The Sunset, Upside-Down
Dying is a good way to meet people
Faze-book
Interrogate Me!
May 17th, 2012 @ 11:34 pm
A voice can still be heard softly, blown by the wind. Everything is eerily orange in lieu of the streetlamps if it is not rather completely dark. Something is hiding deep within the black guts between the trees of the forest off to the left and right.
I follow the path.
It’s then that I remember something that startles me at first, then sinks in with an odd, knowing ease. I have forgotten to check for so long…
“Am I dreaming?”
It’s something you are supposed to do, because otherwise, you accept it all as reality. Dreams come from the right side of your brain. That’s the creative side, and it all but evades logic. If you suddenly look down at your hinds to find six writhing serpentine appendages on one hand where five tame digits used to be, you might just glance off into the dumb distance of your spanless mental world and forget that something down there was wrong.
And suddenly, from a million dimensions back, I came slamming in on myself one layer at a time, growing exponentially faster with each slip.
I had to ask myself if I was dreaming. I pushed one finger through palm of my other hand, and somehow knew, even if it was only deep down inside that I did; The understanding of it all, somehow covered in an itchy wool blanket in that place just further in than your solar plexus where only true sadness is known to exist.
And once I knew, I started to worry about how long I had been sleeping.
Apr 30th, 2012 @ 6:02 am
I tried to follow the warlock’s gaze.
I sat alone at a table next to the window where light poured in like a waterfall onto the paper that lay before me, and I walked away.
When I returned, the words that had been etched were not the spawn of my pen and strangled, erratic jot, but foreign things. Indecipherable. Frankly, beasts of words. As I read them, a cold fear crept up my spine.
I was ignored all through the night, as people celebrated their reunions. One who finds himself a stranger, even though he is known, can’t expect much more than fleeting acknowledgement followed by a subsequent banishment to the exile place of human brains.
Once the terminator line has crossed over the damned and forgotten, they can get away with anything. I made funny faces at all of them and bared my tongue in the most belligerent of fashions. It’s okay to be immature when no one observes it.
Fake crying is like the scraping of nails upon a chalkboard. Children are socio-monsters, I’m almost positive.
@ 4:08 am
“No matter how much you think you love somebody, you’ll step back when the pool of their blood edges up too close.”
Chuck Palahniuk
(Source: fauxxe)
Reblogged from shadows + skin.
Apr 25th, 2012 @ 9:07 pm
Press that precious tape upon my eyelids and rub them closed. Put me in an oven until the glue settles amid the lashes. Blind me with science. Dazzle me with all that you horde behind you, and keep me lost among the chattering daffodil meadows at dusk until I forget the notion of Time.
Wrap me in tin foil and eat my heart for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. In the wilderness, you lulled me to sleep with your sweet birdsong. Feast on my sleeping flesh and tell me what I taste like when you follow me into the dream world. There, I shall always be. Always dreaming. Always asleep.
In the morning, the fire will have died, but the ashes are jostled in the wind until they whisper the secrets of the night before. Smear the truth against my flesh and dispose of my remains in our favorite blackberry bush so that I might greet decomposition with a fickle, smiling mouth full of dark, confectionery pulp.
Each timbre and fallen twig marks my peaceful grave until the ants come to take it away and the birds use it to house their horrendous young.
Apr 21st, 2012 @ 9:39 am
He’s more tired now than ever, but he likes how things have been going lately. It’s just that the more the moon glows through the gleaming glass of a dream’s midnight, the more the world weaves its cobwebbed dreaminess into the tapestry of days, and I can attest to the fact that he’s floating around in a semi-blissful state of abstract wonder.
It’s not safe to zone out—to let the mind wander—not anymore.
He has to be on his guard now, but Christ, is it hard. There is just so little energy left inside from the times when he had to scrape his insides clean of vigor to salvage the simple will to keep his eyes from shutting indefinitely a short time before.
You get the feeling looking into those eyes, all overcast sky with a corona of Apollonian bravado, that he’s holding them open with the fumes in his veins where blood used to flow. He lusts for the appreciation of vague, nameless moments that nest in the back of his mind for years and quicken his heart with the texture of fine silt between two slowly rubbed fingers.
There’s just no explaining himself to the people who want to know why.
Why, why, why do you drift so far, and how in the sweet, blue fuck do you function on this planet?
His answer, which is simple but perhaps unsatisfactory, defeats everything that could possibly matter. This planet is trivial. If you can truly keep yourself from worrying, everything is fine. Sure, you might “make mistakes”, but ultimately there is the lovely promise of death, after which nothing here will matter anymore.
All he wants is those moments where the tiger-striped amber allows itself to be a maze in which to get lost. He wants his lips to brush against the soft, livid flesh of home and time to be quiet and exist in a place with one other for however long that can occur.
Because, no matter how far he travels on this planet, there are only so many places to see. We’re chained, and Space is a very big place. Life is one big time-out pen until you learn to behave yourself enough spiritually to go out and play.
Read out-of-the-way books that seem worthy of your time, and never speak of them to the people you know. Be alone often, and go for walks in the humid dusks that Summer will bring to your doorstep. Pay attention to the song of the grasshoppers fucking, and know that they’ve been bad. They will be on this lilting ball of decadence for a great long time—
—for grasshoppers always have a great deal to learn.
Apr 10th, 2012 @ 1:37 am
Do you ever see something far away that interests you, and upon closer inspection, realize that you weren’t ready to see it?
@ 1:00 am
Outside, that unsure sentinel spins.
It twirls and twirls.
My skin gathers goose flesh and adopts the consistency of thick, rigid carpet,
soaked through with epoxy glue.
Outside, the world is murmuring.
Eyelids flutter near and far.
There is no solace in nature anymore. Now,
all I desire is searing electric tones
that defy the growth of leaves and cause
dilation.
I want to cover every inch of my skin with something
slick,
black,
shiny,
and unfeeling.
And become the automaton I feel that I have always been, anyway.
This world doesn’t cater to sensations anymore
and to indulge them is severely punished.
Neurons are no longer coated in the glittering ooze of smiles and
inventive thought, so
now is the time to rip grass from the ground
and watch shitty, mindless television
until there is nothing left inside of our heads.
Apr 8th, 2012 @ 4:26 am
Oh, how pathetic I feel sometimes cuddling up to myself in a churning whirlpool of selfish angst. The indulgence of such feelings is criminally decadent. You could say the sensation is akin to taking a bite out of a 4-inch-thick slice of pizza pie, stacked with layers of the best damned ingredients your rudimentary palate will ever encounter. Imagine, if you will: The freshest of cilantro-basil ecstasies, mounted with a crescendo of exotic, savory cheeses that make your tongue caress the cavern of its mouth long after its lamented departure.
Ah, damnit. I’m bored, and my girlfriend is napping. I haven’t posted in forever, and THIS is what I have to say. Bloody hell, where’s a gun so that I can blow my disgusting little grey cells out, all over the damned wall?
Mar 26th, 2012 @ 10:04 pm
(Source: fiestafugitives)
Reblogged from fiestafugitives.
