Tuesday, 14 July 2009

installation zero on intraplanetary dirt

Whomever they was, they inspired slang tense... if they crossed her one way once and a similar way twice, she might really notice. or have noticed, if they slanged her timespace continuum, the dirty devils. and the rule she have with herself and their crossing her and dysregulating her timespace in such a fucked up fashion (only family would go so far, or went)... the only rule (which she hated having, let along holding, let alone having to create and enforce like she hated about all rules or most) was that she will hold out respect (towards the momentary object of judgment, animate or inanimate or somewhere in between for those fluids along the continuum) until she had a real reason to lose it (respect), which can be as simple as a certain way they look at her (ie, laughing because shes royally confused and tensed up, slanged precariously like they slung her.

yet they had nothing on her. nothing! she could melt the timespace by speaking (which she did): 'say like, if you look at me with unedited disgust and i cannot dismiss it as... some kind of projection problem you are having (internal to yourself) or your eyes were really focused on some porn on your wall behind me (no, not some kind of 'direction of gaze' mistake). well, say then, like i say, and in so saying feel the relief of the here and now, pow! if i cannot dismiss it, and i find that you cast me in some kind of unfair light of judgment, shake, roll of die, whatever...then you have crossed me in this nonempathic intragalactic vacuum-of-heart kind of way. thats when i follow my rule and take necessary response." she felt so clear in speaking. this bought her time to take critical action like she had learned from all her critical courses in critical action taught her. she was a student of her world, and little was lost in translation. Her words were lazy and vernacular, her action precisely as follows (from her spoken thought of heartspace).

Need to lock and load the nectar behind cornea and then rush it through the pupil, soft like mango, and out into your general space. this is how to touch the friend my enemy. Desublimate the rocky element from earth to water to air and send it out (like a fax with a heart) to the sender whose number has been filed without any effort or need for tracking. So you get that delicious mango nonverbal gift from me and translate it into your language (something perhaps senseless cold without heart, yet) then maybe something happens... like the contact influences your impenetrable eyes and then your emotions arise... like the sun or a volcano or a cumulus cloud...and you either fight back the fight i wont fight-- or you call back and hear your own echo. maybe a clear, condensed reflection of your ego.

All was truly lovely! she killed! For an impoverished child of the seventies, clashing all the time, like a walking solar eclipse in the wrong hemisphere, coming on to people with shielded eyes. She chalked it up to her beauty. They laughed but wanted to redress her. Or redress those who had dressed her. Impoverished parental figurines on thrift store binges out of limousines. Green colored lenses to trace the forensics, and palette-challenged pinwheels for eyes, suckered by seer and full of fancy complicated-like fears. The clash, they saw, pushed strangers and dangers away. Hey hey! Receive the mass condemnation in return for the protection sensation. True intentions lurk in the oil pans of cars in gas lines, devoid of evolutionary dance. In a recessionary postwar agent green (as in naive) pseudo-stance.

"Maybe you need a paleta from the paleteria to cool off." her boyfriend offered. "maybe horchata?" She had been caught up in memory, after her brilliant mango motion. She shook her head and took from purse sacred lotion. His heart was gold, she thought, for she thought well upon him and such made him her 'BF'. "Rice milk is known to deflate egoic tragedies, " he continued, "overnight, like baby powder disperses odor."
She looked him up and down and all around then in the eyes. "so now its the fresh you and the fresh me, face to face if you havent run away or dismissed me. lucky you. lucky me. because now we really see. fresh me, fresh you and fresh me. fresh you. the freshest of our knowing is yet to come. mutually fresh. to be."