The Night comes into Me

Was there an orchid or was I dead? I was in my bed thinking about that night.

The wind came in at my feet, my eyes drifting into the sky as the sun faded behind our apartment. The sky.. It was a tan mist until you saw some pale blue behind them, hardly there. The wind was cold, and I was in a robe so that my feet and legs could feel it. I looked to my left as two college kids got out of their car, cherry-faced and grinning. Their feet stumbled on the ground wrapped up in China's finest rubber and leather. It was always like that, some bro's coming back from a party, or a get together, or alone with each other, mindless with nothing but ego's. I starred at them walk by and shout in the air, disturbing it and everything; the leaves shook and I thought about the entity of their wake. Nothing was quiet with them, and they needed the world looking. It was theirs, after all, all theirs.

A lit cigarette was in the ashtray and who was I kidding. I sat down and watched the colors fade until they were a deep purple and black. The street lights glowed golden in the streets, and I was floating above their platform of golden mist. The cars raced by on the road and their sounds came at me life waves far off, just zooming on by. It was a nice scene, I felt as if I could have seen nothing greater than this tremendous sea of black and purple bearing down on a world made of darkness and golden lights. Or maybe that and the mixture of Portishead. The place began to stink with cloves.

I went back inside and laid down staring at the ceiling, my thoughts so involved that they didn't really matter. The lines began moving a little and a sighed as I let myself go into my head. I closed my eyes. Thoughts coming and going; every face that I knew swarming into a hive of bees, dancing, singing some decreped lullaby. I felt suffocated but I didn't know by what; my arms and my legs? The weight of gravity? Chains that go further like my consumption, my id, my superego, all useless and constantly at war over nothing. Relation, people related to each other by these bonds that disolve away for so many reasons, and the minds, constantly swinging from one to another. Are we just nodes in the wire of humanity? Like little bundles of spikes on a barbed wire fence, only more connected, disgusting, an entire pile of barbed wire that will never be untied and untangled.

I opened my eyes and I was in the same place as before.

Movement, it's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round.

The next morning I walked in the footsteps of a younger me, around the age of nine, peering at the edge of the pool. There was a reflection there and tht reflection could be anything, could do anything. I threw a rock in and disturbed it, but I thought for a second, as it splashed into the water; I wasn't sure, but I thought that I saw an orchid blooming in the corner of my eye. Just a flash of dull red, surrounded by all this foliage. It was the first time that I felt as if I were just a character in the dream of my life passing away. I felt transparent, but beautiful. The beauty if I get to experience you again for another life.

Sitting Down in a Yellow House Made of Nothing

He does not ask when, but who? And why ask when you're standing in front of me with nothing to you? (A figment of your own thoughts, like the mist of a persons breath during winter: fading away.)

I look down into the pond trying to see enough to make me fall in for eternity, but all I'm beginning to see is fragments of my own face being ripped apart and the water ripples; will leaves not stop falling? It's the time of the season I tell myself, it's normal, that time again when the wind comes and blows you down, or the lightning to scare you away, or the storms to shatter and maim. My hands on the ground trying to feel the novelty; I am nothing but an addict to life, forever in the process of desensitization. All people fall down, we all fall down, each a game within ourselves in a constant struggle of wits. You see, he hears, she smells, I feel, we taste; our sense leave us eventually and we're only thoughts floating in nothing, or spacemen in the sea, foreigners in our own crusade.

It's vital, to loathe existence every once in awhile, or to remember that jaded is a temporary mind set, or that hallucinations are just as real as your objective hallucinations. Autumn coming and we're all falling into it. The wind combs our hair and there are smiling teeth in the woods or children in masks and horror movies selling out. Tonight a wired mind will wander down the road and see God in the sky, or the devil in a church, or his death in a glass of water, and life within the sand on a beach. Rationality will go with it and we'll all fall down.

Half past ten and still threading needles; the future times coming upon us no matter how many times we try to cut the string. (Return in our heads to the 60's or the 40's and finding them gone from out minds, lacerations in our minds pulling our personalities apart.) Suddenly tart, a tear here or there for the flavor and that passes over; we'll hug and grin and love and smile, and the sun will set, and that passes over. We'll dive into our minds and find us, who we are and who we'll always be, decided then, and that passes over.

Infinity is constantly over. We all fall down.

Today I looked in the rain for something that could tell me where I was. The lightning kept coming down, lighting each drop so that the light brimmed through it like cold, blue steel, or a star lost in the clouds. The air metallic, and you somewhere in the darkness of the forest, and I at the crossroad trying to wrestle a demon to the ground without realizing it. I try to see but maybe I'm the blind one, or the blind one that at least knows he's blind on some level. I could feel myself fall down but there's no ground anymore.

Times and how They're Loaned

I had been mistaken all of my life. It started out kind of as a joke; I was young and didn't know any better, still believed that there was a truth underneath every layer of questions. I saw no end. I would go out and run in the woods with a mission in my life, with a serious expression, keen eyes forward and cutting through the fog until I got closer and closer to where I needed to be. Leaves passed by, ferns that crept into your eyes; the palm trees would hang over you as the wind would lift their spirits every time they dropped down too far.

I was young; that was the point. The mirror showed me a face that I couldn't recognize that was only beginning to grow hair, and my eyes seemed to show everyone else that had entered my head. I ask myself if it was real or just a dream but no one tells me the truth because they don't know, but want to know. We're all thirsty for it as power changes in life. Even then, although I didn't know it, it was still the main idea; I'd grip through it, my teeth clenched, sweaty-eyed and squinted, staring out through glass and wishing it were gone, getting rid of it, getting rid of everything and trying to change in any way.

When we grow older do we only lose ourselves in a world without boundaries?

When we grow older do are friends tend to fall down on their knees so hard, wrapped up in chains and unable to stand again? I don't think that I'll ever understand; maybe I'm naïve to being an adult. I still feel smaller than everyone, not that it matters.

Everything will feel perfect when you can see it all fall apart in my mind. Maybe that's a prediction, it probably is, every future tense ends up being a prediction eventually. I can't see but I know that he's crying right now. Is that what matters?

When some one falls in their life, and everyone is around to hear it, do they hear it?

Systems aren't Made of Bricks

Are you broken or something?

Words don't matter at that point, when everything is just sands through a sifter; searching for some sort of gold in between the rubbish. No one tries and no one cares because the idea of power overwhelms them- they need to transcend and force it until their ego is convulsing on the floor, choking on its own vomit. Somebody got hurt in the process and everyone walked around, looks on their faces matching up with the way the stars are set up. (But they moved, there, don't you get it? Instilled their own meaning in order to create some circular logic. It's methods of control and all

all we care about is) power, running down a persons spine- it makes them want it more and more because it's just like everything else humans touch. We were spongey and no one cared. You were crying and no one cared. You were secretly doubting yourself, surrounding yourself with the ideals you thought you knew and the ideas you thought were correct and an arrogance that rang further than the sky- and no one cared, because we don't care, not when we can, never when we can. Humans and skillets in the ground (both trying to make their own worth and being used by people every day to their own ends.)

You don't seem to get the relationship that's surrounded us like a wall of air. There's nothing left but bone and you don't want to keep digging because of the taste of marrow. There's no use trying to build everything back up because it's blown away-where there's nothing left.

We satisfy ourselves like that. Bitting our tails; are we nothing but felines on catnip? Or dogs, high off of their own obedience and misunderstanding of the world? No matter how hard you try to take a step you can't make it fast, and you end up in the same place.

Lying in your bed unconscious, stuck in your own dreams that you like to think is reality.

Each awakening a death.

(I'm trying to tell you that I miss you and that my thoughts are in the oven and boiling over.)