painted checker-board sky (gibberish: a collection)

March 3, 2011

1.  The smell of evergreen; he breaths easy, deeply. Tiny sparks flicker amongst near-by trees, his eyes glisten to it too, these on-coming reflections, warm, though promising; steadily, in an instant, ignite every raw-droplet of immaculate-sap with something that passes as living. Like twinkling-stars, he’s reminded, only tease, riddle and puzzle, leaving a healthy brain vulnerable to breakable dreams…Hopes! he stares up-ward, the passage of wishful thinking, his expression grins: laughter’s crossed his mind again. Helpless, he chuckles aloud, an advocate of self-ridicule. “How hilarious.” he says, simultaneously laying backward, his eyes again confront a clear-sky, cloudless yet obscure, an introverted flask, too, entices him. Once more, a contentious sense of warmth envelops disruptive sensitivities; his catch the black glimpses of passing birds. Openly exposed to the heavens, his curiosities rest, the creaking of swollen wood is heard as he shifts, finding neither comfort nor interest. Erect, he looks anxiously at a far-off summit, retracing slowly, his eyes move through the substantial foliage between it and himself. Humor swells further, a joyous completion, whether alive or dead, his mind consciously examines the range of possibilities; a distant fog discreetly lingers in the upper elevations, his mind’s eye thoughtfully explores it’s underneath mysteries.

Indifference: a stale breeze, flowers and plants, all things surrounding him, he’s offered nothing. Nature’s natural disinterest both consoles and frightens, he contemplates, momentarily, his own strong emotions; highways and shopping-malls, he’s always sympathized, but every tree in-between, would just assume see him crushed as any logger or business-man. “An ignored perversion!” he lets quietly out, hopping to his feet. The air, for just a split second, picks-up, cold chills penetrate skin and bone, he shivers. A voice inside him encourages movement, it’s circulation, his mind believes, that’ll revive things; motion, flowing blood, his coordinated limbs respond accordingly. Fresh breaths and feeling, his brain’s enkindled with swirling atoms, a contentious spin enlivens him, like an affectional wound delicately damaging the head. Though slow, his pace is consistent, every step taken forward, to him, is a patient resistance against life, which will inevitably strike; ambiguity and doubt, it’s arsenal being insatiable.

From off the road he looks back, his expression dims to the soft thoughts of his mind, civilization, he ponders, toilet-tissue and ice-cream, the parts, he contemplates he’ll miss, seem few; but his demeanor remains fragile, standing a man like any other, he looks now ahead, a thicket of vulnerabilities, unappeasable woods and dense shadows, his dependence to things he’d consider shit, immediately felt greater. Ill-at-ease he takes a knee, his fingers wave and swirl-about, mindlessly churning the earth underneath; an immediate click of something hard against the nail. He smiles, thankfully, gladly taken quickly away from abstruse thoughts; problematic and barren, he recollects, contemplation, black-holes and shooting-stars, the night-sky, like life itself, an indecisive view of past lives.

Grasped, and now lifted, he begins steadily digging into the sticky-mud, his thumb moving in necessary compressed circles. Like a sturdy shovel-head, it’s nail readily penetrates, redness, as if injured, the quarter-size thing appears touched with affliction; well preserved, the slash gleams. Horrors, not his own, he’s distraught by the monumental void of pain, unforgettable and vast, left after a life-time of nothingness; infinite experiences, yr by yr, insignificant. A man without tragedies, he measures, in this world, is a man who’s been mislead, an alien without a home; in search since birth, he looks about the family of trees for any signs of welcome. None. Unsurprisingly alone, he stands, his faded eyes keep to the ground, dirt and scattered brush, it’s as good any other-place, he conceives, to perpetually sleep.

2. The day inhumanely matures, a pubescent heat, like that of a teen’s first wet-dream, rapidly retards his leg muscles’ memory; exhaustion’s a thrill, weak knees and cramping, he stops. Panting, his hands rest atop his knees, the intensity of being beaten has made him sweat; his face, though blistered, appears most afflicted. Breathless too, the air sits articulating with whats already dead. Thoroughly inhaled, the numbness he begins feeling surpasses that of unpleasing; tingling, fingertips and toes, he recollects the tell-tale signs of withdrawal coming forth quickly…traversable-abyss, his eye-lids have closed; familiar and crystal-clear, it’s absolute emptiness he witnesses. As if alive, he commonly detects motion within it, neither friendly nor fervent, all perceived movement merely passes along, totally indifferent of his company. Pompous or thoughtful, he considers, momentarily examining his own social practices. A civil man without friends, he staggers some in the darkness, any clarity he wishes to understand of himself remains as interpretable as the floor beneath him. One by one, invisible steps are continuously taken slow, he naturally stumbles, a condemned awkward being, he presses on regularly pestered.

That’s laughter! it’s an unmistakable sound, the echo of one’s own banter…Chaotic! it all suddenly felt invited, self-invented, the space he shared with himself was opening…My eyes! he tragically surmised were only closed, just second or two, yet the dread he willfully experienced had stretched immortally around him; attached skin, balmy fresh, he examines a tiny sweat-pellet trapped upon a hair. Far-off memories, blue seas, an ocean of reflection, he visualizes a time when he’d no reminiscence, swimming freely, comfortably adrift on any current that’d interest to carry him. A water-world, unearthly, airless and mysterious, inhibitions hidden from the sun. Evaporation, instantly, the keepsake vanishes before him. Dazed, he held tightly to the truck of a growing tree; it’s natural stability helps his own disabled maturity steady some. Development! he thinks, brains crammed within a skull, his foot rests atop a protruding root. “Hardy!…” he states softly, “I will assuredly trip over someday.”

Destiny and acceptance, a slight whisper of a breeze, his stare’s reclined upon the tree-tops, which delicately sway. He finds a red bird chirping; in a crimson-flicker it flies away, blinking, he’s missed it. An other-worldly ghost, feathered angel, his distressed imagination relapses backward, escorted and protected, a previous vision reforms again to a more authentic god; bravery and sin, the smell of honey-suckle sweetens the air he breathes-in. Potent breaths, rich apocalypse and dizziness, an odd calmness overcomes him, thoughts of a perfect annihilation, fires set ablaze, the steam of distant oceans traipses sky-ward. Rain-drops, a fine powder, fresh seedlings begin to bud, growth, flowers and trees, the wind too blows with new enthusiasm. Animals, plants, the world’s returned virginal, life and death freely intertwine, the perverse imbalance of things lay tardily still; rotting bones and pubic-hair, the epidemic has passed, our heinous reign is lastly dead…trickling, a satisfaction, his eyes envision true paradise, all so clever, deceased angels and demons, each is buried and forgotten…a flash of pain, something reflective upon the ground has stirred him…”Away from bliss!”

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