lore into late night

I sat down at the bar and for some time there were many things to look at. Then I saw something. In front of me, in the corner, stepping into focus. I thought about whatever it was, and abruptly, a hand covered it--a glass, the thing was a glass. A glass, it was still and solid, but the water shuttered within. "There any reason you looking at my drink?" And I saw the face of an old man, dusky hair, ponytail, sinking smiles and sunglasses. "I don't mind--but--I feel like that's a little queer." Reeling his jaw, queer came through a stretched mouth with slight intonations to the left.
I explained. "I had my eye on the counter, and then my eye wandered. It saw something glitter over there, and--"
"Say no more." He cut out a cigarette from his waist, then with a light, he spoke, "With every action there is a reaction." A choke came gurgling up within him--from without, his neck twitched, "And fool me once, there isn't gonna be a second time" He let loose that choke and spit on a hot loogie on the floor.
Bartender said "You gonna clean that up mister?"
That man's head swayed and it was a standoff, and his sunglasses were off in a quick grab at the face--"I was testing this man's character--" Pausing, he turned around and said with the deepest of thought, "I am testing your character" His eyes into me, I felt a loud murmer of some terrible force awakening to his gaze--He turned back to the bartender, "And you tell me to clean up?"
Bartender said "I'm trying to run an establishment!"
Pounding his fist on the table, tremedously forceful, that man let a bellow from his gullet, "I am testing this boy for his own guts and you want to run an establishment?" And there, he tossed his arm aside and kicked over a stool--
I lamented ever being involved, I lamented my whole existence!
Then the bartender pulled a shotgun, cocked the thing, pointed it, and said "I am trying to run an establishment!"
Angry, that man yanked out two full barrel magnum shooters and pointed them one at me and one at the bartender, both our heads. "For the Love of God!" He stamped his feet, "For the Love of all that is Holy!" He snorted his nostrils, "I forgive you both until the judgment day!"
From that moment forward a thousand things might've happened--his full loaded pistol could've gone off--but after that man was done and left, I saw I was leaning less to the side, and when I went home in my car, I saw a sign post on the edge of the road that said TURN LEFT so I did, and when I did, that man was there waiting for me:
"You think you'd get away with it that easy?"
"I didn't mean to harm you am I still alive?"
"I shot the guns didn't I?"
"I just don't want to die, I have so much to live!"
"But I shot the guns didn't I?"
Was it me or him? The air was growing menacing!
"You shot the guns I saw you shoot them!"
"Did you see your brains all over the floor?"
"Am I dead sir?" I asked politely!
There were crows in the air, above, invisible, calling, CAW CAW!
"Are you dead?"
"Wha--"
"Did you see your brains all over the floor?"
"Wha--"
"Did you see your brains all over the floor?"
"Wha--"
"Did you see your brains all over the floor?"
In the dark he forced me into the crevasses of my purloined mindset. Smatters, hideous smatters of all manner of smatter covered my eyeglass, and blood dripped from the smatters. It was drifting all around my peripheral, this image of my mind gone through me to the floor, death, forever, but I couldn't focus in on it--it slipped away and again and again--
He said, muscles rippling up to his neck, long gray ponytail whipping hard in the wind,
"Did you see your brains all over the floor?"
"No!"
I cried, suddenly, in the instant, and for whatever it was, I was still there facing the man, but that was for all eternity to comprehend, and I was only a stupid lowly peasant and I couldn't possibly make sense of any of the endlessly complicated nonsense attached to it all.
When I allowed that thought, that was when my stomach felt full, and without that, I might still be looking all over for that special something something that might soothe my appetite. I was grateful, far grateful, and I rolled over, exhausted, and took the peace home with me. That man bowed his head--we found the shade of night pleasing, and so we laid out the carpet on the dusty ground, and he curled his breathing body next to me, and there we slept naked in the moonlight.

Lost Dramaturges.

this one is a shout out to the old ABQ, NM

The Texaco bitches tore me out of my heart, I tell you. There isn’t even the sweetest ancient word that can suffer me the proper expression of this loneliness that eclipses me by the infinite desertion of my world. I suppose a man is made of certain things, certain things that that man can give, well, he can give his things to whoever he damn well pleases. But that’s what a man is, don’t be mistaken. Borrowed goods. Give those burdens to the latest stranger, or the proximate fix for a good life, the latest dream—a man is likely to do that. What I did, to that ferocious time, to those ferocious kids, is I gave it all, all of me, all that I had to give, to the breathing incarnations of The Waste, and I realize my folly only now, a broken man, on my knees, shuddering at all he has lost.

Let a man live in the river long enough and he’ll regrow a tail. Let a man clamber upon rocks long enough and he’ll grow hooves. Let a man tear at the flesh of a corpse long enough and he’ll grow fangs. The man of today begets the monster of tomorrow. While we open ourselves up to a mountain, and offer all of us up to the sky, to beget the awesome angels of tomorrow, we must take to leaping. Where we fail, genetics will pick up the ragged remains from the bloody floor below. The tale gets told, via some remote report, like a prayer in progress, or inward chant, resounding “please make me better, next time.”

Regrowth, maybe? An isolated beam of something entering the chambers, the placid face of something I had never considered—discovering me again, and my fortress, locked, my bitterness—pithy! What, removed from the massive fiasco, could there possibly be that I was holding desperately like a baby suckling the nipple, drinking deeply to the blue nectar of red truth, and my mouth forgot to meet my mind, my full belly forgot to tell my soul? Have I forgotten my self? Can I encounter the forms of a thousand towering gods, each bowing to me with their hands stretched out to the dancing butterflies and scrubby cactus in the overgrowth, and can I not even see it the whole dance through? Shame! It’s a lonely parentheses, that (I remember the names, I remember the face)! A hand is outstretched, it is most certainly outstretched, crossing over damaged energy fields, I am held, holding, and I am almost into the new day.

My presence here must be disturbing the air, the magnetism – even the farthest tree can tell I’ve arrived, and so I pass in the spirit of a ship, smoothly swathing through. Every upturned pebble is counted, branches swipe at my shirt. Oh, but if the new day would hasten to rise, wherefore to see the perils of this passage. I nod my head in respect, I marvel at the constancy of water moving down (always, always), & I climb up the face of old dust. Somehow, I am allowed to rise, and do this in the night as capably as if done in day. Nature permits this? Aye, a little, but it’s mostly just youth. The tendons of my heels account and debit the proper price. It’s a summit well spent – a foreign exercise – to let the soul blindly lead itself, up a cliff just as blind-folded across an avenue.

It takes me on, a fledgling young insect (when you stop in these hills at the high tide of the day, a thousand desert beetles dance around your body). I know sometimes all I can think about is the vigorous shaking tendency I have to remember long strands of past, of the practice I’ve accidentally earned in constantly considering what will be, and I bounce back and forth in the air with my beetle wings. But it is a long hallway, built of fantasy strands, and if the seat of space within my mind can settle a second, I can step into the frame center without the feel of force or folly—a thousand birds will return to their nests, my grandfather will fall in love again, a million reviving souls will step out of their apartments and at once discover, the Texaco twins, damn their devilry, will start to laugh with my godfather. Dogs and children and even the horrid forms of pain and doom will smile to me from their place, at once, at once, at once. Permit me a thousand opportunities! There is so much space on the ground of this brown town, there are so many flights in the endless empty sky—give me a million grasps—teach me, touch me, perform me my very same miracle, and in my small space, my insect eyes will shut the parted grace of its pain, my breath birth will take my humble heart to the hearth reservoir of the obliterated me—oh, I will see, I will see, I will see!

You really think the world will end tomorrow, I asks without looking ups, and you says in the way you always says, yeap, I know these things. And then you asks me in the way you always asks me, did you bring what I asked you to bring. I reach into my coat and retrieve two vials of a purple liquid that glows white in the semi-brilliancy of a half-moon, and you nods your head contentedly. We continue on our way, your head steadied straight on your shoulders, and your eyes sweeping for some safe passage, while I oscillate my chin from side-to-side, hearing a thousand unfortunate opportunities disturbing the brush. An invented vision of a wolf-woman, a witch maybe, moans ‘round the bend, giving birth to something at once both beautiful and horrible. We pass over the spot, nonchalantly striding over any patch of dirt. What is it this stuff is suppose to do, I calls ahead to you, and you say, without looking back, it’s like a dragon.
I imagine what the dragon may look like for a second, I imagine a wyrm crawling in the darkness, and screaming underground. I shake away the image and says, no, I think maybe it’s more like a snake, lying among the cool soil of a dry river-bed at night beneath a cactus. And you say back, yeah, maybe suppose it is. But, dragon or snake, it wouldn’t matter much either way because, in truth, the liquid is more like a cloud colliding with a mountain, a whisper lost upon mention.

reined in by Naidrawdef and OJ Y-Doc

humean

The Forgetfulness of an Artform Dreamer

I once dreamed that I filled my belly full with cereal today and sat down with the sage of things to ask him what he'd say.

He said
"I don't know what you mean?"

I said
"What do I mean?"

He stuck out his tongue and licked some hard candy

I collapsed right there dead into the bowl of soup

I don't know if that dream has anything to do with the life of me, but I woke up yesterday thinking that I was free
I was inside out consciousness, dead from perpetual loss
It was something the sage said before we went on stage
He said, "God I nearly pissed my pants today I was so nervous for this; I scattered all of my things all over my house--I was looking for something, but of course, I had no idea what that was, and I was sweating, and the whole time, I was distracted, because all I could think about was this one line, and I kept forgetting it, and trying to make up different ways to say it-- Ha! It's rediculous! I can hardly breathe! Do you think I can do it? Are you as nervous as I am, man?"

I looked at him in his little sage outfit and told him that he should loosen up and improvise if he messed up, and it was really alright the audience would love it don't worry

When I woke up I went to a friend's house we ate ramen and we talked I said that I am beginning to dissolve into the background, and he shook his head and nodded, saying, "I too wonder if we are all characters in some long awaiting imagination, and if it is true what Jesus said about perpetual unity in the Presence of the Lord," and he raised a thin eyebrow without realizing it, and indicated quiet meaning with his right hand, which I thought perhaps suggested that he had come up with the hard candy bit on the cuff.

We laughed about this for some time and then our heads fell dead into our ramen noodles.

eyjafjallajökull.

volcanoes hold all in awe.





beautiful time-lapse footage of the infamous Icelandic volcano,
by Andrew Baron.

deepwater.

Portishead - "Deep Water"

Hey Daniel Plainview, how's that milkshake tasting?





images come via The Guardian british news service.

schwester(inder)welt

dream, delirium, destruction.

I like airplanes. I like anywhere that isn't a proper place. I like in-betweens.