Monday 6 February 2012

eyelids fallen like my guard (renewed -ii)

 Part II... of  renewed (completed 2/6/2012)

Guess i spoke up finally... and got startled by the sound of myself speaking. Why did I have to not be completely real? Well, I did not live under any dictate of authenticity. No dictate, no reprobate. Only self-sacrifice leading to pitiful sacrilege of self-hate. No one told me not to be real. But there is this pressure here, see? Pressure of loveless woebegotten punk ass you know fuckin who: punk ass competition.

I felt suffocated. Well, on this day in particular. Yes. You could call it an anomaly..the course of a few months of mainly predominant silence erupting from the chambers of my vox. I was not but felt pushed in from all around. Prod my vox box, for sound. I was surprised constantly by these affairs, surprised by irrational expectation. My childhood was magical, or so i remember.

Surrounded but not by caring faces of my old neighborhood, if that ever existed. Long distance memory or else I made it up. Hard to tell anymore. No one could doublecheck the facts with me. I am not some fucking twin, okay. And even if i were... even if i were.

Yeah. Magical that was. Magical this was not. When I let my vox up to the notch at the top of my throat, just basically facing and ready to approach the greater light that was both tangible real and warm. Sure I expected to see them again, the helpful compassionate animated faces. But no, not really. They did not so much appear, and I was not so much paranoid though possibly a little bit so. I wish I could honestly tell ya it was paranoia. Internal.

I found myself, not side by side holding hands with others, no, but walking in single zerofile formation, alone half the time in my filament of a head.  Thoughts racing...or pulled into some magnet. Then all became less material, more of a virtual feed. Got fed so quick, I could hardly catch up! Surround sound positioned to push me in then out, out, out to you.

Whatever i missed, well,  i never saw at all. Okay? Cannot report upon the specters down the hall. I won't guarantee nothing. Anyway, its unnecessary to care. All this happenstance was long on incredulous, short of meaning, in the end.

 Less static in the attic but no way to control the controls. Detangler unavailable for the tangles tangled up in the armchairs in the waiting room waiting. Come back tomorrow and reschedule. No reason to mention why. They want automatic? Tangled up in a knotty wish-u-were-a-weave! and refused to leave.

K.Drama by K
So i did what i was told, to be precise. No room to throw nobody off.
I fuckin' faded my style. Turned easy lush wall to wall (carpeting), into stained mandala glass tiles.
Not only to diss the blockade. But also to no longer agitate the tiles. Each mandala in its own expressive way,  expressed just exactly how being sidelined for a while felt like a fucking eternity! I got some abuse. I took it, yeah. This was the event subsequently referred to as the mandala holla.

Cut to the floor, my whole style was... all my asides and sudden escalator slides...cascades... escalades away in spinning longer suspended at all, except within the greater whole of cadillac so naturally resonant suspension. I thought I lost them off the the production line? Not one at a time but in multiples of 3,4,5 rolling off, like capital rolling off the edges of some horrific Madoff scamtable turning fraudulent yellow every minute a little more, then criminally bleached out into some white collar wine cellar parabolic! Underneath American through and through, dead yellow like ole yeller.

I knew i lost them there into the new restrained freedom of a greater yet still fully-contained world. Like a pen into a pen. Freedom for thought, he thought, until senses slapped him around and broke thought into a  bunch of wild ideas and presuppositions. Judgments waiting at the terminal. Waiting, posing in all sort of sophisticated statuesque Rodin type manners. Hastily wrapped up nice & given away in new annual leatherbound planners.

Well, the damndest of things. The restless of matters. My head, you see, i thought i lost you, too. There within my dome, between my dual ears, yes ma'am and yes sir, i did. I thought i lost you, too. Fuck how i am sorry.
But somehow you hung in there with your heart up against my beat, i noticed. I always had you for a witness. So you sewed together my image, backed by labels. The edge fell off my albums, but you sharpened those dull moments.
 I thought i fell off yesterday, wow. But thank you, you, 
You held out  -- to me --  tomorrow...

But thats really some kinda happy neverending. Back to my reality... they caught me, took their measurements, stretched me out thin, to my last track. They took what they could, to the end of my limits bled and scraped me dry. Sign a contract thats your life. They had me out on nothing nice. Thin ice.

 Lost my wide stare knowing. They had me. Glossy and matte, ego swollen and showing. Fooled by the promise. The suggestion they gave to trust them. Or was this conjured up? Had I let up on my controls? Momentary carelessness. Or was it yearning to not despair of trust? All the questions, all the answers. More stuff really, to deal with. Wrote it down, then lost my notebook.

When tired, you taught me, take an vodka tonic to your chair.
 Drink. Sit there. Until time become transparent like the liquor.
To relief. To feel religious. Climbing high above what standard what ever sliding standard slip.
Then take one step firm, then another. Into cool, oxygenated air.
 Filling the eyelids fallen like my guard.

Now they kick into my sides to burning! Ohh! They take me up and over drive. I believe they believe in me, I'm so very fucking alive! I let go of all misunderstandings; make trivial of true. Anything i might argue, gets fast intimidation in my head. I trip on me, my burdensome insecurities in outrage. Their currency is my gold standard. Decision. I let them get a lock on me...Derision.

 I suffer headaches. Tension too thick to mention. You know. I know We all know. I know we all know  what is about to happen: their sentiments left touching in thin air... that original, firm, comforting handshake they had? trails into some second hand see ya later lead into some cold, late, lonely night pin cushion never to return.
you, too, would have left it that way.... like i had to ... let it i
you would have had me leave it like that,
up & walk away, wouldn't you?

before you
found and held
and loved the fuckin
hell out of me

to the expense
 of my breath
of my lungs

pressing me
pressing me out all whole again
in the end

goddamn i miss you