Saturday, December 26, 2009

Small of the Back

I want to mush our brains together. Every reaction spouts an image and this is the one that comes. A slight breeze through my mind, head floating high above frame in cool blue sky or self faded into a mirage of participation. The ones that split me away from others and from the ground, and this one is different.

Hands cold in sharp air while lungs exhale hazy and unforgiving. Bent forward over the wheel, mind cleared somehow by shivering ever so slightly and the radio drones. Wrong words to songs, calf tensed holding steady riding through the darkness. One day it will be dawn. Our minds as one.

Coffee cold already. Fingers chilled again. I meant not to be so melancholy. I inhaled until pliable and eyes slowly opened catching light like a prism that splits into pieces cascading towards random neurons firing away. Weighted and conscious of every bit. Lying on the floor, listening to the Buzzcocks, hands resting on my stomach and a fine tipped pen draws thin lines invisible to the naked eye creating an web that cannot be untangled between thoughts. It is something unexplained, most likely unexplainable. Heads never letting go, compared side by side with intriguing results. Eyes alert and knowing still.

How can one be certain of oneself in the midst of uncertainty? Thumbnails actively being bitten down with chipped teeth followed by lips pursing ever so slightly. I noticed the first smile wrinkle forming, a smile described by my sibling as a "smiley face smile" with creases matching chubby cheeks. One that I use often when not lost in thought. Especially for you. And you. And you. It can be quiet and that is okay.

Some days, like right now today, I want to be fucked up. To close my eyes and it's gone. To disconnect. In those eyes, I see it all, reaching out like hands to softly touch, tentatively, but welcomed.

Some stories belong to me as the print is etched into the back of my retinas. Wind-Up Bird, Perks of Being a Wallflower, etc. Recognition when the hand finishes grasping the edges.

Unwashed hair falls in pieces, shrouding what I see out of the corner of my eye. It is so so quiet. And I just want it to feel real. Realer than real. Real in an unbearable way b/c...


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