the nite sky is empty, bereft of aliens, its color a deep dark blue turning to blackishness7/20/2011
there are no stars for none exist except behind the page. i see people walking around with their heads attached to their bodies, stuck on. their eyes are not open; they are filled with caviar eggs. the crystalline black jewels are horded in the sockets. my eyes watch them, people, my eyeballs like clear glass marbles. everything is cold and smooth and falling down long flights of stairs. the clattering of something broken. i have a telescope and binoculars and a microscope and a magnifying glass, and i am looking through each in turn, one focused through the lens of the next trying to reach the furthest, outermost vision. and beyond, after everything stops and the curtains close, the stars begin to shine. one large star encompassing everything in its immaculate purity.
the cement was a color; it consisted of colors. a dead spider's body was being blown across its surface. there were cigarette butts and fallen flower petals. shadows sometimes were cast. some of the shadows were in the shape of things.
i felt suddenly thrust to the outside of things. i felt the vertigo of looking at myself from a great height. i could no longer make anything or do or decide or be or have. i was not the center of the universe. or, if i was, i was not inside myself. i didn't feel contained by my body and everything i did no longer emanated from me but clung to my body coating it. i was outside of myself and outside of everything. i saw that nothing mattered and everything was small. i couldn't breathe; i was afraid; i couldn't handle it. i recessed further and further, my brain trying to expand to encapsulate it all. but i broke through. there was a wooden horse with a dowel through drilled holes in its head. rubber hand grips at the tips.
walking, outside, everything around you, surrounding you; you are in it. my feet hit the sidewalk again & again. something falls out of a tree, its back arched downward, arms still reaching out for the lost limb. i can't find the escape hatch, the safety switch. flashes of reality blinking on the inside of my eyelids. my arms are outstretched in front of me like a somnambulist or superman. i want to grab it, pull it towards myself - everything.
the brilliancy of the skin reflecting shimmery - it was a sheen of sweat - gloss of the pores. white flesh like a flashbulb. light rising making deft half circles of ankle rotations. little pale hairs coming out of (protruding from) the surface of the skin in fair waves. an ocean crashing upon foreign shores. the four oars in eyelets clasped clanking, rowing o'er. my skin like a mast, stretched in wind, catching. my body flayed by the casting rays, pulled over the ribs of my self-made boat, i transport, support, contain.
clouds, my hands. running down the middle of the street w/ no cars, only a gang of teenage boys chasing me. some of them had rocks. i was not a good runner. there was sweat on my forehead pouring into my eyes. i remember the hammer. the claw end of thor. everything quickly settled down. the husk of a shelled insect. you can smell them hiding inside the walls. clouds like mountain ranges. i started on a long path up into the foothills. my hands clamoring over the coarse rocks were bloody. the bicycle tire circling its own zero.
i am sleeping & the green of the leaves of trees is still, unmoving, detached from its source. the green of the leaves leaves the leaf as the tree stood still in the wind. it is driving past, the wind, carrying the tree & its branches & its leaves w/ it, but not the green. the green stays, in the same shape of the tree's leaves, after it has left. & i am gone as well.
the sky, a vast flat plane w/ occasional dreams projected on it. i see myself reflected upon that screen, amplified so that my face's surface stretches across the horizon. someone is throwing a stick at the sky, trying to tear open my face. i am watching them, wanting them to. i see the stick come closer, but it never reaches me.
the glass of the front door of the apartment complex is clear. slightly hazy. tinted transparent. seeing through it, using it to look through. from the inside. the stairs, leading down, in a series of descent. i didn't believe in anything, the concrete of it, hard, objective. running down in a straight line from the entrance, lined by shrubs, to the steps leading down to the sidewalk. i stood watching people pass on the sidewalk unaware of me. i thought, maybe. the sound of voices reaching through the paneling of glass. i couldn't touch them or be touched.
it came out the mouth of the tube as i pressed the abdomen of it like some kind of disgorging small animal. the soft, pastel-colored paste curled out through the beveled lips where the cap screwed on & bent over from the force of its own weight, down to the coil it was making on the sink's counter. the curves of its body was piled up on itself in loops & race-track shapes defining a topography completely void of angulation. i kept squeezing until the tube had become flattened out and empty. all of the toothpaste lay splayed out like the inverse of shed snake skin.
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AuthorI write short stories. This is my blog. I'm going to write whatever. Archives
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