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.