luna

spent, the veil becomes luscent, the matter apparent, the static reveals. i could see inside of you, i could hear, even if it was but for this split, shortest moment, i am relaxed in that moment for the first time today. what direction the sun came from, what direction was the center, what is left when you find that you are nothing? is it warmth that i feel when i find that i am gone, dissolved like one breath into the atmosphere, one wave in an ocean of illusions, quivering with the anticipation of what it must be to fall all the way into this vision and sound and taste and smell of what it is to be me, i, one, all, nothing. the hands they shake, there is horror welling up, am i about to take the final step, or am i just waking up to begin the journey at last? either way, i must shed this skin and venture forth as naked and open as the day i was born, my umbilical eyes and ears watch as i make it so, my womb is now only the idea that i cling to for last reaches into falling sunlight, as the cool night air surrounds and tears my grasp to shreds of paper meandering down concrete walks, hitching on the backs of fences and wires. fallen under darkness, i can only just make out the monoliths and spires as they stretch out of the streetlights into the vacuum above. my love, satellite crawls in as my sole salvation, to surround us all in still, marine glow, bent back out of the pooled residue of last nights storm, beckoning us to the horizon with her in her fleeting rage, her silent, cool embrace, her divine echoes of what she has seen and will be. i will find my slumber somewhere in between this heaven and her, and listen to the pulse and breath of this ancient mother and timeless whore.

am i getting used to this???

two nights in instead of out. just a puff of smoke under the beaming filling moon around 2 am, clear headed and empty hearted as i am, somehow she always draws a smile out of my face. diving back into more rest, more dreams, and awakened with a reminder of somewhere i once was, and how those things will somehow always be where i still am, thankfully steeped in southern skies and desert sands, the strangest place on earth can be sometimes the most familiar.

sleep is only news if you never do it, and right now these past two days are like the french revolution of slumber...

sleep...

...especially after a 2 day run is really special. the dreams are rich and random, and the world has colours again when you wake up. when you wake up, you are sane, boring, sleepy, coffee swilling just to get one word out, and generally a fucking wanker. even after 3 hours awake, the world is still streaming in, i am soaking it up, cool, clear november morning, the house could burn down, and all i would do is sit and watch, mebbe with a slight smile, like as if i just got hit in the head with something other than a pillow for 10 hours.

halloween.

playing soccer with the cabs on houston street.

taking a crap in the trunk of some puerto rican rappers' car. much to their chagrin, i suppose...


happy halloween. i can't wait till thanksgiving. i hope to yodel till dawn with a rectal thermometer in my ear and my new yet to be found transvestite wife and her baby, pink poodles at the doorstep of her recently burnt out trailer. for the time being i should just peel my toungue off the roof of my mouth where it has been adhered by the spackling that my saliva became sometime after passing out round 4 a.m.

this seems like a good trade for being once capable of bouncing laser beams off the stars with my inter-retina radar waves. kind of like getting back to the basics of what living really is. what dying really is. whatever, drink some water, and a big ole glass of STFU and get on with the dream. hazy, foggy dream, somewhere, back of the skull, right beneath one of the recently found, previously forgetten bruises, we seem to be collecting regular as of late, us evel kneivel, alcha-yogi-sahtva freaks that we are. as usual, there were women, to be sure, but as always one in particular that riled me up, and wound me more tightly than could be contained, sent me spinning out into the cool night, teetering like a coin on the prowl for a place to rest my head or tail, always on the brink, weight thrown forward, legs just barely keeping up. bound to, sooner or later, dig teeth into soil, rearing to a halt with the whole spine firing juice into the misty meandering back of my mind. somehow these intermittant lubrications trigger cool nostalgias, useless and indulgeant as they may be, i remember slow, low sunshine days, way back when, before i was broken, spent, emptied out and filled back up again and again. same thing happened at the end of the h trip, though this time around i am amazed by the speed with which it all got on with, just a couple of months to drain the clear waters and leave the tank an echoe chamber, reverberating with the last ring of what surely was a scream of delight, like the same one you hear the last second before dropping into the steep track of an old wooden roller coaster, excepting this happened at the end of the ride, not the start. must have been fun, i know i was in love at least ten times with the city and her dreamy flowers, her poppies, her roses, blossoms sprang from the concrete, glass and steel, these most unlikely angels somehow right at the fingertips of the devil, just within reach, tickling at gripping, not so much to tear at the roots as to drink from the petals all of the morning dew, steeped in floral sweetness, all for a moments salvation, just a moment, just one more is all we ask, as the history of the universe swims around our ears and turns the last shock of hair on my head on end, charged with the electric possibile, anything happens, everything happens, anyone happens, everyone happens, all of the time. if you keep your ears pressed tight to the rails you might hear the next one coming before it runs you over, you might have your eyes open and heart clear enough for room to let her sit, the next moment, shining second, with the scintillating halo of this most rare engagement, most perfect wire, tightening to a quivering hold, again on the edge of its eminent collapse, one could taste it, balanced on to the tip of the tongue, knowing it was all so beautiful flying as it was the most likely to fall....