know, and imprisonment in such a dank warm underground is less than favorable. i’ll stay up here, with my fridge and air conditioning, and working shower that only takes about a half hour to dispense an enjoyable temperature of water, and try not to wonder what’s underneath me.