Dive into art like an Olympic swimmer. Let it cleanse my body. The hot spring air burns and the water washes off dead skin. Just another moment longer in the spotlight and I would have been blinded. Shooting straight at the sun with chaotic aim. There is no scope on my forearms but we rearrange the plot from here, the ploy, the bow and stern of the story. The captain's chamber, the heart of the matter, the dark matter in the corners of pandora's box, we are shipwrecked without such instantaneous creation. Or the careful application of music theory and rudiments from latin cultures, but sped up, into song structure, some without choruses. The expertise in action, jamming, crazy rhythms and melodies. Every instrument causing a stir not to be reckoned with. A tsunamic tidal force shifting the weight of the globe from east to west. Your own accomplishments get washed away. All for naught. For art fiend. Some day you will enter that world, or creative people, all combining collective talent to speak their minds without talking. Put me in a room with jazz musicians and a drumset and I will be the happiest person alive. I want to get that feel. Become shades. The sunglasses to help hide my red eyes or my racy stare. Jazz in general has lightened up my life a bit, dropped out some negativity and strictness, the melodies and instrumentation take me somewhere less organized, somewhere instantaneous and felt from the very soul of each member, (let's play in B flat, syd). Mr. Barrett. Which one of them is pink?
There are so many beautiful women in the world. Consider the source of the stimulus. Their attitudes often ruin their appearance. They know what they look like and they know what they are supposed to act like. But god damn. My neck nearly broke. My tongue tied and tied again. A double square knot, it would be most unfortunate to choke on this tangle in my throat. But you make my heart stop for a minute. I say 'fuck' to myself, under my breath, like I lost a bet. Like I'm late for an appointment. And I disappear, into thin air. Into and exiting the hostile atmosphere. I was a scared little puppy, a deer in the headlights, whereas I simply panicked and sat in the comfortable shade avoiding the sun and the women basking in it. Keeping my fear of embarrassment from them, but thankfully my appetite told my legs to bring me to get a sandwich. I obliged and left that mess behind. They read and laughed and let the sun burn them like toast. 'Christ' I say under my breath. I say to my shoes. And the things I step over. Skinny, creatures of young boy fantasies, but that mindset dies if neglected. If malnourished the attraction becomes self loathing.
