City Limits

I was on a confused city limit highway in a rusty old red truck I borrowed from a dusty farmer driving in circles looking for my father. The thick metal body of the vehicle rattled as I shifted gears over the cheap asphalt, but all the parts were well built and she drove stiff and strong. The truck had gotten me through the barriers and obstacles that were in my way, but as I pulled around another off ramp to an underpass rest area, I was disheartened. There were no signs on how to get back the other way where my mom was waiting at the college to help me look for dad. Part of me didn’t want to go back, the roads there lead to dead ends into rivers and were more confusing footpaths. The only difference was that the roads there had art and spectacles around it where the highway I was on was utilitarian, streamlined and uncaring.

The off ramp lead me down to a strange parking lot. Several other cars were down there. Jeeps and BMWs and a Mercedes, modern and plastic and brittle. My old truck backfired and echoed with heavy gears around the underpass giving me looks from the middle aged layabouts and a couple energetic naive youth. I shifted down, pushing the handle so worn only the silver aluminum on the handle shown. I rolled my window down to ask one of them if there was a way to get back to the highway in the opposite direction, each I asked were friendly, they told me to follow the parking lot to the other ramp. I knew they were wrong, but I trusted them anyway. I knew deep down that I’d be going the same way I’ve been going.

I didn’t know if I was looking for dad anymore, or what I was looking for. I pushed the sluggish truck on , getting new power from each gear as the highway flew by around me. The cars of a generation speeding past me to whichever city we were on the limit of. The cars were driving themselves.

I thought maybe I could turn around if I got to the city and throttled up to overdrive. 

Broken Tombs in the Wind

Broken Tombs in the wind,

Whistle with loves and lives,

And Voices in the snow.

Winter is deep and it loves in strange ways;

Not in the least,

For the living as the dead,

Embraced in its cold earth.

The hidden gates and the abandoned ball,

Succoring the universe as they succored from it for those years lamenting

in the wisdom that they would be here ever since their lives took shape.

Seldom kept in their minds as much in their hearts of life but ever on,

What the dead do is not Known, and Eternity…

 

[∴Can winter be over now?]

The glass.

And each man looked into the glass and saw something different and it strove fear into their hearts and perplexed them, not because of what they saw but because each saw something that could not be explained or understood.

Degenerates

Huddled in some back alley behind the apartments along the river, a spot where you can see the factory, a chick with long earrings and a black blazer adorned with badges sits on the dumpster in divine LSD commune. A not-yet-adult leans against the wall with his foot on a pile of cinderblocks. He smokes a cigarette in the breath of nicotine fire that stains his army jacket with the day’s angry thoughts. We make a net of choices just to trap the demon inside. Another chick in a stained cut-off white tee that offers no brand but the universal “Fuck You” sits under the window and reaches up over her black mascara and silky black mohawk to grab the bottle from the kid laying in the room portal above her. It’s filled with the entry-level numbing agent the girl needs and the kid only feels. Trapped among concreate rulers and united by casual jadedness. They live by the deep hope that they might find what everyone else has been missing in that back alley looking at the factory where an industrial age suffocates in iron oxides like so many hopes and dreams of enlightenment.

Waiting for the day they give everyone hatchets and rifles. Waiting for the war that will change everything. Waiting for time to pass. Wating with their netted demons for the time they can be set loose; when the world can be theirs. Waiting for their lives to happen. Waiting for the drug to free them. Waiting for the arguments to stop. Waiting for the monster of Love. Wanting it all and dying of anger. Capable and dangerous.

Meditating on the sensation of it.

 

Endless Rain

I hope it rains forever,

So the same places don’t feel the same,

So I don’t need to feel too alive,

So the same people won’t speak,

So it’s as if the world’s already died.

I Hope it Rains forever,

and clouds block away the sun,

and droplets form on the ceiling,

and make the weak ones run.

I Hope it rains forever,

and starts drowning all the cars

with lightning and sparks,

I Hope it rains forever,

That one could rest their mind,

and thoughts patter on the asphalt

and run off through the gutters and storm drains and pipes,

far far away,

staining the oceans blood red and orange

trailing off into time.

Forever.

 

Lovers in Space.

The farther you pull back,

The less it all seems to mean,

But looking in on a moment,

Bears all the significance.

 

The lights of a moving carousel,

the smell of pine and fried dough,

Smiles that wont go away,

Standing on the grassy dew covered hill and looking up at the fabric above,’

and wondering.

And not having to wonder alone.

 

Sky rocketing through the clouds and weaving among comets towards the vast uncertainty of the big ocean of reality,

Peering out from the cramped cockpit at a flinging tendril of star energy,

Not minding the close spaces or the empty floating candy wrappers in the cabin,

Or the crumbs, or the love.

There are filters after all.

 

Walking across alien landscapes and marveling together at odd temples covered with blue lichen,

Reaching for each other under a green sky,

and being human in a strange, futuristic land,

on another planet,

in the emptiness of all space,

two specks in the multitudes,

Knowing that when you pull away it all seems like nothing,

But here and now,

Is all that is.

all that is needed.

Simple or Brilliant?

As he turned, unsure of weather he had leave to go, he blurted out to the only one who could hear him.

“I am the undevoted man of the unseen, half a being, dipped in Chrome and part of the machine. Wisdom leaves a tarnish, but I like the way it mutes the sun. I’m the man of light and chief of all undone. You cannot stop my march as I bumble past your life. I am not solid enough to hold, but I can still cut you like a knife. I am master of the inbetweeness and I shout “balance” in my mirror, come away or stay with me, I cant tell if I want you nearer.”

He said and then left.

The wise woman would say about men like him:

“Tread carful when you see this creature mired in his swamp. He is a storm of high mind and base desire moving towards impossible dreams and unheard of wants. Truths and lies boil in the same bubbles and so rapid do they rise, not even he knows which are his troubles. Tread carful.”

Spark

A shock wave runs through the system.

Time is fast approaching,

bring us to the event horizon

of all things great and terrible.

I was sleeping in my bed

I was covered and warm

I was pushing away my life

and now I am alive.

Should not have

hit

snooze

Unbridled

Where does the wind go?

Where does the time go?

When will the sun stay,

always in the sky?

I feel that there’s a rhythm,

and the song will never end,

but I know that there’s an ending

I just don’t know when.

I hope that one day then,

when it all comes crashing down,

I can see the lands where all that time had gone to,

and where the winds are all around,

where the sun shines every morning,

and a song.

If there should be a higher dimension to go to,

and more dimensions below,

am I still in the beginning,

or am I near their height?

I must be somewhere in the middle.

Living out this strange life.

 

 

Stuck

With a sigh she opened the screen and the lights dazzled across her face. Entering through the pathway into another world. A place of magic or intensity, life, and drama. Not like reality. Somehow reality was less vibrant. Looking around all of the surfaces and corners of her apartment, the usual tree outside by the stoop where she would suck down a cigarette to bookend experiences. None of it penetrated her. Other people were flat unchanging beings except by location. Somehow all of her friends just felt like a far away collection of vague faces in the haze of a humming backdrop to it all.

So she spent her time watching videos, collecting more and more information from the little box who she began to think of as more of a friend. Her and her computer. “Hey that could be a show!” she’d think, nothing about a computer and a girl as romping friends could be bad. They could talk about memes together and joke about how in those fleeting moments where the girl was an artist, that her self–confidence was a wreck and she was better off just getting back on youtube or whatever.

The thought circled around and she almost got up to write it down but then she really wanted to see how the finale would end. The memory of the her and her computer friend faded until it was unreal, faded into the humming blur where all her friends lived along with the collection of a million other possible experiences. Hours between walls and watching the glowing rectangle. As sleep gnawed at her eyes and she could feel herself wasting away. Still she managed to raise a finger and tap for one more hit.

Death would dawn on her as season six was in its climax. “I only get one life.” the thought said to her. But it seemed so wrong. How could she only get one life when she had experienced so many lives. Even history in grade school covered a vast swathe of lives. Literature, movies, comics, all worlds to enter, to jump into. ONE life? that’s absurd.

But the pang of mortality would return as she watched the screen unblinking. “This is it, I’m using this time right now.” she shook her head and went back to the world, hoping, wishing that the lights could just make her forget who she was, what she was, and what she knew. she wanted to fade into this make believe world that some caffeinated room of writers had made piecemeal for some executive who cut half of it out and sent it off to a social coordinator to get “sharability” or whatever the FUCK they call it.

She was scared. And fear drove her to seek to forget as a matter of course. Why confront a fear you can do nothing about? How do you stop the time from slipping away? How do you keep from dying? You act like you want it. You become lethargic.

It was always amazing how hours could tick by. re-runs, re-watching, re blogging, re-entering the world of these people who had so much more beyond the surface level. She smiled at the jokes, wrapped herself in comfort, while the endless cavalcade of stimulus lulled her further and further away from herself.

She watched and she forgot to live until all the world felt like one great watching.

It was all one big show and everyone was always on it.

but it was real.

and

It’s over now, go click on something else.