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03 July 2006 @ 02:08 am
inky black smear (and other considerations)  
lost my balance, taken to muttering. close eyes and the room spins. open eyes and the floor drops. i could suck raw ginger, pulp it 'til my vision blurs, vamp the juices thick and still press the flats of my palms into my eyes, a secluding prayer to exorcise this vile wavering. ginger don't fix the spins, the spins that give the belly strife.

didn't we do this last winter?

in the bathtub, forehead to the ceramic. hot water, cold tile. i could i could i could i could i could remember something useful something real something i'm not writing in over what actually happened i should i should i should i should do something to ground myself in my own body in my own moment in my own self instead of the self i would i would i would i would i would have been

would HAVE been
if i HAD known
WHO to be*






subject subjective what is the matter? holy visitation. water splashed to the sick forehead. water scrubbed back over the fevered scalp. the room tilts, the walls orange. smash deep into the pillow, rattle rattle 6.3, lift again to find it blue. by the time it's gone green we might as well be on the ceiling with our weighted lurches, our stumbling stagger.

[ today we've found that we are not an independent consciousness acting against the void but the void moving through an often muddled awareness. today we have found the blasphemous disconnect between wall and mirror. today we bend at the knees without bending, dip to the floor that looses us in our gravity. floor boards floor boards to the floor to the floor and haul it back up again. today we keep light beams in pensive tension at either thumb knowing with a force knowing with a strength knowing in a place that could make an element snap, ]

haunted by (my own) absence, (i) startle at (my) hair on (my) shoulders. (i) fragment sentences, (i)

*edit the wretched girl out.
mood: living daylights
chris kapryscomplicake on July 3rd, 2006 12:49 pm (UTC)
perhaps no comments belong posing as response to the raw and searching enfilade of words that bleed and bloom from that fevered chase of funneled spiral flushing sucking Pull that braces and bolts a body to one shimmering pinhead point and asks for more and less of something that can't be described; questions weightless but compulsory, sharp and precise, slitting the shuddering mind here and here and here; the surgical origami of inquisition without the safety net and compass of vocabulary that could approach and tame that kind of scene.

but your entry reminded me of something; a memory i often forget. (so i figured i could offer you my reaction instead of a response or comment.)
to this day i don't know if it was a dream, but i'm pretty sure it was a film, a cartoon. i'm 5-years-old, or 7, watching the screen, fascinated. there's a mouse crawling through (a sewer?) maybe ventilation ducts. he's been walking for a long long time. he's searching for something, maybe an exit. then there's a ledge a little taller than his body, and he hoists himself up and peeks over. there's this mirror. or two mirrors. whatever he sees has the effect of two mirrors facing each other. you know: that endless hallway and all that stretching impossible space. he looks deeper and deeper into the reflection feedback and the POV zooms faster and faster through what should be infinity. but after all that blur and racing pushing forward, suddenly the view moves slow, stops, and there's a careless sort of breeze blowing through this hole in a sort of canvas-tent wall, and the view zooms in on this one flapping piece of tattered torn material and it's pale green and unforgettable.

in a science class in freshman year our teacher, one inexplicably dark afternoon, right before the bell rang, had made a captive audience of everyone in the room -- even the gum-smacking bang-blowing ones who normally would have been sighing just loud enough to let the rest of us know that they'd rather be anywhere other than here, in this classroom -- when she got to talking about how big the universe actually is. it had started with atoms, the usual mind-bending approximation of void measured in football fields, then planets and the solar system and on and on and on. and, like enraptured 2nd-graders we all kept asking, "and what's after that?..." and the teacher was really working the crowd and doing her best to fill up our imaginations with how big BIG really is and i'm pretty sure a few people had stopped breathing and had dedicated all their energy to just holding this picture in their heads, this incomprehensible size. some people started asking what was at the end. what's on the edge? what's after the end? et cetera. the teacher tried to offer some theories about expansion and contraction and what-have-you, but it was too late. she'd managed to loosely embroider into the patchwork of our young and eager minds a dizzying working model of infinity, and now we needed a border, a frame, a container, a ziploc bag, a leash, anything. the tone of the questions shifted from quizzical to accusatory, even sad. it wasn't the teacher, but a buddy of mine, clint, who stepped in for the rescue. clint was a skateboarder who made lovely graffiti and sometimes dj'd at our parties. he'd been busy at his desk in the back of the classroom, working on a new drawing, hunched and sketching, listening, smiling. finally somebody asked the teacher, not with just a little hint of anger and desperation, "no, but really, what's at the end?" and clint spoke up and said, "it's a just a big brick wall, with a sign, says: wet paint."
Rodney Bathemein on July 3rd, 2006 08:14 pm (UTC)
wooooooooooooooooo! pancakes