the lightening strikes over and over,
the thunder blankets the sound
deep in the below the currents
the fish is lost in water
(Dream dairy entry number one: After 3 weeks of looking for my note book i have found it by my bed. Apparently I was going to write down my dreams. I forgot it was there, and I have also forgotten my dreams. The pages are blank, blanc, empty, Tabla Rasa... the perfect dream. )
They told me it was needed to remove the ends on my fingers, the tips, a sign of beauty. Each hand with four plastic tubes filled with a liquid healing the newly revealed meaty stumps where there once were hideous long digits. keep the thumbs to open door knobs.
I have infinite eyes, on spinning stacked faces
I was broken in pieces,
put back together with a thousand arms
I am here to help.
"Lay back....push your shoulder down...." he held my arm, in a traction style, tight, solid, As i pushed back into the bed the muscle spasms ripped a path of pain thru my mind. Its all i can see, feel... your face disappears, for a moment.. lay back, lay back, close your eyes... i feel the bone rub, and the shoulder slips back...Its back in... the doctor concurs....
The blue sky revealed as the clouds part showing the puffs of silver, gray and black. heavens are the lightest blue nearly white, lost in the horizons of rolling green hills,...
Placid this ocean is, as it holds close to the shore.... alive and wicked beneath as it extends outward, the orient and south past Mexican fishing boats. this expanse lays before ebbs back... connects and pulls it outward...
moving into the storm.
passage is booked into the white waters, churning now a darkness, deep. The sky closes around the blocking out the faithful sun... deepens the mood, the air thick, the wind arrives, and pushes the breath back into the mouth, feel the choke, Jaw tightens, clenches, the smile pulled tight against your the teeth. The knuckles white with tension, tight, taunt... silence save the wind, the moment before the the first drops of rain touch the back of the neck....
...watch the smile, profiles the delicate features, the nose, lips, and the long dark hair that hangs down, pushed behind her ear, the loose strands in her eyes. follow the neck as it slopes downward to the swell of the breast. This art of life, experiencing movement thru the collection of the sunlight, twisting currents, and the vortex. These paints suspended...
the dark bitter heat, this coffee, against sticky lips, the cup held in stained fingers. this taste lingers on the tongue. the heat radiates into the teeth. this deluge, after dark, pours a warmth and flavor back in.
My movements are labored, I can hard stand or walk. I sit. I am hungry. Its chilly in here, i need a sweater. There goes that cat. I think it may be mine. Should I feed it? The cat is too far away. what do cats eat? I have no idea.That is not my cat, I think its a squirrel. I do not own a cat. The chair needs mending, the treads along the edge of the red vinyl arm rest have come loose. Some one wrote "fuck victor" on the arm rest as well. Who is Victor? Who wants to fuck him? Who wrote on this chair? Did i? Is that my handwriting? Do I want to fuck Victor? Who is Victor. I do not think I know him. I knew a Victor once. He was an asshole. Yeah, Fuck Victor, but I think that is not my handwriting. Do I have a new secret Ally or maybe Allies? I think I need to feed that squirrel, oh wait, that is a cat.
gliding thru, a spin, and a turn, nothing... movement not felt merely reflected
the machine smooth in its circles, the bodies railed by mathematics.
these small spinning dioramas
locked into the spinning arms.
drifting,
Iam steadfast to wait here
knowing you'll be right along.