In The World I Hide In The Lower Case I's

Is about a person who experiences the world in a way that captivates all who gravitates towards it's wierdness, and circles back for it's realness. There's kids running from cop's, sexual excursions, deep in your face language, wierd side stories and an epic secret that will make you think. Out loud or quietly, this story can be read anywhere by anyone and still leave a scar. Enjoy.

Ultimate Guitar

in the World i hide in the lower Case i's

Adam Ruffo

Apocrypha of a hyper- Velocity Wanderer: 1

I looked at my pants and it was stream lined with information. Barely visible but also unavoidable. It was written in black tinted blue, ancient even. Some letters are in English (sometimes Olde English), and other marks are consistent with familiar and descript emblems, plus numbers as well. Trying to read it could be related to backwash, dyslexia is a cancer in this situation. I grabbed a pen and started to mimic the stroke just below my left knee. Using the bottom of the pen, it became apparent. I wasn't loosing my mind, and there was in fact a very strange and ridiculous accumulation of someone or something's encoded inscription of sorts bound within the fibers. Forever maybe.

I considered the possibility of my constant writing as being the source. I'd write for hours. Without thinking, and at times without breathing.

(There's a certain peace about words with me. i like to hide in the lower case i's. Catch up on some time traveling. A little transcendental meditation for my weary hands.) It made sense, considering these are my only pair of pants and I write on a thin leather bound notebook. It was possible that over a long time, the abrasions from the frivolous penmanship could have somehow stamped various characters all over my blue jeans. It was a stretch that was eventually disproved when I looked at my shin. The front and back were covered with the same blood-thick lettering, line after line, resembling the rest of the apocrypha, except for around the knee's, where it expanded into the balding white. Making the mysterious calligraphy fade out, friction burned upon incineration.

I wondered if what read would exactly lead to. Insanity. Treasure of some kind. A good story. A government conspiracy, no a good story. Then I creeped myself with the idea that it's a suicide letter or somebody's will. It could be a series of stress patterns. I thought, A light bulb switched on, followed by me saying, I'm an idiot!What was i thinking? Closing then opening to this page to write. The idea began to travel. Held up to the light, nwod edispu, sideways, and from a distance. Getting yoaked by the neck, leading to an immediate interrogation. Questions are rifled out as the zoot suits in my head, though got down to business received no explanation. I stood up, crouching over, paced toward the sun roof. It opened as I drew closer, getting sucked out in a dramatic fashion by the parachute I happened to be wearing. There was no emotion in the pairs of eyes now of the road and falling in the ocean. It spun a few times before slamming hard on the shallow sand bar. Smoke billowed intertwining itself with the long reach of the purified mist. The spectacle was witnessed some who inhabited the beach, racing toward the fading rainbows, with grim looks, even from here.

Not ready for a confrontation on that level, I took hold of the reigns and pulled hard on the left side. Oh shit! The rock face mirrored mine. Escaping in time, I skeeted by with three light tip toes.

Propelled now in a new direction, ten feet over the tree tops, I could smell the water. It wafted in my lungs like a sauna steam. Pungent and unmerciful. Bringing an obvious question about. How can some place so beautiful, even majestic, emit such a haggard stench? It couldn't be the possibly incriminating, but visually amazing stunt, that was now about three-hundred yards away. This particular body of water smells like two thousand years of unprotected sex. Smack!!! Breathing heavy and now steering with one hand, thanks to a rouge palm fran than struck me in the genitals, I'm pissed but laughing at the same time. I tripped after a couple choppy steps, then dragged for five or six bounces, but nothing to traumatizing.

Thinking this island paradise somehow has it out for me; i make the easy choice to leave. My parachute was off as soon as I forgot about it. My hair and face is a dirt covered doughnut, but ultimately, I've been in worse situations with less of an experience. The scene is empty at the end of the beach. Cut off by another intimidating mass of rock and Earth, that looks to end a hundred feet out in what should be open water.

I cut up the path, wasting no time. The walkways snaked in all directions around the tree's. Exotic plants and animals are overhead. There is an unequivocal distinction in the species of insects, birds and four legged tree dwellers evolving within a planetary economy, in which without humans probably would exist until a red giant occurred. i suddenly craved sour apple peering through the leaves that populated the area. There was nothing for miles. Just the deep and rounded expressways under the salvation of the photo-eccentric sheets of wax.

Wait! What was that? I walked at half pace in an attempt to lower my noise while still moving. What was that sound? in a quiet whisper of amazement. It echoed like an extinct bird. Provocative and arrogant. But not for me. I kept moving. The plant-like pavilion was growing scarce. i smell my sweat boiling as it beaded inexorably, soaking my shirt. There's a shallow clearing. Though still inundated by shrubbery, it opened enough to support a small cabin and a very wide dirt sidewalk, visible for half a mile before winding to the left. I don't move in impatient ignorance. I'm from America and I've seen this movie before. So I just sat there. It was nice to not be moving, granted my life could possibly be in danger at any point; the rest is truly appreciated.

The Transfixing Allure of a Moon Beast's Albito: 2

My heart rate returned to normal when i heard the ancient wail, shrieking in the distance. ~W`hh'a-Wh'a-W`ha~N~Uh-W`aa-W`aah-Wah-W'aa,W'aa~N`N~W'aa EEEEE!~N`-Wah,~N'N`~Wah`. Then it got quiet as time was counted off with his boots. Then~ Well, that Smoke stack lightning. Shining like gold. Don't you hear me callin` Wwooahh! WWWhoooaah! Eh-~Whan~ Eh-~W'haa Eh-~Whan~. Tell me where did you go last night. Darlin` I know d'ja bed well. Tell me where d`ya go last night WHAOOOOOOOWHAOOOWW. Eh`n~W'han~Eh'n~Eh~Wh`a-Eh, Ehn~W'ha- E'h, Ehn~w`han- Eh~Eh. Gotta` stop your train, let me go for a ride pretty baby, y-ou Know. ~sStop!!! Your train I got ride wih' you. I gotta` ride wid`u, I gotta` ride with you. Wht~W`ht~Wht~Wh`en~ugh~om~hwh'enughpt~W~an-W~an-Wh'anughpt. Well tell your world goodbye pretty baby. Tell your world, goodbye, goodbye. Don't need you no more pretty baby goodbye. Goodbye, goodbye.

In that time I had moved all the way around to the back of the shack. An older black man was situated in his chair. Possessed by the spirits in his harp. As well as in his whiskey jar that rested near his right foot. i was thinking about walking up the steps when his colors went from purplish-blue to yellowish orange red. He stood ready with his arms to his sides, as his seemingly regular harmonica exposed the deadly secret it was outfitted with. I stared down with my hands slightly raised, as I said Hey! I'm just lost. Uhm, and obviously where I shouldn't be.

My eyes slunk to his when he said Yeah! Which answered the question but demanded more.

I haven't seen anybody in about five or six miles, I'm not from around here. I heard you playin` which was hands down the realest live performance I have ever heard! It was really sublime. The literary depiction was completely unjust. He closed the knife and put the harmonica on the table.

Sorry I don't get too many friendly visits from ghosts, I mean crackers, I mean white people. I laughed. Not much more you could do but take it. I smiled and made eye contact, Still not even on the broke down stoop. His face contained a sort of entertained confusion. Waiting for the slip-up.

I tried not to sound too crazy, explaining in greater detail as to how I ended up here. i did my best in making up some story about myself and two others, setting out to look for my kid sister. She's been gone since late last night. I said with dishonest remorse. So where's your friends?

Well one of them, Ray, He got hit by a truck.

What, out here?

No, we didn't even leave town yet. Once we got the news that she was gone, we all got into Dom's El Camino and started looking everywhere. We pulled up to the last red light in town when we were hit from behind. Guess who was in the back.

He shook his head downward, then spoke into my eyes. That's a shameAnd what of the other one?

I searched my brain to produce another excuse and came up with this. After the ambulance left, we decided to keep on going with the search. No reason to quit, bad omen or not we have a job to do right? He nodded slowly.

But-uh we got separated somehow. He stopped to take a break for a second and I just kept on going. I guess He made a turn off the path or something, I don't know, I hadn't seen him in about two or three hours.

Yeah, you'd be surprised how easy you'd get lost in that thickness. The terrains so inauspicious and forsaken, I'm surprised one of you is still breathing. You thirsty? Come on up, take a glass. I accepted without question. So what's your name? Asking while he poured me a double of some Chutney Suntory whiskey. My names Martin Hype, but everybody calls me Art.

Well my names Machismo Hegan, but everybody calls me Mo. It was silent for a second My father was a hard ass. A small laugh emerged between both of us. His blatant honesty was respected not stared at as he stared out into the wilderness. Then he raised his jar in a toast to say To!Uhm, what's her name?

In-grid. Saying it like I didn't want to.


Mo had a cock-eyed glare, like the name was completely foreign. Rich. Okay.

I chimed in with

Don't worry were not as pompous as our parents.

Salute! My glass to his jug of knowledge.

Now that's funny. Hah-shit. Shaking his in a chuckled cadence. Hard to believe, but still funny.

A few laughs went on until Mo said, You know, you haven't given me one look like I did it, or I was anyone I remember lately. That's good to have sometimes.

It required a single step, in a quiet second to make the dissimilarity between yellow orange-ish red being your friend dying, and blinding white to black being your wife dying. The Harmonica!!! He snatched it off the table and blew a note familiar to a didgeridoo. It's low tone and high pitch made my eyes groan and twitch. He slowly moved to the stoop and when he began to play his loudest I noticed why the abuse. A hela monster. A huge beast, glowing green, black and yellow, with eyes as fat as emeralds. It's ozone exalted an exuberant flow of holographic undulant satire. Whipped and pasteurized by the harp, exorbitant in strobe, passing off as a vibrating mirage. Effervescent and brimming with energy.

I got up and took a knee next to him. As soon as he pulled me down he stopped blowing. Relinquishing a towering wall that brutally died on the beach. Then in a quick voice All right, stay down N` don't move. Then a new sound. One of complete silence. Imagine being in a studio, waiting for the track to reset so you can pour on some more soul. I looked to see it's image of a Buddha-like awe, transcend into a mode of attack. With a single facial movement the shack was separated from it's foundation, eviscerated and cremated into a throng of malformed and characterless crux, which swarmed and siphoned a muti-channeled vortex that frayed our impenetrable envelope.

I was too scared to speak. Rationalizing what was happening was as easy as replaying what Mo had said over and over again. Stay down N` don't move! Stay down- N` don't move! Besides my whispered chant, there was this high waving Wah-Wah whine of a thick bionic membrane, being slashed and burned while a thousand manifested pterodactyls cackle without compunction.

I leaked as if I were an unattended can of Pepsi. It was hard to make out my surroundings. As my source of buttress, with it's weathered discoloration and shrunken volume, left only off cuts of light to pour over. I could see the current of matter surge in their separate streams. And sixty-four billion years of creation and erosion, cultivated a soup of colors that painted a revolving picture. Fresh of Dali inspiration and stroke.

I looked at Mo. He looked tired. He looked heroic. But hours later meant years later. In a battle he probably didn't contest from the beginning, lasting far beyond what reality suggests. Then he started to cry when the thought of failing her arose. His face filled up with an iron gated emotion, that punctured every pore in my body. He started slowing. Notably because my left hand and arm began to turn into a gravity-less liquid. And the last thing I remember, I put my other hand on his left shoulder, and poof! I smell like a ten mile run (From the cops), considering whether or not to change my bed sheets.

Changing into Dirty Clothes: 3

They were staring at me. Laid over the chair like a corpse, from across the room. With a single bulb low-watt desk lamp shinning strong. The drip-drops from the leaky sink could have produced a novella in Morse. I got up and walked in the bathroom, ecstatic to hear a familiar noise, until I heard what sounded like a cheap Bic pen fall, at least three feet or so, onto a table. I immediately looked up to right, in the mirror. I could only see a part of a chair, the blinds and the neighboring brick building. I consider stopping but, . I just woke Halfway there. Memories start flooding my eyes, I accidentally piss on the seat a little. -FhAUF-F! That can't be good. The smell of burning plastic is creeping around the door frame. The light caught fire, falling conveniently onto a stack of papers atop an old wooden desk. Pants! I grabbed 'em and kicked my legs through the holes, almost igniting my hair, as I leaned close to the growing blaze. Next! Shoes! I put `em on without tying. Then my Indian ink exploded.

Did you know- Indian ink, given there's three and a half full ink wells, could induce a flame big enough to cover an adjacent wall, and send flesh boring ball bearing sized comets of paint flying across the room in all directions? No. Me neither.

I never had time to put it out, just enough to grab my wallet, guitar and a few artifacts. I made my exit in an in orderly fashion. Making sure i hit every door in both hallways, screaming FIRE!! THERE'S A FIRE!!!!

I didn't feel safe outside, so I left. Turning back as a scream forfeited in my ears. Her tears said everything as her mouth fumbled with the words. Huddled in a mass of rescued spectators, without a home or an idea of what to do. I kept moving. I'm pissed. That fire moved way too fast. Where am I going to go? There's no way I could of grabbed anything else? ~Angry Sigh~! i'm walking so fast i'm practically jogging. Thinking about everything is all i can do, and walking helps facilitate the time and semi-privacy to mull it over.

Hours pass by quicker than answers. It's getting late and I'm out of ideas. I've been playing the guitar with a drink next to my foot for the past couple of hours. Playing for myself, though there were passers by. That being the freaks, emo's, teeny boppers and their pubescent pimps, unsigned skaters, and the mushroom dealers. Kids on Ex, first time downtown is one to forget. Better hide that binki out here. I had to say something. Downtowns filling up and I'm tired of searching for answers to questions I consciously don't need to think about, all the while I have no idea what to do with myself right now. More time just meant more faces. More faces mean more cops. More guitars! `ey man! So where you've been? I asked an individual that I could only explain as interesting and out of a dream.

(He was there the day half of my friends and I, and two jits who roamed our trail, in search of redemption; piled into a tiny green Jetta, crossing into the neighborhood of a funny story. So here we are, ten deep, on our way to get a little payback for a few freshmen who'd been getting beaten on. Were all getting pumped up in our minds. Blasting Dillinger Escape Plan, Korn, ICP, Tool, Nine Inch Nails; or whatever we listened to back then. It was a long ride. But we managed to keep out of sight, while still following the unsuspecting. I knew everyone was, or just getting, nervous because all the windows were now magically open. I was wedged between the door, Random's knees, Jimi's shoulder and the seat. We have three in the trunk experiencing every kick from the street reflectors, from when we changed lanes. Every jolting stop and the ardent whiplash that goes with eleven individual inertias so closely bound. Oh yeah, and the train tracks. We got some screams of pain out of pain out of that one. So we get there when a small voice was passed to a larger one. Turn that shit down! Camen was easily heard. Camen, I first met in second grade. The question was, Can somebody else tell me what else feels good? First Day, by the way. His response is as pure and potent today then when he first consciously thought about it, then willfully spoke, what in absolutely no way originally meant to offend. Sex. Simply put, sex. Mrs. Washington, in her many years of love and labor, omitted such a response for a later time. Quieting the giggles and goshes. In short, he knows how to make a statement. We make a quick U-ey in a quiet suburb. Boom were there. And like America in Vietnam. We don't know the full story, were high on the power of numbers, and the opposition isn't the only thing that's underestimated. There was at least twenty-five angry looking Asians waiting, with no fear in mind. We jumped back in so quick. We had a few tails who followed us, while ours were safely tucked between our legs. We later found out that one of these kids were talkin' shit all day at school; and they organized. Surprise surprise!)

Then the under-scorn man said, Me? Then with a satisfied smile he said, Around. Not around here. I rushed. Are you cool, you look like you've just seen a-.

Regolith: 4 Hey 5-0 rolling up, just chill. I said calmly, hoping the cop didn't see us being one with nature so to speak, downtown Friday night. But if you know me, my friends, and the cops; you know the common ground, you know what to expect, and you absolutely know that they were doing something they weren't supposed to.( Legal or not. It's all in the same ball park.) Like being oblivious to the fact that I had existed, as well as the drugs in my pocket and the beer in my backpack.

Hey you two come here. The cop said in a regular voice. Which definitely made me not want to run, because as soon as he spoke, I knew it was just going to be a warning.

Being in this town meant they'd rather not always deal with kids who are just sitting in a big ass tree smoking pot and playing guitar. This is St. Pete, there's tourist's and prep's to protect. So what's on the agenda tonight guys? He asked while putting a foot on one of the overgrown roots rifling out of the ground. Oh just taking a break from walking. Enjoying the scenery. I said. There was an odd silence, two hearts pumping faster, and three curious minds (I was sure of) wondering what's going to happen next. Well there's a lot to see. He replied, adding, Including you two trespassing on museum property! -And we knew we were. Oh really. I'm sorry sir, but I've been coming to this tree and hanging out for years and never been told I was in any violation. Jimi said. Well it doesn't mean, your not trespassing now, so get down out of the tree please. Saying in a far from subtle way. Concluding the fact that he wasn't only a dick but he had been through this a million times.Sure thing! I said. As we packed our belongings, the cop exited his Captain Morgan like pose which allowed us, or me to walk down the root. Jimi had a harder time, (With his guitar in one hand, and a skateboard in the other) He slid down until his shoes lost grip, jutting his legs on either side, quickly regaining his composure; like any wood pusher out there, and kept walking like he meant to do it.

Skaters by their very nature are urban guerillas: They make everyday use of the useless artifacts of technological burden, and employ the handiwork of the government/Corporate Structure in a thousand ways that the original architects could Never dream of. Craig Stecyk 1976

So where to next? Anywhere a boll is involved. To the fountain? Fuck that! The whole park is hot, besides, too many heads. Wwwhhaatt! What do you mean, Hot? I mean the cops have stepped up their game. There's this street crimes unit, granted permission by the courts of course, to goose step up and down every street, sidewalk, and back alley, all over downtown; shaking down the locals as if APB meant All Persons Bored. It also seems like they've been casing certain kids out for years. UC's, surveillance. It's f--king spooky! Doesn't make any sense. By this time, we already crossed the street, and made our way through a dark passage way, (Few knew about), and had taken our seats along the break wall. It was a good place to hide, although it didn't have too many escape routes. There's about a foot of grass between the break wall (2 ft. w.) and a ten foot high fence that wrapped the back of an unknown building. The person who showed this cut to me also informed me of a few rules for using it appropriately. 1: Leave no trash 2: If cops are chasing you, or suspected of following you, DO NOT enter the cut 3: No kiddies are allowed to enter or leave alone. Not because I'm an asshole, I'm just not going to be responsible for some kids death.

Then he went on about a kid who supposedly just lost his chik to another gooch. By that time he was already gone. Slurred speech, sketchy eyes, bloody fists. He said there was no talking to him. I couldn't help him, so I left. The last time I saw him, he just finished another eight second shot of cheap Vodka He was very quiet when I left. I'd spent two hours with the kid. I would of stayed long but I had a court ordered curfew. I called a couple of people, Ya' know, just to check up on him. But I didn't get a call back from anybody. It was nine a.m. when I had the conversation with the responding EMS unit.

He was so wasted he passed out on the break wall. With the amount of alcohol in his system, he was incapable of moving. He died alone. Face down in the same canvass he used to project his pain.

~Ppah~loop- You stucking foner! Man your cut off. That boll cost $60 asshole. Damn it! You know what Jimi said. I'm fucked up man, here. He started going through his pockets until I heard him say one of the most effective phrases to get you up off your ass. -Oh shit, dip! No questions needed. I would have trusted the judgment of a five year old at that point (That being if I was smoking with a five year old). Man I was gone. I took off faster than the person who noticed them. As we ran with wanton-like aggression, I couldn't hear anything. Which is usual for me when running from cops. I get an abnormal rush of blood to the head attributed to the adrenaline. But I could still make out words and somewhat talk. Out of the cut, I noticed we were about fifty feet from where we were sitting. Looking back while running, I could see a slight flicker of light on the thin strip of grass, which helped me keep my pace up. We both came out into the parking lot, and just before we kicked it up to second gear, I advised him to follow me. Staying away from the entrance we escaped the nearsighted view of the security camera's. In the shape of a semi-circle we carved our path, ending across the street.

We hopped over a small fence which led to a little shipyard. Through the walkways, then jumping from ship to ship. By then we've slowed down. Making sure we didn't draw any attention. Why do you carry your bag like that. He was referring to why I was carrying it like a brief case. So the bottles don't break. We just continued our getaway as I saw his eyes illuminate. You have a gift or a problem, you know. So what, it's working. You make a reliable point. all right Get ready to run. I stood eager at the edge. Then I barked, Up and over, let's go!

Corner Gallery no shirt no shoes no money no problem: 5

We exited the shipyard, trying to stay out of sight. We disappeared and reemerged in the pier's outer most parking lot. Moving faster than drunken cheetahs. I remember a place I slept one time. It was behind a fenced in dumpster. It was secluded and had a great view on the water. And it was too windy to smell, so that was a plus.

~Kish-! Nice! Still cold! Welcome to Adam's mobile bar. Check it- I got shot glasses, regular or glow in the dark. Mixed drink glasses, mixing cups, small cutting board& knife for lemons, limes or assorted fruits. Oh yeah! A dartboard and a tiny rock hammer for the nails. All Stolen. No shit!! Toilet paper? Like I said, a gift or a problemYou wanna play? No, were still running from cops remember. Were always going to be running from cops around here. Especially with all this crap on me. It's inconveniently convenient. Yeah but really cool Hey man, what time is it? 9:46. Oh dude I forgot. Here's some money for the great depression. Aw-Cool Shit, hey could I get like five bucks back? I'm broke after that. Damn it man! This is all the money you have and you offered it to me? Of course you can get five dollars back. HA HA! Just kidding. Here, I'm keeping ten though.

Your not finished with that yet? I have to piss. I get called miss. What did you say? I have to piss- Asshole! Why'd you call me an asshole? Shut up. He was going to throw the bottle into the Gulf of Mexico when I motioned him to stop. I pointed to the dumpster behind us and just kept walking, trying not to look annoyed when he said, What? I just pointed again and said, Dumpster.

We then made our way the shuttle station. Three trolley's on wheels encircled the pier's mile long highway. I remember seeing pictures of the pier's actual trolley's in the early thirties. I don't know why they got rid of them originally. Probably too many accidents or maintenance costs and/or problems. Here it comes. What time is it again? Uhm, ten. Hey, I'm going to take a round trip. Check out where those cops are. All right, I'm going to go piss. Meet you out back? Yup.

As the doors close, I immediately shift my attention to the West. I also decided it would be at my best advantage to sit towards the back. With my bag to my side, I slouched down to the point of superior defilade. Only showing my greasy hair and eyes. I realized it was probably a bad idea to be within anyone's let alone law enforcements. Considering the west way trolley let off where I'm running from. And there were some gips still around, which there probably would be, it would kind of look suspicious. Door opens, nobody comes out. With the consequential call over the loud speaker, Sir, [(In his head) Get the fuck out] this is your stop.

I got paranoid. Anxiously paranoid. Attempting to compel the driver to stop, I need to get off-I see a friend. He didn't respond 'till I realized I didn't need his answer. I jumped out the oversized window and landed like a crouching tiger. Then to end the move, I coincidentally got smashed by my backpack as it hits me in the back of the head, while one of the straps gripped my neck. So if anybody was walking down the street, they would of seen a kid go from ninja to coat hanger. I was obviously reluctant to look. With a fully functional limp, I coerce my sixty-five lb. mobile bar toward the back of the pier. After hitting up the water fountain, I found myself hydrated and in good company. What's up man! someone reasonable observational skills. Not much, another day another hell. What's with the limp? Oh didn't I tell you? I'm trying out for the special Olympics. Yeah? I'm trying out for trolley jumping. WellGood luck with that. Yeah, I think I'm stupid enough to take silver at least. I enjoyed the sixty-nine point air conditioning system before being reintroduced to the welcoming breezy yet humid Florida night.

A N G E L F O O D : 6

After taking a seat at the outdoor tropical bar I asked So who's here? To a long faced, but not in spirit, local. UhmBesides meUhh pelicans. Animal and human alike. We received long looks from a group, that looked to be, Olde Tyme instigators. The first tattoo my perusing eyes came in contact with, protruded on top of his sand strewn skin, like it purposely housed a small metal rod just beneath. Lining the design in hopes to accentuate it's appeal. Leaving it all to interpretation, I couldn't tell you what that tat was depicting. Saying to myself It's a bird, It's a plane. Then in a funny and half confused voice, It's Picasso? I couldn't figure it out so I just moved on. There's nothing going on. Except for this funny looking hat! What? Where did- What little kid did you beat up for that hat? He laughed while saying, How did you know that I beat someone up? One due to the amount of scratches on your knuckles, and two because you looked so proud putting it on. Like a week long deliberation occurred before the courtroom spontaneously erupted into violence. Ha Hah! Yeah I'm pretty much a fugitive of the law. Wanted for child abuse and cool hat napping. I laughed out my nose, then added. The article in the paper would read, ?Custody Battle Takes turn for worse?? Underneath there would be an artist rendering of you with the hat in one hand, as your punching your brother in the face. After a few evil but highly amusing laughs, I take a look at the clock. It's 10:23. I decided it's time for more lubrication for what was feeling like, for the most part, a dry night.

Hey you want a beer. I clearly said. Sure. Then I got up without explanation, walked a few steps, turned and said, C'mon. He was slow to move eventually matching my pace, when he asked, Wait, Adam's mobile bar is open tonight? yep. One dollar beers for million dollar dreams. I still don't know exactly what that means. Hey your leaking coolant! What! A sadly familiar term, meaning a bottle broke, continuing the nickel sized exhaust. Phuck! I carefully place my bag on the edge of the garbage can. Obviously being through this before, clean up was clean and thoughtless.

We continued walking, leaving a small signature with every long left step. Rounding the corner, I weighed the pro's and con's of getting pain pills. But I'm not a big fan of cocktails, so much so I could hear the arm of the con's side slam hard enough to catapult the idea out of my consciousness. Then crazy hat mark said, Do you possibly know where I can find some- Pills? Yeah. no. I said while throwing my head down. Finding a place to sit was as easy as falling down and saying, Here's a nice spot. For hours I'd lay around, Obnoxiously stealing your scenery, with several birds Mine-ing away. I'll secretly call the movement The Non-Movement of ????. Wearing the words in black on top of a green T. On the back, I'd have a classical tribute Porch Monkeys 4 Life.

~Keesh~tp-! So where the f--k is everybody? Inside this hat. No seriou-Wait are you on some already? NoYes. I think so. Yeah. MmmhYup. Three somas. I took them about forty-five minutes ago. Sounds about right. It was quiet, except for the bay and it's many birds. Then, a moment of silent consumption between both of us. With the bottle pointed to the moon, inspired some accidental drunken amateur astrology.

what time is it? About 4:30 in china, why? What is it you have planned? That's when Jimi showed up. Ya' know how I found you? I asked Scott, the bartender, where you were at? He told me to follow the trail. And like blood stains from a wounded deer, I was found in the resting place of further bloodshed. That continued for another twenty minutes. Killing off the stock.

So you see any gips? I said to Jimi. Naw, none. Good. I really don't feel like running right now. You up for a short walk? Why did you find a boll in the bathroom? Heh-No. I need some change. What from up top? Yeah. Sure. I could go for some angel food.

For everybody who doesn't know what angel food is, it's when drunk people with change, get bored on top of the five story reverse prism, that we call the pier, and throw their change to try and get it to stay on the many protruding and angled ledges that extend to five feet or so. When they leave, we collect. It's not hard to do, it's just nerve racking. think about it. All your doing is climbing over a chest high fence, bending your knee's, reaching down, grabbing and throwing change behind you. Simple. No pressure, No pressure! Shut up- Mother Fuck Face! What~ did you call me? Dude just shut-up. I shut up. No way I was ever going to do that. Again, that is. I slipped one time. Yeah, that's enough for me. Hopefully I wont be that desperate again. For now I'll stand ready to reach over.

How much you get? Uh Looks to be a little over four bucks. They aren't throwing like they used to. I'd come up here and it'd be like that chuck'e'cheese game. The one with the moving wall that pushed a wall of tokens off the ledge. It was cool. Every Saturday and Sunday morning I'd be up here. In one weekend I made $56.48. Think my bags heavy now. You have no idea.

Midnight on top of the amphitheater: 7

While Jimmy recounted and collected his, I wandered through my mind. Keeping quiet to concentrate in the constant whirlpool of tourist, I switched back and fourth between the dream, my apartment and what the hell I was going to do next.

All right, Let's go. We take the elevator down. Wait two minutes and ride the trolley up to the corner. What time is it? I didn't get an answer, so I thought of one that would. Beer anyone? Sure. The Lansing's still open. The walk is filled with Wad-up's and misshapen frowns on the way to the store. The word of God discussions are a constant fluctuating debate, as the Jesus freaks, hard to scare in their shell of reverence and with an awkward amount of text on hand; intellectualize with several and few, often none but themselves. But sometimes with just one poor heavy hearted bastard. That used to be me. Yeah, okay; excuse me. I'd rather talk to God. No keep it. I have a bible. I darted through `em like a foosball. `Outta the park, many memories resurface. Hours on these streets feel like days in memories. So loose and free with my time and body. My days re-wrote the calendar, and my joints took some time to roll.

These voices that followed me produced a low-fi buzz when they talked. I can slowly hear it damage my ears and then my brain. Wave after wave of teeth itching, fresh scab tearing agony. Wind picked up my hair, then it was gone. I felt I was really going crazy this time, as I asked if I could borrow some tin foil because secretly I wanted to put some on my head.

It was typically loud in an unusual way. There's people working right now? i couldn't grasp the idea of working at this hour. Now? I need a night life. Mainly because it's the only one I feel destined to have. The amount of time I consciously want to explore or have a meager sense of control over. Jimi! Yo dog how you been? You made it out all'r-! i kept walking. Not interested. Not after today. i wasn't fucking around. Cigarettes, paper's, beer, and the area's most sold paper, Guess who's in jail now. I like to know before hand if I'm going to receive a proposal, via crowded jail hall. My bag retained a weight that meant I needed to run, hide, disappear, navigate, crawl, blend, creep, trespass, crouch, slide, jump, climb, scrape, balance, climb again, stick the landing and then enjoy the best view in this town, a hundred miles of hurdles.

Twenty stories up I almost feel the stars pulse irradiate on top of the amphitheater. True hiding spots inquire a lot, but in return, give so much. In a place where you can't even feel safe in your own home; peace of mind is no more a prize than a trick. It just matters to you. In your heart. Or whatever's left of it. That could mean a small dark shadow where one used to thrive, with it's rip tide a viable current for swimming in.

~Kish-t-pp-! We had a roof with a radius of 115ft. Using the distance as a paranoid pre-cautionary safety measure, we spread out as our drunken conversations went on. We are so loud, I'm surprised we aren't heard down on the street. Oh shit- Catch it! A half empty bottle fell, spun, and rolled off the sloped roof. F--k! I was too scared to move. Jimmy on the other hand was to the edge before I could say don't. Crawling far before the edge, he still moved pretty fast though. It landed in some bushes, I think were all right. You sure. Yeah, were good. Light it up. I sparked my lighter and puffed a gigantic cloud.

Nothing left the constellation off souls. No thoughts were too asinine or unanswerable, for some reason. I felt I was on top of the world, or at least on top of tonight. Considering how moods were earlier. Shit, is he taking-Yup. Out come the guitars. It was midnight on top of the amphitheater and I didn't have to think about where I was going next, because tomorrow's not enough to change right now. I was playing good. Mainly because my eyes were closed. I didn't need eyes for this. It was as good as Pusey. The exquisite melodies and liquidated tones, proliferate sweet harmonic vibrations; who's frequency and acoustic height, pleased the tresses that supported us; and this time, another beer fell uncontested. I have pity for those who aren't moved or wooed by music in any real way. For me, if I could play guitar underwater, I'd never drown. I live in the chorus and die when it's over. There's nothing in this world that can't, in someway, be associated with music. Weddings or funerals. Bored as shit or bored working at your shitty job. Driving a car or walking your ass to the store. There's an infinite way of connecting what has no similarities. It's intrinsic, while primal, but still calibrated. I remember the sound the bottle made before it's free fall from two-hundred feet. It resembled the flapping of a flat tire on the freeway. PAH-DUH-PAH-DA-PA-DA-PA-DA~Shink! Like my heart sporadically thumping against my shoulder blade. Continuing until it didn't matter.

2 Neutron Stars/ 2 Nuetrino's

Aaawwwahuh! creeped out of my mouth. Where am I ? I was in someone's living room with a veterans lingering hangover. It was a nice place, for me anyways. The walls are covered with posters and pictures of friends and family. There's records everywhere. I love it. Like someone's play list laid out on the floor and furniture purposely. Oh man. My eyes hurt in the confusion of last night. My eyes freaking' hurt. Even closed off from the sun, I'm having a hard time keeping them open. Forget it. I turn and bury my head in the plush velvet pillow. I didn't feel like running yet, so I waited to go to the bathroom. Then a noise from down the hall. Shh-shh! I whispered to myself. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the footsteps that were closing in. Seconds of nervousness pass by in teenage mutant ninja turtle underwear. That's it. That's all she was wearing, as I snuk a peek. I'm confused. How did I get here? Who the hell is this girl? And more importantly, is she sharing a bed with anyone? Seconds pilfer and I can't hear anything. It's as if she's dissipated into the air. Simply disappeared. So I take a peek. She's standing there like a child of Zeus and Aphrodite, slamming back some godly nectar, waiting for me to wake. I knew she was mine but I wanted to be sure. So I tried to pull off a fake stretch and yawn, but she left me no time. She pounced, licked, swirled, ripped, sucked (in a good way), exhaled, scratched, screamed, shaked, grinded. Grabbed, gyrated, looked beautiful, flipped and fell off the couch. And our laughs were quickly replaced by the moans that you don't hear ,but feel, in dreams usually.

I love your nipples and your smile makes me feel like saving a herd of baby seals. Wow! That is uhm- What- I asked with a smile. It's true---Would you rather it be spider monkeys or squirrels? No It's not that. It's just that, that's not something you normally hear. Oh, well, your, welcome. I winced in a half puzzled and half convinced voice. She laughed and said thank you, and with another deep kiss started round two.

Liars envy nothing. There isn't a soul on Earth that doesn't wish. True evil encapsulates and closes off. Knows what's right for everyone. Points of view at the end of a finger. Practiced. Poised. Polished.

This Government was made in Japan. Paranoid. Preventive. Pro-Death. All the way up to 9/11, then they didn't care anymore. Breeding the end of democracy as a war grows into it's highest toll. The fear in our hearts is of paranoia. And you can't find an answer for or reason with or kill what doesn't even exist. You can't get over what hasn't even happened. You can just get on with what is. It's always what's left that gets abandoned and abused. Rationalized, equated, and divvied by societies highest paid drug dealers. Groups of kids, separated, try to understand what's generationally impossible. Feuds are created when a person becomes people. I don't fight for nothing, and I'm not saying nothing's at stake; it's just nobody knows how to deal with the basic, life essential questions. And the awkward moments that exist in the back of your worst nightmares.

Sad to think the answer was and always will be acceptance (In any form or forum.) Too bad everyone isn't right. And that's got to be love. Blowing off everyone or everything for that one moment. The warm and creamy feeling, even with clothes on. It's electricity in this electric city, Flowing just under your skin. You could pass out, but, then she'd leave. There's something about a human that keeps you guessing. Even if their not in the room. A smell or a spill. Forgotten garments. Wordless remarks. In a memory, age is a time and a place; created by you, so when it happens again, you'll have something to draw on & Subconsciously dream about

What is this? It was a small note that was frantically written. It somewhat read: Hey, sorry I couldn't be there when you woke upAgain. But I'm late for work. If you leave make sure you lock the door. By the way, I like koala's. Persephone. Hmm. Cute. I kept the letter.

Eda Karina: 9

After another satisfying yawn and stretch, I make my way past the couch and into the kitchen. It was a very nice place. Aside from the legends on the wall and what other tributes. Her surfeit of pictures, fill every uncovered speck of unwanted wall paper or paint. The pictures never let her forget who she is, or where she came from. And they'd never forget her. Me. I'm a phantom when it comes to photos. Even as a child, I did all I could to escape the cameras scope. Why? Exactly! I have no idea. It's weird because I get angry if someone asks me to be in one or if they sneak one. That shit pisses me off.

I leaned into the fridge, as I synchronized it's hum with my own. I put a sandwich together and sat on the couch. Yes. I'm starving. I made my favorite, a turkey roast beef sandwich. What's on. Click-PFFFFF! Another snowy day in Florida couldn't stop me from eating my sandwich, and after it vanished, I correctly hooked up her television. EEEEEE! A solid blaring flat line kicked a small amount of dust off the speaker. And within a solid black bar, white letters read: Attention! This is a weekly required test of the broadcasting system***. It replayed until my patience was at it's thinnest. So I stood up until a message landed in my ears that made me sit down. It was a news coverage that stated, Pluto and Neptune has disappeared from our solar system, without a trace or explanation. In Saint Petersburg, Russia; investigative studies last two weeks before a respected member of the scientific community, name disclosed to protect the dead's family, committed suicide. He was found by his brother's ex-wife in his office late Thursday night.


When authorities questioned the motives for him killing himself, they had no other direction to go besides his work. What they found was astonishing. Government officials from around the world and assumed colleagues of the departed, both conclude that Pluto and Neptune has in fact disappeared.


How or why is a complete mystery. There's no real way of understanding his work as he wrote in complex code, that is by the even greatest minds, impossible to cipher. All he left was a five minute recording of viable proof indicating it's certifiable and hasn't been tampered with. Certain quotes read, It was said that he was a visionary, and that he was way beyond his time. When he spoke or wrote anything, it was like it was in a different language. Considered a great mind before he was twenty-five, he inspired everyone he talked to. He really meant a lot to us and will be deeply missed.

He was survived by his wife, two kids (a boy & girl), a sister, his mother, and- My mind stepped off first and started sprinting. Before I knew it my feet were invisible in the sun. I marched through unkempt lawns and sifted through alleys. I visited fellow strugum and dime corner musicians. I also hung out with my favorite muses, magicians, misfits, mages, mystics, immoral martyrs, mid-life role models, Monday's malnourished, inimicated immigrants, malign monks, mescaline missionaries, Martians minding morons and other magnetars of mini mart supremacy; in a mortuary, more or minus, metabolically manufactured; and with a million steps it's mantle magma molded. Manned with the means of money manifesting mentalities. And when and if they mention to mitigate their motives, your more than a memory; your marked and mellow until it makes sense to migrate to Mumbai, where momentum is mental and men aren't just monetary pack mules.

I stagger past the remainder of my building. My room fell into the floor below evidently. There's nothing but the scattered and charred remains. Waiting for the rain to further destroy and the wind to blow it away. It's much quieter than the most recent memory. I would almost rather see people crying at my feet. Just to have someone to share the same sediment. Someone to understand. -Slow Angry Sigh~! F--k!!I can't even remember what it looked like before. Then memories of last night's endeavor appeared in my mind. I remember meeting a group of people, some Tiramisu and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. My mind scampers on. I see the old brick wall stand out without it's frame. It used to be a --- fire work factory? But I've lived here for a year. I've literally counted half the bricks in that f--king wall!

I couldn't see it's painted insignia from my room. Plank Road's Fire Hours, Firework Fact. Est. 1926. It's mustard yellow paint is browned and chipped but still held a purpose, even from here, a block away. I imagined myself in there, just running around with a blow torch, gloves and a wielding mask. lighting an uncontrolled series of explosions, just for my amusement. Not stopping until all the windows blew out and the roof caved in. So i checked it out, walking through a smoldering shortcut. I scout the premises for a point of entry. Nothing? The doors are locked and sloppily quick sealed, windows are barred and painted black. There's no fire escape, and this building only has two doors. A front and back. There's no depot for in or outbound deliveries. No parking lot, employee patio, or well hidden secret nook. Which makes me think this building has survived purely on how funky it looks. Overlooked but not underestimated. Like it was left for dead in a hospital. There's plenty of wandering eyes, with their different opinions: weird, cool, haunted, crack house, squatersville. For me, fun. So as I stood there with every intention to invade this beat down behemoth, depression era, chalk dust mortar, brick by eroded partial, and blood sweated color; I was rushed by a cop Again. This time he was driving down the alley. What do you want? Raising my arms in immediate protest. He just kept his foot on the gas, almost hitting me; and amongst the traffic I thought I heard him say over his intercom to get out of here. What the hell just happened? I thought about it for a second, and it made too much sense to leave. Think about it. I'm a lone, white male. In an alley, staring at-a-building, smack-dab in the middle of downtown. You don't need a profile to be stopped for that. So I left.

Oh wait. I need smokes. I take another shortcut and a wave of police sirens, five or six units, whip by me and streak down the alley. Spewing three blocks of dust out of each orifice. Caa-Cough, Jesus. I kept moving, crossing the stream of dirt and pebbles as quick as humanly possible. Pphhlaah! I was covered in probably years of random garbage, product and dirt particles. Fiber glass, regular glass, sand and bits of rubber turned me into just another alley. I felt like I could be recycled, and received every weird look on the way to the store. Heh- Guess I missed some.

Straight to the drinks, and without even thinking, i downed a whole can of tea. On contact, like cotton candy. Instantaneous remission. Looked around, then quickly grabbed another. As I paced through the store, I didn't notice before but there were a few customers crowded under a television. What my powers of ignoring happened to neglect, silenced the steps of your everyday patrons. Several even small or large or broken. There is a well known and reasonably established terrorist organization- Unleashing hell, blocks from where I was just standing. As I greatly thought to myself what Reasonably Established meant, one of the customers screamed, Ooooh! Their moving! I could see an old Dodge pickup erratically bounce of the cobble stone as if it were a commercial demonstrating proficiency and long range acuity.

Where are they? I asked. Right there. His immediate response was perfect. Annex shifting screeching tires, chunks of dry-rooted grass in the air, loud metal bread crumbs for half a mile, destruction of at least four newspaper stands; all in ten seconds, but felt like forever. i kept a few steps inside, watching it through the advertisements, looking into the alley where it moved on. There's cops on every street, and from every direction they descended. The terrorist's kept moving until they played chicken with fifteen cruisers and tied. There was an explosion reaching half way to the top of the firework factory. I couldn't hear anything now because, well you know. I stepped outside for a second to see the blaze die down. Going back in to get a better view, noticing more people has shown up for a photo-op. The store owners making a killing as spectators suddenly remember where they are. But so are the homeless who are hitting up the beer coolers. I walk up to the counter, turn, and look at a satellite image of Jupiter being dismembered by an unseen force. I was still. Trying to keep my feet in one spot, as I'm being pushed around by inpatients. I pay for my tea and walked in a direction away from the terror.


The wasted, and now useless, debris that decorated the street made me wish I had a camera. Not like anyone to forget, though its probably better not to remember. I'd pick my chin up turning corners, otherwise keeping my head down. Seeing the walk in my mind. Didn't have a clue what time it was. Where I was going. Why I left my guitar? I felt empty drifting in the buzz of the honey-less. I'm a blemish on the face of adversity. Looking up from street corner, to hot dog vendor, i notice i ended up on a few of the cell phones floating around. I guess I was still collecting dirt magnetically. I don't care that how I look happens to be how I feel currently. My hairs everywhere, theirs bits of different sediment still escaping from the folds of my clothes, and I have a potent and an almost atmospheric funk that's detectable from a block away with a single glance. I have to get out of the shadow of these skyscrapers. Find some place with less opinions. Then I came to the sidewalk entrance of a very large bank headquarters. There were talented chalk drawings of overstuffed money bags and violently torn and bloody hearts, evil soul swallowing wallets, and hopscotch featuring lifelong payment plans and detailed downward spirals. There's quotes, poems, and famous sayings written out in plain English for everyone to see. One read:

Death is inevitable Freedom encourage-able Knowledge is a key, lost and washed in your laundry And only in times of war, Is pain diluted to illusion And only in Pain of War Is Time Diluted to Illusion Spanish R. Mada

i spent twenty minutes reading all of them, taking half of the time reading that last one. Something about the name hung me up, and as I walked small rain drops puddled and flooded every pothole alley and storefront. Storm drains roared, hallowing out a ring that was louder than a pissed off married woman looking for her husband during her pregnancy. The rain is really cold for Florida. Unusually dense, almost stinging when it hits you. Overhearing people as I walked, This is border line hail. It was supposed to be sunny out today? Can't trust the news. Hey did you hear about the-. There was a newspaper floating in the gutter. Following me into the drain. CKlcklcKKLuuWahh-

All of a sudden, and silently, I was shoved from behind. My worn out chucks barely abraded the wet surface, as my body flexed into half an anchor. I can feel the concrete shred the skin into the nerve endings, then to the pulpy flesh; and down the street my blood streamed with the same intensity that's all day happen to spawn around me. I felt little pain. For pain sake of the question on the other the other hand was placed on the table for comparison and review amongst today's longstanding memories. What were you thinking!? The seconds I had been allotted weren't enough to answer that question. A simple What? could of echoed in eternity. You don't even know this woman! The asshole inside is laughing the words, I know. I retain my composure and stature, and in a moment, totally unconvinced from any normal realm of thinking, i punched him in the face with a bloody fist. He learched over to manage standing up as I shrugged off today's misfortunes, and when requested it returned into this mornings ignorant bliss. POP! His eyes swelled as blow after blow left more blood to race in the streets. I spattered it all over the place. With each hit, more and more peppered the sidewalk and the wall his head kept bouncing off of. Then I feel a smaller push from behind me. It's her. Persephone. She's still beautiful as she's taking her swings on me. I just took it. Not much more you could do. While she's hitting me, knees included, thousands of different curses flew out of her mouth. She was belligerent, and I know this might seem wrong to you, but this vixen's got some strength. I'd try to grab her wrists, but she'd wiggle out. I'd try an block but like I said, she's got some strength and technique and strategy and speed and purpose and rings. So I kept dodging. It's not likely I'd ever run from a woman, especially one I had feelings for. So I kept at it. I could see the fury in her enchanting spirit. Relentless and completely unwavering like a sexy hero in a movie. Only I was the bad guy. Meanwhile, I was done play fighting. One-two-three-gotcha. With one swift move, I've gotten through her punches, grabbed her from behind, and with my bicep in her throat, I slightly picked her up, and fell backwards. Ohh! She did not like that, squirming as if her life depended on it. I held her arms tight across her chest. I'm yelling at the top of my lungs, I didn't know! I'm sorry! He attacked me! and like every f--ked up relationship no matter how new or confusing, I ended up her own personal straight jacket. Which worked until she started head butting me with the back of her head. Oh-shit. I could feel the exasperation of her lungs, like she was winning. That small and almost undetectable breathe of laughing hope. In three quick shots I was bleeding out if my nose. But I didn't loosen up. Not for one second. Her dark hair was now everywhere. She tried it again, this time I got smart. Slamming back gave me just enough to work with as I bit down on her neck. She let out a familiar yelp, as my grip sustained. I could feel her legs & ass start to twitch and vibrate a bit. And in seconds I could feel the soft breathes and skin and hair and lips and tongue and hands and heart that I was accustomed to. She began to smile and cry as she wiped the blood from my face. I'm sorry. I didn't hurt you did I? No. It's impossible for me to feel pain when your on top of me; let alone in the same area. Aren't you supposed to be at work? A few more deep kisses and we were standing. Or more floating. Well a friend told me this douche was coming for you, and I was on my lunch break, so I came. And started fighting me? Welllook at him. My vision panned over to the sight of what could have been a very messy, hands-on abstract artist; standing at crawling pace. If you didn't stop you'd still be hitting him. I shrugged in an understanding. Your probably right. So you okay, didn't squeeze you too tight? I felt every cut, bruise and abrasion as she came in close to say, I'll be off in two hours, can we hang out tonight? My mind was wrapped around her waist. Yeah. Quietly came out as the rain receded into it's after flow of sprinkle, while I enjoyed the view I had before. Bye. I said in my mind within a memory.

I was alone again and so were my thoughts, free to roam.

I thought often, even as a child, the idea behind cremation. Who thought it up? What did they use before a vase? Who was the first to be placed on the mantle or disrespectfully stashed? Who's beautiful written or spoken words said, Take my ashes and spread them throughout the world, as you live the life I am unfortunately unable to continue. Is it religious or is it a single person's rebellious idea to never fully fade out from someone's thoughts and dreams. I should, and everyone who smokes cigarettes, should ash in one, just to remind you of where you've been in life. How large the imprint a single pair of feet makes. We have the power, motivation and years and years of generations to change everything and nothing. Were two infracted contact lenses away from meeting our minds in the promise land. The same reason we lie to ourselves is why we lie to children. We don't need a big cushy bed to lie in when life's so quick to burn and be exalted into the multi-textured breezes of the world we've been given to give up.

The sun's between the building's, cut down into concentrated columns of golden energy. It's abundance were absorbed as deep as my bones. I laid back in the grass staring in a sky of dark broken clouds, under the reflection of a tranquil blue Ionosphere. The scene in itself provided an opiate sensation. Laced with envy, I wish everyday contained this moment. My reclusive beating pulse remained the slightest query of sound. I was alone again, and with time to kill, my mind swam squeamishly in the osmosis of liquid thoughts and it's diverted wonderland of infinite nothingness; rolling and crashing on the beaches of my mind, and with it Sally's shells rode the surf of a much less potent stench. Sublime. There's no appointments, no priorities, or responsibilities. Where fear is just a word, and the word today has a feeling that's insurgent and reinvigorating.

I watched the sky's cast wondering what I could hope to relate. There were a lot of stretched and broken bands of season that covered the bay area, fading in some area's and in others not at all. There was an portentous tone in my ears. A respectful quiet that had not been demonstrated until before the cities insurrection. A sonar echo in an underwater cave. Where it is physically felt and received, it was meant for anyone, surging and coursing in unconditional and unbiased channels, trenches, and subterranean ghetto's. I take a deep breathe and exhale. It froze above me. Then I was raked with this devastatingly intense chill. I could see the clouds, they weren't moving in their slow paced trend. Just as quiet and still as the painter painted. Series of implosions are set of in the sky. Almost an imitation of tiny molecular sized bombs. Rain was exhumed in an instant. A convergence as simple as precipitation. But the rain stopped. Just as the echo died in my ears, the rain stopped and sat layered in the sky. What is- Next, the rain consolidated and coupled in patterns that could only be explained by a meteorologist. The cyclone sized bodies of water, intertwined in slow motion. A tragic celestial decorative vivacity. Now reaching across the firmament with the magnificence of an ancient giant squid. The beasts emerging only to devour.

There's seven to ten in the area that I'm in. I've never seen death dance like this before. I thought out loud to myself. It's always so abrupt or terribly slow. No I think I can deal. I stand up and look down the street at what was mine for a moment. It's empty down there. No nada. Just her, and them, and me and the majestic force of the universes free will. The air around me seemed to change it's color to a bright midnight blue, but I could still breathe. There was an improvisational arpeggio of embryonic fusing matter overhead. A splash of natural, contorted with alien. I looked at half a setting blue sun as the tops of buildings began to break apart; sifted and released from it's human duties, leaving a murky and shadowy section of warped swirling micro-organic material; that was now frictionless and self promoted, like the ghost's of a zillion individual atoms being freed into the beyond of the Cosmic Brewery. I saw entire flocks of Hitchcock's bird's, be absolved by the unidentified force. As if they knew salvation has come. No wonder they hung around the ocean! I had no idea they were just praying out loud. There's no screaming, or riots, no secretly built safe havens, no way out of it. So I relaxed and laid back down and lit another cigarette. It was so close I could see my reflection. It towered over me. And as the limestone dissipated beneath me, a song came to mind.

11 comments sorted by best / new / date

    Badly written, horribly laid out, overdramatic nonsense. This isn't surrealist; it's just unreadable. Work on bringing your prose into a decipherable format, then start work on an overhaul of what you consider an engrossing and engaging story.
    What can i say. i'm sorry. My dreams are vivid and making you jealous. Badly written? Tell me more. Horribly laid out. Tell me, how that story should go. Since you were there. Overdramatic. So happy you think my work has any dramatic appeal at all. Thanks. Well this story is obviously not for you. Read my blog "Curse of Good Taste" and see what i'm talking about. People from the UK are so ANAL. I come from the streets. What do you expect? Shakespeare? Fuck!
    One thing that would help you-Loose the fourty year old virgin voice that's in your head and update it to Martin Scorsese or Bill from Kill Bill.
    wow. someone can really take criticism.. for the record, your writing IS pretentious and unnecessarily overcomplicated - it detracts from the story. You don't have to turn every little thing into a metaphor or a symbol. And it reads like you swallowed a thesaurus - which is just my opinion. deal with it.
    There were times that I was lost in there. I had trouble following the setting at times because I was bogged down with all the description. The paragraph with the M's, while moderately impressive, was an act of mental masterbation. I thought Colohue's comment was a bit harsh, the nonsense part, but I fully agree with him that parts were very poorly laid out/written. Reading your response to him makes me laugh because I have never seen 40 Year Old Virgin and own 27 Scorsese movies; I also agree this needs an overhaul and is badly laid out. Having that said, there were parts in there that were VERY well written and threw me directly back to my past bringing up some fond memories. The story has potential, just don't be quite so verbose and learn to take criticism.
    I only read the first few paragraphs, it is dreadfully hot here and my brain is sluggish and lagging today. What I did read did seem like you were tying to hard. it was also semi-disjunct and near-impossible to follow. could be my current mental state, but judging by other comments this seems unlikely.