Tuesday, December 22, 2009

little light, shining

step.

What's wrong with you, girl? Your legs work, use them.

come now, it's ok. come over here, it's all going to be ok.

the voices come through a veil of water. i never see them; they never see me. i see something, a representation, but i can't be sure what it means. they look human. but they say things i can't understand, things that almost make sense, that would make sense if i were like them.

we all are alone. sometimes a lucky couple come through the mist and find each other, but it is more rare than they believe. many imagine they've found each other; so much wishful thinking in this world. they did love their fairy tales when they were young. they still do.

you can hear me.

i have this moment i've wanted, and my mouth hangs open. thoughts fly through my brain but they won't stop. this is how it is. so close. the truth is, i've stopped wanting it. no, it's mixed. part of me still wants the fairy tale. and now i've lost you. but you know, don't you, how hard it is to say? to say anything, to get out that one real thing, get it out whole, so that it still makes sense when it is outside of you. translate it into language, an imperfect medium, and so difficult to master. if only i could speak in music, in shapes, but i cannot. i long to be a master. maybe one day i will put it down, and it will sing.

Dear Kate Bush

the soundtrack: And Dream of Sheep
Under Ice




Heavy with seed, you take me.



here they go again. another lunatic fan. yes and no. but i will be relegated to where i don't belong, of course, of course. trying so hard to say something that will be heard, and to just be, to put words together in a manner that will scream my own name, and take a shape that looks something like me.

i know what you are, you and the others, my imaginary friends. and that's ok. i need imaginary friends, when real ones are beyond my reach. i know you speak to me, i know what it means, when you speak in tongues, and i translate you into my own language, and it becomes mine. it always becomes mine. this is why i cannot speak to the others, though they claim they love the songs as deeply as i do. they love different songs.

it is a magic thing, to give something that can be heard, that i can take for my own. that makes me feel, for two minutes, not alone. though at the same time more alone than i felt before, teasing me with a taste of what it might be like to not feel alone.


It's wonderful. Everywhere, so white...

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

you are all full of shit

i'm not saying i'm not, but i don't pretend the same things you do. you walk around thinking you're you, that you are something more than a facade, a facade running around powered by the approval of other facades. you will look down on those that are not facades, those who don't have the approval of your spurious peers. most of them warrant looking down on, but not for the reasons you do. most of them simply lack enough intelligence to manufacture that oh so lucrative facade. in short, this dissertation ends the way they always do, lamenting the varying levels of unpalatability of nearly all of humanity.

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

elevation

I can't say. Life if so many things, all at once. Step back and look. Way back, away from your tiny portion. Imagine. Not pity, that's just another way to not see. Let your tiny life go, step into another. See all of it at once, bustling, struggling. All the life, all of it. Struggling for a toehold, competing. Germs, plants, all of it. The plants are curious, fighting as we do. Against each other, against us, bribing us, all presumably without consciousness. This is indeed strange, but of course in no way indicates a creator, it only indicates a strangeness we do not yet understand. That is all. There is no chariot pulling the sun across the sky. Grow up and realize wanting a thing to be true is a poor excuse for believing. The way you like to pretend humanity is something it is not, something elevated.