Push the shine, glass towers reflecting characters imagined but never fully realized. I am a stifled writer thrown into a world of musicianship and hours of sitting quietly, listening to subtleties in music and letting the wind blow passed me on the beaches. I don't have the ears. I have the eyes. The nose. A gritty and full sounding tone of all of the years spent in studios. 12 hour days of practicing guitar scales. Until fingers bleed and nothing else is real. Disappearing world. Point of view. Other. Deep other. We are gone and we are forgotten. (no phone calls to friends or family. this has consumed me.) No car. Longboard to job interview like a failure. Actual delay. No words to give to awkward old friends. I am tired. I am sad-jawed. My bone structure felt infected. Like it all warps under my depressed temples. There are conversations and motives all around me I will never udnerstand. I hang around. I hang around. There is money dangling. Where else should I be? I should be writing peacefully or reading the Great Gatsby on my queen-sized bed. Listening to Annuals or something soft and heart strong. Like that. (always shred better in the dark) Fuel that unknown source. A hole in the ground. Spew it all out and let the ground soak up extra expenses. Bass fingers sore. Evidence of progress. Having guilty flashes based on lack of movement. (no exercise. hit the weights after job fair). Underneath the bridge under the highway waiting to score a job with my southern brethren. Watching language in presence of elders. (that reverb and delay. never picky until now) watching language unfold in poetry tomes. tombs of poets. flowers grow more brightly and more delicately under the sunrise. sunshine on the pedals. the water running red or black with ink blood. grab a newspaper and unfold it to block your eyes from your target. they won't recognize you with your hat brim down. you will kidnap them.
kissing your apartment goodbye. it lasted a while but did not feel like a long time. suddenly you are as suspended as I am. moving back to different places around the world. chapter closes. lose relationships. beautiful and meaningful relationships. but why. all this separation anxiety? does it mean a damn thing. I think about purple hair and wonder why anything had to happen. a homeless man compliments me on the affection I show for a girl otherwise outside of me. broken glass in the blue.
