The fragile voice and the floating, effervescent, body high. Watch they fall into a sexy tangle on the floor. Melt into each other like acid freaks on a hot street. In a blind streak of color and confusion, tying and untying string lights on balconies and along the edge of the top of the wall, where it connects at a right angle with the ceiling. This illuminates all in a warm and nostalgic light. The effort obvious in the resulting mess and damages. We could be heard from the stairway some 50 paces from our door. Was it ever locked? An open door policy on how we all feel. Tight syncopated rhythms, the secondary language barriers, we have to use subtitles. I would like some better coffee and a tobacco fix and a writing fix. I would like things to happen as the thc metastasizes, the liver fails but is given a second shot, two shot, three. The glasses that make many look smaller and less adorable. Why sit in corners without socializing. Why not enter the conversation as a human being and a part of the human race. Regardless of what trite or true or trivial topic. We speak our hearts louder with our mouths hanging wide open like salivating creatures. So hungry to perform. Dying to be understood as something more than a lesser body in a grander schematic choreography. We're dancing along in our routines, with light feet, shuffling through the blues with or without partners, depends on body shape and the adaptions that makes us more like puzzle pieces than anything else. Have to watch steps and count aloud, backwards from a hundred, the number of breaths each maneuver requires, without hesitation. It must be difficult to lead such a double life. Flirting with success and disaster. All of those dreams I'll never see. All of those harmonics that are capable when your guitar tech is responsible for the tuning of 5 different instruments throughout your set. Standing on light boxes, saluting the gaping universe, who exhales and shudders, opening shutters, closing down pipelines and, in states of prolonged rest, tear benevolent life into violent pieces. Glue them back up. Stitch them together like intersecting spider webs, a great vast net that captures the hearts and the minds. A heart grabbing and roasting storyline. We have everything, the familial dispute, the stubborn and hard working face, the fingers of fury, the solid and stolid, quiet drummer, the type who goes off without saying much and returns easy on his toes. You could not lie and tell me this would not be fun. (Those who do not seek out challenges on their on will are destroyed by sudden challenges. Those sudden changes of fate that no one can predict or prevent, in challenging the self, the mind is awakened, all eyes are bright and full of color spectrums, full of reflective prism.) Leap through the burning hoops, the ones that are fueled by all of your past happiness, your past revelry. All those philosophical nights beside bonfires. Talking pure metaphysics. Letting cold mountain air or gently crashing sea-waves soothe out all worry. The fire burns away trouble and furrow brows unfurl. Comfort of darkness, of black, of blank. Waves of conversation and laughter, the throwing knife lost in the woods, and the half mile walk down to a secret beach. Strange memories on this dying day. Live music missed. Coffee lips. Girls are so easy and terrifying here. I wish to return to the beach, the mountain creek, a tree with a hundred pairs of shoes tied together and launched over. Like the sneakers on power lines that signify a spot that is reliable (depending on the age of the shoes) for drug deals, of minor or major consequence. We aren't talking storage rooms full of white powder. Psychology warfare. They should inject adderrall into all of the streams of drinking water throughout the world. Those with nervous disorders would shake and clean out old drawers. Houses would paint themselves. Weeds would commit suicide by digging themselves out from the warm and providing, motherly soil. Hands would clean until blood. Fingers get dirty with work. Evidence of progress in general. (My stupid saturday. I know now that I won't be doing much in light of productivity but I will relax and enjoy myself awhile. Work on finger strength and laundry and the carcasses of balloons that litter my apartment.)
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With a fat stomach, swelling under the weight on content of calories consumed, coming back to the basics, the boredom on couches in a 2 mile radius. Get off campus and away from those blinded by money. (Found a new band to love). I will write my story in outrageous ink. The invisible ink of this medium chosen.
