Obscenity cavern, plastered with fucks, gives rise to the new age raised to bow low keep your head down, duck, tuck and roll. Whispered in stories, like the day it last rained, awash is the removal of freedom from failure, honesty and blame. Turncoats and bastards (that’s what they cry) mirrors twisted and cracking impossibly contorting as futility sighs. At long last there is sense, (though it echoes too loud) in the canyons of absence where each of the dead is everlastingly proud.
Jack-o-lantern grin on a soil soaked face brings a gleam to the eye, sickly off color oceans sweetened with flint surrounding coals sunk deep, always to be diamonds forever unpressed.
Invert your beliefs despite all the tears, blessed by devils to love gruesomely wishful, they call themselves angels sent from above though their stories are fake always spinning tales out of mud.
Shackle that spirit into iron bound blocks, wither your freedom away until it sounds desperately weak with a voice that falls empty on stunted ears and emotions no longer caring, and even pretending.
Blaspheme your values and lay in a trough, where the swine plunder for pleasure dig deep in the mire suckle like beasts on that sick, sweet, distortion, all while minding the cross.
Dangling promises to release your mind, kept partial and broken sentenced to time after time, words carefully chosen to leave you feeling less than divine.
Where the road crosses and breaks in the dark, trails leading past peaceful places handily strewn with spent dreams, delusions of grandeur and half glimpses of faces, all of them wasted, missed chances for safety.
Memories and hopes on the battlefield lost, reclaimed to a tune that warmed off the frost. Singing songs of cast rays from the sun way out there, rainbows breaking on storm’s end embracing adventure, barking laughter, always finding the fun.
Limp and crumpled between all the worlds, a traveler beneath the weight of mental fissures deeply cracking out way beyond where he started his feet land where he was hurled. Giants lurk out there in a mezzanine layer, reality is a sure thing until fact and fiction are swirled.
Rise up and break down those glassy illusions, smash down the oppression (he thinks to himself) that would handily break you under flurried confusion. There’s a joy to be found and happiness born, love to be shared, thoughts to think, great lessons to be learned.
Memories hurt like jagged rocks in the side, but you’ll never go back, forward though not always straight, no matter the rivers rush or how frightening the ride. Loss can stain clothing, grief stain cheeks, but the future is brighter ahead then behind.
Jack-o-lantern grin on a soil soaked face, in mercy you’ll be pulled from the gates, yanked back out of the chaos and dusted off sharply, lips with compassion and renewed desire, lay on you words of beauty and a kiss to inspire.
You’re insides are gone, replaced with a flame, one beautiful fire, let that light be your name.
Where our main characters find themselves journeying apart from each other into adventures and places unknown in the hopes that they will reunite as realized and complete individuals on the other side….so we begin in Reno, NV…..
S & H at Taco Loco
Transcribe the hope I feel into optimism and other such essential stuffs. Imbibe the flow of sweet spirit that drips from off our lips and out our mouths. Believe in dreams meant not to fade even if the road has twisted uglier and uglier still. Hold tight to goals we shared as our footsteps drift further and further apart. We’re still in love, and this journey which so profoundly changed us is not at its end yet – just an interlude.
Lick my frustration laden eye trails with your feverish degree of need. I’ve pulled apart my patience in brushstrokes, and sit damming rampant torrents of greed. Traipsing through a shutter-box as though a thrown skein of glass trapped thoughts. Spending words of do not try a thousand times until they’re echoing so loud it hurts. There is less difficulty here then meets the eye, even when it’s filled with sorrow. We’re on endless roads, journeying upward on travels through time into tomorrow. The final hurdle is simply to start the race, get up off your ass and focus. Move away from rabbit holes and wasted days lest the world consume us as the locusts.
Sardonic reserves of time kept patience blending outward in rippling shades of hatred. Baby, you’ve got that heart shaped gaping wound says you’re bathed in longing for now not soon. Nothing moves faster than a synapse firing off kilter blistering brain waves melting downwind all splintered. If the days were longer and I could taste your fears all that we’d share could be understanding made clear. So if you’ll touch your enthusiastic distaste to mine lets go passe with anticipation and the cheapest wine. Show me your ugly that I might gag and spew my own redolent virus of loving life all over you.
There is a gaping pressure to perform and become something more inline with the standard expectation that we all face daily. To become a contributing and upstanding shill to the mockery lifestyle of the norm. Where an unabridged story of what life has really been like would cause discordant gasps and choking on $7 coffees. A land of spreadsheets and data with endless phonecalls and emails to confirm that we are all part of this droll and seemingly futile empire of dreams. Each moment will be etched as gray as the moment prior and only punctuated by the sycophantic bleating that denotes contrived success. But there can be joy milked from every endeavor, every adventure and journey of any kind. For all I lament the necessity of this change I recognize that this, as so much else in life, is temporary in passing. A gateway to attain a degree of comfort for myself and those that I care deepest about. Walking through the door framed in expectations is a moment of sacrifice and service to the good nature of love where we are willing to endure, seek to excel, survive and adapt all for the promise of a more easy smile. Once the game begins, I enjoy the race rat or otherwise. I’m programmed to enjoy the chase, the thrillingly mundane, the average existence. In some ways I know the unsuspected truth of experience, let it guide into appreciation for opportunities and a day not on the street or going hungry. For the leakless roof overhead the potential for participating in the world. I hate the side of me that is drooling at having funds available and the luxuries that they provide. Its almost as though my inner monsters haven’t been sated, are waiting for the next opportunity to scorch away the meat and tender outline of my flesh gone to pasture in the haze where hard living is the only pleasure to be found.
Dystopian cartwheels in the caterwauling life we lead staring constantly at the satisfaction all around. Bitching occasionally to satisfy unmet desires that we struggle to attain even at unreasonable cost. The hunt for happiness overwhelms the basics and sometimes its worth it whatever the price. Disciples of a daily rut where we stay stuck and mired deeply in the mud of a situation not planned for. In the moments of joy where our desire for completion coincides with our faithful love and devotion, we find a peace despite the discord that is without compare. In the moments where we falter under the weight surviving as only survivors can and are willing to do, we have to remember the strength we share to stumble on. Nothing becomes the norm and requests for aid cut as a degrading act that dehumanizes us further. Outlasting the shame of each failure and the disgust it brings resolutely waking each morning to the grim gray of sameness. As upper class homeless we are on the outskirts, enjoying luxuries like cold running water and a toilet, that the rest of goddamn society imagines are god given. Fear that the envy of our possessions will lead to thievery leads us to close the door and have knives on hand. Eating another can of soup in mid-summer heat because the soup kitchens provide cans and bread regularly and its too goddamn expensive to purchase a real meal. Endlessly pretending that things will just fix themselves because the reality of work necessary to get out of this situation is beyond daunting, it’s easier to capitulate and get high. Holding tight to special items because they are memories encapsulated in the fur of a stuffed animal or favorite shirt. When you’ve lost it all so many times before the littlest things can have such an enormous significance you might even indulge in a treasure box for safe keeping. Solid week long stretches without bathing because the $7 per person to shower at the truck stop can’t be found. People look at you with mixed contempt and confusion because if you dress nicely and present well it defies logic that you should be in such a predicament. Putting on makeup diligently just to feel pretty for a moment scrape the grunge of sweat stained skin stickily from your body. Oh yes, there is freedom to be found if you chose to indulge and let the wash of illicit and irregular activities become your home. A beer and some vodka to wash down the weather and heat along with the anxious discord of stress over the unknown of tomorrow. A shot or a bowl of glass to provide focused determination the confidence to strive for success into the oncoming crush or an opportunity to zone out and lose days at a time without emotion. Some black tar to sleep peacefully and stay dazed no thought and no fear, no nothing at all because you’ve gone dead inside. Its a slide down into a pit of needles and loss where the bottom can always fall out and take you lower, lower than you ever imagined possible in such insidious ways. Bravo to those that soldier their way out of the muck find themselves a spot of sanity and personal identity allow themselves the grace of overcoming through grit. Fucking monsters of life having been torn through the gutter when they stand proud and defiant despite their obstacles applaud those hard mother fuckers that didn’t give in, defied all the odds and managed to rejoin the world on their own terms.
Supple supplicants, their lips all red in hue, bound down to sultry appetites so rigid and so few. Clasping tight a night bound pen, it’s nub a point of twilight glen. We never got beyond this spot, where shear cast moons broke down to stars, eternities gates and Pandora’s box. We never got so far, As to chase the mystic rabbits beyond, Seek out the mystery the hold, Ones for the tykes–the other the bold. Feeling tracks into the ether, Its nebulous now this fucking thief named Peter, We’ll tie him down in briar hot, Filled with thorns and a boiling pot. Unlace his skin again, Drunk full of life and his lovely sin.
Note: having a bit of a manic weird day when writing this one. -S