Monday, June 5, 2006

Give a little bit of my life to you.

Just before I walk in through the glass doors I flick my cigarette as I always do. And in slow motion it spirals smoke like milk, like cream, and sped up it cartwheels fireflies and explodes in a firework dance. And the creatures in the grass navigate accordingly. The butterfly floats and the ants shift course and that moment is long gone.

Inside all choice is gone and the sweet surrender of immediacy soothes me. But later, the freeze sets in and all that is left is to ask and ponder and think and search, search, still orienteering after all these years but the compass and map are all inside and what is instinct and what is real?

Deeper still is me. That part that lies beyond reach, and forever unbreakable. This part is so easily forgotten in a day to day routine of up, smile, think, fret, work, laugh, shit, drink. It lies Marianas Trench-like, deep beyond measuring, but always accessible. And access it I do. Every fucking day. And its depth surprises me, and makes me laugh. Makes me pull my underpants high and dance like a fool. Makes me pun in the face of madness. Makes me steal bikes with abandon to see the smile on another's face. Because the trench is always giving, and when the sex machine funk threatens to make you dance with tears, you just got to give.

I haven't much, I own nothing. And oft times, I have to be very selective in my giving, but as long as I am giving to someone, my soul remains strong.

It's a fine line between give and take. Take it from me.


  1. You're not alone

  2. why does either instinct or reality have to be false in order for one or the other to be real? can't they be equally false or equally real?

    that comes out more clearly in my head then it does in print.

  3. i love cigarettes. they are a pleasure to watch