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MexicoCityBlues
Junior Member

since 2004-01-04

Posts 48
The Point of Know Return

0 posted 2004-01-19 12:44 PM

Roger and I spoke. Showed me through psychedelic, sporadic, silent dreams of solitude and brilliance. His friend spoke with crackling clarity, stabbing me like a pain through this vinyl wall. And when they spoke together, in tune, beauty was seen, heard, tasted. They called it love. I called it death. Then Rebirth.
      Jack called at me from across the room. Wanted to show me Hozomeen in the great distance. Solitude would rule my gardens, unprimed, unprinted; solitude would rule my gardens. Wondrous clouds, bellowing softly toward distinguished rocks, rapids—I saw them coming, but I never thought I’d hit. Jack wanted to save me. She wanted to kill me. All the same.
        I rolled around, tossing violently…unconsciously… They told me I was leaving no matter what, but I didn’t know what to say. My abundant weakness was showing through. And thus I was weakened more. And thus I was weakened more. And thus I was weakened more. Paranoid hands tearing at my paper hair. Tell me what I see. What will she say when I’m gone? They told me they didn’t know. No one can predict the future. I reached my hands toward the moon, sweltering, pouring its luminescent glaze on all that is wrong with the world. But for once, I didn’t care. The war was not in Iraq. The war was not there. It was Here all along. The birth of a Love called Death, started a war, and it bet on me. I lost myself within her eyes. Then she flew away, and darkness feasted. They asked me if I had dreamed this. No. A vision.
       Turn out the light, Jack. I need to get some sleep. Come with me… Let me show you the American Night of which you dream. I can show you Morrison’s dreams. They’re inside of me… Come.
Dream Machine.
       Dripping with the soft dew of a birthing morning, trees drag their weighted arms on the ground. We had no reason; nothing to fuel our questions of dawn, life. We are not used to the ability to walk, so we trip and tumble. Twigs cracked beneath our virgin feet, the silence of the forest crowding our minds. None of us talk. Blue skies creep over our weighted heads, pulling Gs in the twilight of memory. Spirit of the Earth, help us to remember our studies, help us to anoint the kings of passage; help us to find our places, our flames burning invisibly in the light of day.
Where are we now in this forest that looms above us? I feel we are lost; but to be lost is to be free. We are wandering aimlessly, dodging trunks and branches, exercising the rhapsody of aloneness.
Trees, cluttered, spilling themselves over the dirt like water I saw, seeping, with its fifty tentacles, still growing by the second, but seeping, seeping into the cracks of the streets. I know it too well. He knew it too.
A trip; I’m just passing through.
     God… I could see her eyes in the distance, losing myself again within their gravitational grasp. The darkness was overwhelming, but I figured I could find my way through her. Jack told me I shouldn’t put my trust into her, but I couldn’t stop. The eyes I saw that night were full of tears. My paper hair burned. My paper mind burned. I told her, but she couldn’t see the flames.
She led me into more fire.
      Reiteration of broken hearts, that night. The fire was Rebirth of Death. He felt it too. This girl will be the death of me.
      Poesy spilling over the streets like the trees that were water. This blackened world was transforming into rapid violence. The fleecy sky turned. We couldn’t distinguish hope from anticipation. We were ecstatic for almost nothing. Ecstasy is a poisonous game.
      Cautious attempts to rival the real were brought forth. Our guns of optimism spitting on the meek. We were not Priests, nor soldiers. Activists… We stood for Rebirth. But we lost. And her teary eyes dripped down on me once again. Rebellion marked our subtleties. Love marked our weaknesses. We were falling to our knees—these eyes dripped with more than compassion, complacence, fastidiousness, but a drowning innocence that we were ripping away from them. These tears dripped with passion and adoration… What were doing?

      We were blind. These eyes had shown us light. We followed, but were too blind realize our path. And Gasp!, we were in the flames to share the pleasurably addictive burn once again.
Vacation, gesticulation, turmoil-ed nation, reticulation, matriculation, bastard station, irresistible masturbation, hungry for tainted relation, smashing pumpkins on a Halloween night. She missed me. Too bad. Burningburningburning. Oh the burning… mental orgasms tingled while my paper hair burns, and my hundred pairs of eyes stared quietly into the abyss. No use for words now; I was already leaving. My hands were at my sides, clinging to the fire. It hurt so good. Damned within my realm. Damned within her eyes. The fire ate me and Morrison laughed.

4 a.m. and writing poems.
* * * *

I sat there for months. Years. Jack had become dormant, but was clearly coming to. For years I stared into the sky—occasionally into her eyes, so vivid and obviously the only eyes I’ve ever looked that deep into. A trip within itself, I soared through every inch of my mind, reliving memories of past years, dead years, rebirthing years undergoing metamorphosis within its deepest, purest realm; metaphysically moaning, blundered, dumbfounded by the questions of the fire.
This wasn’t life. Who could call it life? I spent four years burning, unable to sleep. Not life; a prerequisite to the future. I’m young and pressure is but a key to what I’ve been hinting at in words for so long, but just recently found. Metaphysically moaning segregation of Love. Don’t be afraid, I tell her. It’s only me. I’ve loved you forever, now what am I to do?
    Her eyes, always teeming with tears and this plain determination to make it through the day, look at me for a simple second. I want her to see what I see. But our immortality is questioned with each bruise we take/make. I’ve been beaten, on the road to abolishment. Take a look inside of me. I am but a mortal, standing in the backwash of her solo parade.
      Jack hadn’t found an answer yet; how would I?
I’ve sat in this womb for four years, now. The rebirthing process has begun, and Mother Earth is bleeding flames.

Understand me. We crawled out of the blaze. I cried and threw up. Jack urged me on, but he, too, was weak. We shared ourselves to one another. We needed a love to rejuvenate ourselves. We could find it anywhere, but there was only one place to look. I could hear Roger’s friend screaming in the distance, standing atop our lighthouse at sea. Safe spot. She tagged me and I ran. I ran for all I had left. But I unraveled…
Soon she had all of me. But I still ran, naked to her fully clothed eyes. No big deal—I would have given it all to her eventually…
Indulgent emptiness of a silenced pity. I know she pities me. Mindlessly we ran up and down hills, never stopping. These memories have become dark. We climbed the inclines slowly and fell fast down the other side. With every move I made, Jack’s was identical… he fell with me. In times of need, we looked to the sky for God. But he never answered. (We ask, Where’s Morrison? And receive “God is unavailable at the moment. He’s having sex, cheating on his wife, smoking pot in the clouds, but his poetic words of consent will be down shortly.”) Roger bangs in the distance.
I lost myself and fell asleep.
She touched me. For the first time I saw her in truest form. Her Eyes were the same enticing jewels I had been trapped by before, but the rest of her was just as or even more beautiful. We talked of Mother Nature and her concealed privates that only we had discovered. We spoke of Love and eagles, this beauty of which we had seen only once before, but were obliged to chase it down again. I swallowed. She touched me.
Face pounding, heart beating, sudden aeration. Save me before I get caught again, Jack. I looked around. He was gone. Savior? She touched me. Stared into my own eyes and loved me. She threw me down and hated me… Numbing confusion was all she had to see herself through these days. The tears…always the tears… She cried again. Each tear fell into every hole this life has put into me, and made them deeper. She drowned in her own unhappiness—and I drowned trying to save her…

"The story of life is quicker than the wink of an eye. The story of love is Hello and Goodbye. Until we meet again..." -Jimi Hendrix

merlynh
Member

since 1999-09-26

Posts 411
deer park, wa

1 posted 2004-04-14 08:05 PM

This was very hard to follow I realize it's for a reason.

muted

Member Elite

since 2004-01-15

Posts 2949
Elapsing, Eclipsing, Evolving

2 posted 2004-08-16 05:16 AM

*gasp*
DAMN

This IS good

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