After a late night dicking around. Kicking the ground. Hanging back. Taking it slow and easy after long and arduous days. We all have our separate intense lives and exit rationality together. The basis of our relationship is in the classical sense of word. The vibe and the motivation behind timid glances. My god. You were perfect out there. That big bad world can't crush everyone. (What is Atlas standing on?)
Victor Wooten.
The guy from Incubus.
John Paul Jones.
Geddy Lee.
The guy from BTBAM. The guy from PTH and others like them.
That crazy technicality is a little bit out of my reach for the moment.
I'm very good and grooving.
The tightness between drums and bass on SUCH FUN by ANNUALS.
That's the inspiration. Crazy syncopated rhythms. The old bass player lacked this desire and flew off on his own accordance. His own direction.
Between the Buried and Me (cd/dvd combo), Margot & THe NUclear So & So's. Daybreaker. Islands. And a local Phoenix band compilation. (Make it a habit to get hands on a local compilation for everywhere I live, my entire life)
* * * * * *
Bedsheets in burn piles, all of the soaked sweat and sugar, the incense burns and we send each other smoke signals, all communications die if dosed. Walking moonlit beaches holding candles to illuminate crushing waves, the type to question humanity. Tidal force that could tear the foundations out from beneath the house you grew up in somewhere in the woods. Easy access to fuel for your ravenous sexual appetite. That life blood. (Your daddy's wine cellar, the whiskey locked away in the basement, you bought bolt cutters and a new lock but forgot the combination... he beat you in a blind, sober, fury). A strong wind to push one to a swift end. Chopped and crushed into pieces by a wrecking ball of an artistic installment. How does it feel to know I will be done with everything by tomorrow? I have had no idea what my grade has been. I am confident all will be well.
Your ghost, haunting the recesses of a hollowed out apartment. Once again blank slate, to be refilled with sex and personality. Biting the bullet. Working in the old mattress. Mean things during late night talks. We extract ourselves. There is nothing to hid away from. Shy away from the rude comments normally. But they got worse. Talk of your successes. Over and over. Prideful pirate. Cowardice veiled in a cape. You are not a superhuman. It is the ego and it can be a destructive force. In small doses. Does wonders. Self-consciousness disappears and the world spins on your fingers like a basketball. You spin it slow and watch the tiny populations deal with the confusion of 60 hours without sunlight.
* * * *
1:03:36 am
The refrain.. Sometimes it's best to just disappear. (So I did). Frankly, the party scene makes me nervous. Some lunatic with a weapon or a badge or both will kick the door down. the decibels of the shrill screams of recognition hurt my ears. I was embraced and shaken roughly. I call myself a pussy for wanting to go to bed, shake some hands and wonder aloud if I will ever see them again. 'You're a good guy,' I saw repeatedly. Leg pain also disappears. Strangers come in with beer and smiles. The problem of misreading an accidental action as a deliberate one. I left the party. I was sober and unhappy with the people there. They are a family and I am adopted... more like bumming on the couch after the bridge between us breaks down completely... wonder the relationship... whoever was the middleman who tied us, mutually, into similar circles of friends... is long gone. since this tie has been severed and that no one can remember who they were and why they knew them and suddenly, once they come down from their ritualistic high, they ask who the hell are you anyway? I know I smoke pot with you. But why do you exist in my life? How did we meet and is there any grain of meaning in our relationship? Did you save my life? Did I save your life? A friend of a friend of a friend. Trapped into a friendly, too-friendly, warm hug. Dramatic exits only happen in television sets. Soul-absorbing. (She is trapped in herself. No solid interaction at the concert.) That came with me later though. Meeting a certain idol. A hero turn human in front of me. Sensitive. Probably having similarly anxious thoughts about social interactions that I am having. Should I have toned down the admiration? Or is it bastards either way?
Hitch your moonbeam. My portal is on the other side of the stairway. The hug only lasted as long as the laughter could be held back. Cool it down, sparky. Your loves at first sight rarely have a cupid-like return affection. It is impossible to know, mostly. I embrace the change. My spirits are low but I'm filling up cups with spirit and dispersing it around to the people who suddenly reveal their meaning to me. (you don't know what you got until it is gone)
The nostalgia and the hours spent trying to explain self in this climate. In this environment my abilities at communication were, for some reason, hindered. Something in the air was not right for me. Something was pulling at me from many miles away and I felt a guilt in the pit of my stomach. For not taking initiative more often and fending for myself in the wild. Despite awful conversations. I think I might just be feeling an empathy for these sad sorry sordid sobs. The middle school dialogue and the emphasis on looking....
everything means nothing to me
you mean everything to nothing
what does this feel like... a relief to become a suspended ghost?
I like some of these people and it is strange to transition from casual acquaintance to total stranger... What of all of the potential friendships? But I never feel comfortable hanging out with anyone alone around here. I feel instantly that my sense of humor is awkward and unacceptable... What kind of journeys and adventures...
Now I will fulfill my dreams in sleep.
