Miami (Edited Freewriting)

The animals move along their beaten path, tightly shielded from their womb. The unworthy among them still demand respect, but somehow all seem beautiful. Their hills are not gone but rebuilt, with curious angles and slopes. The color of the world is faded and dying. A smeared pastel horizon of tessellations and shapes, of pinks and oranges and yellows, and Black and white never stop arguing.The sound particles are soothingly infinite, but eventually I hear the world derail, and come to a screeching halt.

Drawing by Michelle Pugliese, inspired by this paragraph

The lamb had crawled up into the pipes and gotten sick, but had made friends with the bats and other strange creatures that lived there. They told the lamb not to be afraid, but the lamb was still terrified. Her wool had uncurled and grown dingy and bright red with fear. To this the other creatures widened their eyes and howled, they mauled the lamb to silence before the creature could cause any further harm.

Take it in stride my dear, you do not become the land of the lord overnight. It will wreck you sometimes, spare yourself the grief. Pick up an axe and start the hemming, it leaves much to be desired when you are in the zone, in that constant overturning apple orchard that rocks you like the otters do, they teeter on the brink of extinction and laugh about it, joke about it like your uncle when he tells his stories, you know, the one about the bowling pin and the hooker, that one.. The way you can’t see the sunbeams when it is sunny out, I love you for that, the way you don’t sleep when you dream, the way your lashes flush like a butterfly, sloshing mini hurricanes in the timid air, I like that.

Don’t waste all of your love in Asia Minor, it is destitute. You are better off timing it right, keeping it, or spending it on the trees next to me, growing around my ankles and lifting me into space. It takes a true hero to limit himself to the base that’s offered, to not run back and forth screaming at such a high speed he tells himself to fuck off, to let go and to let the girl get the best of things, it is a trite offense but it happens to the best, and the rest take it in pieces as well, an awful gain of power and distress, something you or I will never take, never believe in and never understand fully, it is an awful business, but that’s what it takes to be a man, to be an awkward lanky giant in a land of elves and god kings, it is awful, like a towel still dry, soaked in dry blood and warm, hot air, buzzing the dignity out of you with vampire teeth and creeping up on your soul, poised to strike and sink the teeth of rabbits and bats into its bloodstream.

The fire of the world is in Chicago, under the sewers and in the poor people’s hearts. It lights the streetlights and fuels the waves of the rich, heightens the buildings with coal and burning desires for money and greed accents the fornicating devils inside. Why don’t we crush the entire city, smush it like a fireant, try and do what God did to Sodom, that would seem fit. It is an awful thing that we have made, it will spawn more, and we have doomed ourselves, but we can love the future babies and deem our hatred to the past, they deserve it and why not, they fucked over the ample theatres of York and England, that is a whole loaf of nutty trees to go over. Now lets hold hands and sing through our throats, out our eyeballs and with the juice in our feet, it’s a time for rejoicing says the king of our breath.

It is akin to bringing forth the light you birth in your hands, the grief that bellows inside your stomach, grumbling and bumbling like an insane man in a whorehouse ready to squirm and faint. Too much, they would say, an awkward display of talent without the class and portrayal of lust and love. How we must feel the grease on our knees and rejoice when we do so, it is frantic living in days like these. How would someone so fat be able to clap a mountain between his hands, or even touch it for that matter? He cannot move, he can only look puzzled at the flies and pixies dancing on his drunken belly, throwing a kegger inside his bellybutton and poledancing on his pubic hair. Extraordinary depth, tightening the invisible noose swelling around your neck, burning into your raw milky skin. Lice covering your liver and nibbling at your skull, digging manholes to your cerebellum, hoping to find work in a better land. Maybe the economy is better, or maybe the crime won’t be so bad. But they sigh and they know it is, yet still they nibble, toil, and wake up in the morning. How could one not see the neglect in their eyes, they have not given themselves a chance to partake in the seasoning of the dogs, or to chew through the rat meat without the horror of being caught, or captured by the one who owns it. There are better things to do, and so we stay in delusion, constant motion, living in denial and prancing up and down hallways in constant delirium.

It’s a pie to the face or a punch to the stomach, it will bring happiness to those who don’t have it and gleam in the sunshine. Whenever it is near people will celebrate, throw up their arms and hug and kiss and follow eachother to the mountains singing and dancing and raking lawns for hours and hours until the notes in t heir brains are dead and dull, and they can do no more. It is a feeling very void and awkward, like a lanky giant pruning an apple tree or going to the ghetto to raise a calf. It brings little reward other than the actual money and dogs, but when there is nothing left to breathe there is nothing left to care for. It is a free world again, and we will have our wishes. The prayers will stay unanswered, but the hollow shells of horse carcasses and goat liquor will stick to the dingy desert surface for eternity.

Light (Freewriting)

Tie the rays of light in a bow and let it sit, it will be a moment before it regains consciousness. When it does, be careful. You will have angered the beast that steers it’s direction, and it will try to eat you and pick its teeth with your shoulder bone. Thrown in the ring like an ox carrying babies, or a little tube top earring that your mom used to wear to church, it feels sensational, that classy mature look all the young daughters seem to want these days. I haven’t the slightest idea why, it seems that to them beauty is as inconceivable an option as epilepsy or herding cattle to a library. It takes a sharp forked tongue to see through these things and when you do, if you do, it should be faint and shallow, with hardly the air to breathe or move even after. It likes it when its raining, cold hard and dry blood tears staining the sidewalk color schemes of whatever mood they’re in. Somehow in the dark it always seems purple, purple like infinity purple like the parades and your eyes and the movie I saw last night, horrible what a waste of time, it was like driving off a cliff, that’s a movie too but not as bad, it took me a bit to rethink everything I thought while I saw it and when I did I was glad, it seemed more fulfilling to watch someone die than to actually die or kill, schadenfreude has sick limits, if any.

Bring the light to the postal worker, he will watch you cry and tear your tears to shreds, recycle them and watch himself cry his own, feed them to his dog and then light his house on fire. He loves you, he always bringsy ou gifts, you never say a word to him. Why does he do it, when you give him no respect? He must be lonely, living in a castle of gifts handing them out to people and getting no love in return. An awful way to live, but selflessness is not for the meek. Bring me my slippers, I have a day job, live to live, bring home the bread and baste it in chicken fuel, in the mouth of the belly of the beast at hand. It tries to seem scared but it is not, it only tries to comfort your uneasiness by relating to you. There is nothing we can do to understand it, but once we do the options will be incredible, like typing on a windshield, or roped naked to a hanging lasso noosed by the throat seeing stars behind bars, every breath closer to the last, every word a little bit of dignity, shreds, petals to pieces.

Gallop in gallows, in paper fields of essays and ratty photos of old mice, holes chewed in by babies and old stoners, the resin on the bottom of human evolution chain. Frozen in cubes and diced, that’s what grandmother always used to say, marry the Mona Lisa and she will marry you as well. It never made much sense, but her eyes did, following everything so curiously following everyone everywhere all at once, ubiquitous like some sort of Godly effigy. Maybe Mona was a pantheist, maybe there was no need to follow, she was just bored, its hard to say with eyes like that, so berating and critical. It makes you uneasy, makes the sweat stick to your back, sting your eyes and make you sick, stabbing into your stomach poison tipped needles.. Japan would understand, but not Amerika.

Try on the milk, let the air fry, let it stir around the teenagers and the barfing galloping igloos, they cost too much but are okay as slaves, they are quiet and don’t resent anyone too much. They, like the other patches of lawn on the television and trees, have fur in their organs and in their spirit, it clogs their speech and makes it hard for them to shout back, so they whisper and no one gives them any mouth, any lip, or any other body part for that matter. It is devastating but it is what they want, a trial by fire, a living death, and a final frontier to the lesser ideas.

The horror swells up in your eyes, in the pinks of your fingers, whenever that child walks by. He loves you and wants to squeeze the mold out of you, but you don’t seem to let him. It’s just a joke, but really he means no harm. Why would anyone bring a daisy to a funeral, or a cupcake to an ant farm? They like feeding the outer beasts in you, and leaving the inner beasts to swerve and clash with themselves. It is a bit of an anger issue, revenge on the world, something to take like medicine or a sick child to the amphitheatre. Swallow a planet and it will run your system, get with the limelight and the light of the lime, it stings and it should divert from the rest of the other posers.

Live it, lick it, rush it and throw it back to the later realm, where you will go tomorrow and drown it in your roughened tears, the black things in the corner of your eyes that scare you like they do, amorphous shapes twisting and turning, they talk to one another but are released at different hours, it will never be a serious threat.

The lesson in the old shoe, the one by the side of the road, he must know a lot but he gets awfully disturbed, he drives a Cadillac so you know he knows a lot. The nurse told me not to worry about him, but he yelps like a dog when he looks at me or the ceiling, or the hole in the wall to the playground outside, he loves the kids. Maybe he ought not play with the kids, he may be dangerous. A seeker of souls of sorts. It’s possible, but even the brethren of lacking light need their love.

Compare the light to the dark and the skin to the bone, it is all relentless banter when you come down to the necessity of it all. Try a veteran in a canister, he will bark and complain until you tend to what he wants, his desires, things like that. They are really just greedy, not worthy. But the oxen do have lovely singing voices, you should hear. It’s like a bomb that explodes daisy pedals, or an atom with a spinning axis, spinning and spinning until it drills a hole to the core of the earth, blowing it to smithereens.

A bubbling cesspool of swear words, boiling to the top, overflowing and trickling down your lips, through your grated teeth, and landing fire and ice between the pores of your skin. A furious outbreak of disease and outrage,combing the waving typhoons of your ruffled hair, brushing past cleanliness and swimming upstream to the golden trophy of success, a burning smell, it is unpleasant to bear, to look at makes your eyes water and any normal man’s feet itch with powder stains.

Keep Climbing

Try Easter, or delve into a luscious pond of fur and sweat. It takes a minute or two but the reward is infinite, boundless, and you will have a story to tell your children. Don’t be lazy, don’t swim in your tears, it’s too shallow, it will bring you life again, clone your soul, that is for boys and you are a man. Follow humanity and don’t let go of the rope, you will kill everyone behind you and curse everyone in front. The skies are deep and sallow, they will not let you die an easy death, they enjoy the company.