I think you need to write a book. Yes, a book would be good.
sometimes i wonder where these thoughts are born....
my consciousness glares over them like a torch on wet cave
walls and many times my mind will interrupt itself, as if i had
already been thinking on these thoughts and somehow happened
upon them through circumstance or event. my consciousness
stumbles in to a bustling coffeehouse of thoughts and i become
enlightened to their existence as they become aware of mine. a
calm hush surfaces and the once-teeming thoughts scurry from
the light.
my mind, an enormous multi-legged creature, walks like a crab
against the back wall and picking up a struggling thought with my
giant pincers i bring it closer to the forefront of my thinking. the
thought tumbles against my hooked claws as i effortlessly twist
and turn it, examining the very makeup of its being. pressed up
against my face i can follow it's seams as they dart in and out of
the densely corrogated fabric.
between the stoney texture of my grossly exaggerated appendage,
the thought breathes rapidly... and a deep, cool sensation steals
over me to which i gasp and shudder as if i had discovered something
macabre and strange. the very essence of thought penetrates my
hand and creeps up into my blood and i become overwhelmed and
frightened at this occurance. the thought permeates my being and i
become one with it, i see from it's eyes and feel from it's touch.
i see a bulbous pink cloud trapped in a room with no windows... and
from the middle of the cloud, a blond winged man sits. another
voiceless figure flys around him, almost bouncing off the swollen pink
fluff of cloud....
the wriggling thought slips through my clumsy grasp and the images
of cloud and man disappear almost immediately. i lurk again from the
wall of the coffeehouse and feast my eyes on many glittering prospects.
but before i can snatch one, i begin to feel a pressure on my hardened
arched back and i realize that a thought has alighted upon me and once
again i am transformed into its being.
i am seated before a large lighted panel decorated by many alphabetical
characters forming words both foreign and familiar. the panel stretches
from floor to ceiling and the characters move and change color, mingling
amongst each other. i sense i am viewing a large city from far above and
the arial perspective grants me not only the priviledge of viewing a vast
network of ants bustling here and there, but also the abominable curse of
a windy solitude.
the characters rearrange and i become aghast at the sight of a familiar word.
it lingers on the panel.... looming.... as if my estrangement hinged on that
single word alone. regaining my placement in this scheme of events, i reach
out to touch the word, somehow believing that upon my touch, all answers will
immediately rush into my brain and i will have become acquainted with that
which is pure knowledge.
upon receiving my touch, the panel does nothing. the word remains. i hold
my pressed finger against the word still with much anticipation... yet nothing
happens. dispirited, my hand returns to my side and i stand there, straight-faced
and bewildered, at the characters on the wall as they scurry to create a new
formation. the room goes black and all that is left is me and the wall.
the imagery and sensations of this thought linger and fade as the body of
the thought gently yet quickly slips from my back. i have already experienced
enough for today and i slowly claw my way around the wall of the coffeehouse.
finding a desolate crack in the wall i retreat slowly, forcing my enormous
shelled body to become wedged safely within the confines of the wall. there
i sit to digest and contemplate the bounty of today's ideograms without
further interruptions from the buzzing thoughts surrounding.
I think you need to write a book. Yes, a book would be good.
and for that book to have a blurb on the back that somes it allllll up in one short paragraph..
or better yet.. release it on dvd. then theres no reading involved at all.
<font color="#5b5b5b" size="1">[ April 01, 2005 09:03 AM: Message edited by: nickhead ]</font>
Calling signed 1st copy [img]smile.gif[/img]
trick I learned from Joey.
thoughts become within a dimly lit wooden
cabin and outside is a pool of falling green
water. inside, the panel door is open and the
canvased panes reflect the emerald colored light
from the pool. sitting on the shiny slick
floor i hold a list of appointments on a small
piece of square paper.
2 names are listed... 1) winged mother
this causes images to appear in my fake mind...
of a faceless female form in mauve with wings of
amethyst outstretched and hovering.
<font size="4" face="Tempus Sans ITC, Tahoma">Thinking of me huh... that's a bad omen.Originally posted by shatzy:
a blond winged man sits.
And what's the second name listed?
Yeah, I was kinda wondering who the second was tooo...
heh heh... don't you know me by now??
it was omitted for a reason [img]wink.gif[/img]
i laid in the gem quilted bed i knew once
before surrounded by fence of windows stretching
until dawn. while laying, i dreamed of you and
you had appeared at the window, walking through
pink, with a hand full of folded blue papers.
i had asked you to lay with me and softly you did.
i hadn't seen you in two years but you looked the
same as you did as a boy, only taller. the papers
concealed your intentions and unknown to me,
you lay there peaceful, talking kindly.
you gave me the papers and locked me in the car
and i had reached over to lock the door beside
me... but the wind had blown in two seashell
ghosts that preferred to see me read.
i saw myself reading and couldn't make out the
words. there was no text. just blank paper with
thoughts lifting off. i knew the ghosts were
watching my reactions and i had tried to seem
placid and normal.
the day had been thrown into a particular slant
and i could not walk forward, only blown into
the state of things and curious i tried....
my fucking neck hurts
i was waiting in the backseat of a car on this
long and leaf-covered drive when i look back to
see you coming from your overgrown house on the
hill.
three men stood outside of your patch waiting
for you to arrive and as you did, they approached
you and had attempted to show their affection
for you -- offering you words of adoration --
to which you beat them with your fist, killing
two men and causing you to topple over them.
the third man, buried beneath the other two,
reached up from under them, covered in blood,
and tried to embrace you as he died. but you
had summoned a revolver to which you shot three
rounds into his chest... and from the cool
hard backseat of the car, i could see his arms
fall limply to the soft, wet ground as his face
turned over, his eyes shut forever.
* * *
i had wandered around a nursery of adults wearing
a blue skirt of soft cotton and looking at a
rack of various other infantile clothing. you
were working until nine and it had grown dark
outside.
the attendant came to me asking why i had gotten
up and i kept repeating the letters CT CT CT...
to which the attendant rushed to fetch me some
medicine.
it was a quarter to nine and anxious i had grown
as i returned to my bed to wait for you there.
the others were busy watching television and
i had changed into something eggshell and
uncomfortable. i collapsed upon the top of my
bed and the sheer size of my body covered the
whole thing.
i had fallen asleep...
and when i had dreamily awoken sometime later,
you had taken me to a nest of canvas wrapped
between two tall stalks far above the living
world. you hadn't seen that my eyes were slowly
opened and you were busy looking down on the
sparkling night-lit world below. i closed my
eyes again in knowledge and security.
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