Wednesday, March 7, 2007

The Grotesque.

The moment one of the people took one of the truths to himself, called it his truth, and tried to live his life by it, he became a grotesque, and the truth he embraced became a falsehood.

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In the grips of the fever my mind explores many paths until finally the dream takes hold and begins to shimmer colours which dance like hummingbird branches painting razor fast ideas or memories they're so bright, so brilliant, they're eels, I cannot hold them and only regret remains, and confusion, lost illumination, I had a key, I had a key, but instead sleep keeps me quiet, too protective, too motherly, it holds my head weighted upon the pillow until there is no resistance and no questions, and absolutely no movement. You will stay down.

I stay down.

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Outside I find myself on top of a hill, smoking again, and looking out on city lights. That cliche over the edge LA or Springfield view, Inspiration Point, though I'm not here for that. Inspiration I mean. I'm here just to look, to be simply and wholly empty. It's hard for some people to understand, and even harder to explain. I find myself and saying nothing sit down beside me and we both simply stare at the lights of the city, tiny stars around which all of our lives orbit. I wonder if someone can see me in my window down there, typing and blowing my nose. I wonder if someone sees my star and makes a wish; and if I will ever be able to make it come true. Maybe God is a wish made in Hell.

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In the Light Zone, I was darkness.
Perhaps in the Dark Zone, I will be light.

How happy is this?

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