Tuesday, 3 November 2009

weak moves, on a hot and spicy midnight




i was a death dealer to Noise in my atmosphere. Was midnight. I was runnin hot like mojave. spicy like indian. short fused like Acme animation. The road runner must have passed my way ten times over. i pounced on my phone to prove i could pounce. i had the agility to capture a rock. you know it. I checked out the digits on the digital. nobody i knew, number was local. i answered it. typically your digits gotta be in my cell. but i was trying to catch my shadow i guess, so capturing a random phone call seemed like rehearsal.

there was a perpetrator talkin to me now. some dude within the past 48 hours got the nerve up to call me. he must not have seen the reluctance in giving my digits. i was too focused on avocados and all the variety of apples to think clear. i just did what he asked, then almost changed the 2nd to last digit to something different. a dishonest move i could not make. close! the # was reversible, 9. so to offer up 6 could have excused me from my guilt with a claim of dyslexia. sometimes it happens when i stay in the sun too long. anyway, my integrity paid me back with this awkward moment on my hot and spicy midnight.

I had to recall how we met eyes over the strawberries in the foodmarket spectacular in my neighborhood. you might call it 'juicy' (from his perspective). his wings fluttered and retracted to the eyewatering browns trying to enter my 7th chamber. i blocked him at the aura level. my auranti-virus is tight. immediate split second blocks on (basis of) gut feeling. the feedback on this one was 'perp', across the 4th food group. organic. all of the latest trends represented. flagship quality. the food does not reflect the consumer. i didnt see any organic folks up in here. some were raw. some were processed, some homogenized. but no flash pasteurized peoples. everyone around me seemed conservative & preservative. reserved. almost impossible to interact with in a healthy kinda way. holding back all sincerity 20+ hours of the day. i marked them. they were the ones looked at you like you B just gettininmyway!

I was wild caught alaskan and a fish out of water sometimes. such was life in the food spectacular. give me my chicken caesar pizza and im ok. get me out of here, synergy snatched up for all i could hold. to rejuventate from the toxicity that passed through my aura like spyware.

The memory i clearly cherished. i had it in the temporary trashfiles of my cluttered multitasked out mental, ready for abort(ion). this call i haphazardly chanced, well, my word for it would be more like 'convenient' or 'tragic'. convenient would better describe the seven eleven. tragic works. like putting on all your makeup and doing your nails and everything, and slipping into your sweet dress...and the occasion never manifests. broken down car...agitated child...sudden uncontrollable fits of sleep (your date told you with all apologies burning down mascara forest). the same kind of reasons you once pulled on someone else, probabl. tragic like karma come back. why tragic? im sure youre on the edge of your seat, waiting for the magic. i can get us out of this! i promise! (once i locate an analgesic).

anyway, the point almost escaped me then (like it escapes you now). in the sedated hour past midnight when atoms dont hug so tight, electrons turn positive, i mean optimistic, and spirits mess with those who do not believe in spirits. easy to derail in this kind of tension free atmosphere. well, this young man boldly called at the terrible hour to call, and proceeded to try and talk me into meeting him this very night. very bold, very ignorant. say it again -- TRAGIC. because i was one nerve from unnerved, before he called. my entire latest system was heavily firewalled. i was twice removed from my own truth. i had burned through my midnight snack: baby ruth. i was pickled and jarred, talking to me must have been so hard.

i was emotional mind, anger defined, so so so veryfar from kind. this guy would be sorry he crossed the line. he would be incinerated by my firewalls transitioned to fireballs. coming out my eyes into the wireless wires. barreling into him like recklessness on tires. fuck you! i gotta go to work in less than a half dozen hours. i dont know you! and i can see you are drunk! you daft punk. i will now bring upon you the sensation of --SUNK. your battleship is about to get mothballed. ill think of you out there building rust up. you so fucked up! calling me intoxicated, telling me how you are located close, you made it! i should come meet you! you are sweet on me, drop some heavy breathing as my short fuse ignites. youre not a genuine article, you lost all rights. lose my digits, generic! asking me for a lick? you dog! sick! let me google my next question...how to piss on someone over cellular? your conversation back around again, circular.

so i was heated. felt kinda cathartic. the chill i conveyed, well, very antarctic. he got froze. he was at some gas station fighting a machine for a candy bar. i was a fuming cigar. a screaming guitar. burnt food char. ready for war. but instead i just froze him, no room in the freezer. its all taken up by my pizza, chix caesar. i could no longer regard him, had to discard this. full up with vinegar and piss. snapping rubber bands on my wrist so just to bite my tongue. i could blow up on him like when i was young. but instead i iced this situation. then cubed it. dropped it in my ginger ale. felt like chased tail, right out of town. i had to find my way back home. back to SOURCE. get found. cooled off and ready to digest. drop some classic uncut over my airwaves. one way or another back to the source. i located the one with whom i could best relate. Russian stock composer. personality told: 'fragile and nervously agile'.

i lay back into deep meditation. auraviral system disarmed. firewalls fallen. whole again. empathic waves of Dmitri Shostakovich. all my fire? well, i sold it. sorry aint no magic. laundry? fold it. just fire and ice in store. side of whiterice. a bed for to rest the real...the core.