As soon as the words leapt from my mouth like some dancing flame I couldn’t control,
I wanted to scream: I LIED!
But my mouth swallowed my words, and my tongue swelled so I could no longer speak.
I have fallen down some Alice in Wonderland rabbit hole
Caught in between a world I desire which I’ll never have and some stark reality which is playing tricks on me.
How can I be the only one deceived by these mismarked potion bottles?
When I drink the one which says courage, I grow smaller. When I drink the one marked power, I become a pawn.
However, unlike Alice I was not drowning in my own tears. It is not my sorrow I fear, but my words.
And I’m not a dumb blond like Alice, easily confused and fooled by people.
I see that Cheshire cat, always willing to smile at me; I’m never willing to smile back.
(Once upon a time were the words that I spoke.)
I drink tea like the Mad Hatter and I’m wicked like the Queen.
Maybe the best place for me is the Rabbit Hole, where I can pretend it’s all a dream, and soon I’ll wake up on the banks of that flowing river – well-rested with an attitude adjustment, and some new found appreciation like Dorothy after she returns from Oz.
If only lessons were so easily learned as in fairy tales.
You thought I was slipping you on and off, like a worn jacket but I had carved you on my soul a long time ago, so you were – are – always with me
If only you had respected my needs not the ones you wished I had, but my actual needs, I think I could have fulfilled your desires had they been anything more than temporary, but you didn’t carve stories and you had no purposeful plan
Even Bonnie and Clyde had a plan
Now I’m rinsed like dishwater and you’re onto the next old bag easier, to escape, when you can attach yourself to star light, star bright the gasses burn tonight, fast, and you’re quick to eat it up, put it out
It’s naturally sick you play the songs at the beginning that we’ll sing at the end … your poor girlfriend how many nights she’ll spend waiting for you …
If I believed in God, I’d beg may He have mercy on you both
I’ve started to root my feet as I walk so as not to fly away my head is up inside the clouds and clouds aren’t here to stay
Appearing normal as ever I was so it appears I walk on ground yet inside my mind the streets transformed a different time, a long lost day, reality unbound
You see, I hesitate to admit the spontaneous overflow of emotion that overwhelmed me this past weekend uninvited tears and two ice cream cakes
Later and I feel better than before and stronger without falling feel I’m falling safely to the ground after being so far away in order to survive
That is the key. Traveling far away my way costs a little less these days when travel is forbidden on a political – I mean for-your-safety and conspiracy theories
Dismissed once more completely unlike twenty years before when a 9-11 call came to distress a nation continuously paying for the evil deeds it continues
To commit. So it seems unfathomable that I should be able to arrange words in a way they’ve never been arranged before since everything is repeating itself
How did they find their way here now to your hands to your eyes. How many parts of your mind are you using to comprehend this basis and how many senses are liberating you or simultaneously imprisoning you in samsaric pleasure seeking yet no endless bliss I could be anywhere in this warm hazy gloom I’ve created in this room electric guitar riffs and smoke lifts, incense and candles burning low, low like my gaze, low like the spirits of the masses drawing near the end of what some may call a “fucked up” year check it out as a meme somewhere
I want to be held by arms that love me even though arms cannot love and to pretend the body and mind want the same thing is deceit
Smokey blues, and my bare feet stretched over the back of the kitchen chair in front of me. Not warm nor cold and so I can no longer sense them and my mind in a trance disconnects from my body and in the flickering candlelight dance with the clear, thick sound in my ear I lose myself, I lose the moment into a single sensation of the moment tactile functioning ceases as auditory rapture plays a different sensation across the skin. What’s that, pores? Bring a friend! Goosebumps rise to no end.
If you run your hand against me now to this solo I may literally die of overstimulation and it’s not just the copious blooms of Mary Jane’s bouquets floating through the dark nor is it the magnificent high although it helps it’s this fucking art to heart music in ear and olfactory tickling dense breath via nostril and the trance of expression while simultaneously bearing witness to manifestation and expressing and perceiving the metaphysics of this existing in the future space of your present moment.
This tragically ignored dependency worse than the drugs used tonight has mutilated our minds into ignorance rooted deep.
And so this skin feels music as touch and yet feels touch not from within this dream realm which is impaired life, I feel the strings as fingers strum on skin and percussion as too much at times too intense but oh that brass really gets me from the inside out really putting the sax in saxual intercourse. The woodwinds in my hair and as whispers on my neck – over the top sensations that would give anthropologists cause to study: what drug is this?
And gypsy magic would be the reply because the music is the magic and the roots run deep the attachment runs deep
Yet rooting here I am attempting to root also so that I might not fly away this time, at least not today I’ve got busy work not time for play touching my hard nipples to rock and roll and blues outside of the dream the kitchen chair is damn hard on my ass and I have to adjust my position and leave the reverie behind.
Entice me with your words pierce my walls with meanness show me you have the power to break another person yet you refuse.
Show me you have the willpower to stand up and alone have the ability to open your door welcome a stranger and trust they will not throttle you in your sleep.
Tease me with kisses and polite dialogue, an intercouse of exchanged language with kind innuendo but no biting sting of regretted words.
Demonstrate your strength not in feats of power but in exploits of courage, the deed which you complete though you know you’re licked before you start, see it through.
Toss your speech with abandon but not your ideas – your ideals are by your heart and you live not beside them but by virtue of them unto others though they do not the same.
A vital man with an Achilles heel I in turn choose not to sever, a choice my own — as all my acts are of my own volition.
For I have power too. As you penetrate, I consume. As you guffaw, I may also laugh. As you devastate, I ruin. As you toy, I play. As you adore, I love. I am passionate, above all else.
Prove you have a compulsion for life, you choose endurance over death, you have potential to be a raft for those without water-wings, for my exigency for life is almost extinguished.
Demonstrate a lust for adventure that is comparable to my own so we can rid ourselves of this boredom, tedium, this dullness, together.
You are a collaborator, a fellow conspirator and colleague, a fellow traveller on this quest, upfront and honest, sparing only of the sensitivity of others, unless for a private laugh —
For laughter is god above all — the ability to laugh at good and bad, strong and weak, not others, but ourselves, in the dark and in the light, a reason to go forth, and conquer not all, but love.
Do not feel special because I felt you so deeply — I’m an artist
This morning, I wept for a fallen tree, I had fallen for over these summer months
Now it lays stretched, dead over the creek bed, highest branches brushing forest floor ground eroded out from underneath the roots
The artist’s curse is attachment masked as lust, even love but the object isn’t special just because it’s the perception, the artist’s deception that gives rise to conception
We may have loved this thing before and here we are losing it, once more
Don’t be fooled
To be felt deeply is no honour, because an artist is a slut for feeling
The Halfwit Writer 