13.Sep.2002
memories
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this. space.
My mind wanders in and out of subconscious drug phases; the images are scarce, fading, transparent. I cannot hear the voices which beckon.
Sam drove through fog and angst in a beat-up Chevy Cavalier with me and my whims in the backseat overlooking the distance, making steam against the windows, blearing the shapes of outside reality, rolling a joint and choking smiles against tepid back-seated flesh, and the trees are ancient, historical, gorgeous, and he speeds ...
"Hey, it's time to go."
June evenings are always intense in the passenger seat of black-fitted timebombs, driven by the patriarch of the great, heart-rend tragedy, D smiles but to the outside eye it's barely noticeable, and it lights an incandescent path directly to my drug-infused infatuation, the moon in the distance, brothers in arms, pulsating music, beats felt through the teeth, rage, but subtle, his beauty ...
"Hey?"
My grandfather's hands used to shake when he was concocting this German meal on our old stove, the linoleum floor stained with grief and life and death and beginnings and ends, he cooed the word "babydoll" to me and his trembling fingers swept through the tendrils of my hair, and his large, dark eyes, his large. dark. eyes ...
"Yo, are we in there?"
The moon hangs tenebrously, suspended in a fragile air, the distance is heavy and sweet, my grandmother's car is smooth but battered, my wishes ejaculate into the stratosphere in the hopes they would be heard, comprehended, she shakes her head from side to side and murmurs "babydoll" the way he used to ...
"Hey, RETARD. Are you fucking listening?"
My brother's loneliness encompasses me, his eyes gleam with a dull luster, he beats his spirit to a submissive pulp, but when youth became us we drove with extrospective bliss to a greedy lake overlooking the blind country, and his laugh infected me.
"Jesus Christ, we're leaving now!"
When I was 16 and suffered a breakup felt 310 miles in all directions, my grandmother wrote me a letter in my journal, European love splattered the pages, between the penmarkings of teenaged angst, years before she entered the hospital in 2000, and later closed her eyes to this blatant reality 13 days ago.
"HELLO?"
Jay recoiled in silence and wrapped his taut frame around cotton bedsheets, and laid his head down although his thoughts refused to cease, and his electric eyes settled on Western flames, when he was beautiful, and it made sense ...
"Man, throw something at her, we gotta go."
David and I buried them 6 years apart into the same despondent soil, the misplaced parents of our generation. At night I thrash toward the division line between this world and their world, and my brain-tide shifts toward the violent gaze of stars, like their embraces, waiting for us.
"HEY!!! WE ARE LEAVING NOW!"
D came in this June haze with nothing but salacious gazes, meaningfully so, and large, dark eyes. Large. Dark. Eyes. Metal adoration and insecurities and the galaxies, and life, and death, and he drove me home and my thoughts nestled quietly beside him ...
"Goddammit."
There is poetry between the ivory keys, but so many haven't endeavored to find it, so many haven't been willing for it to discover them, there is poetry in the way the brain-tide shifts and poetry in the way the synapses sharpen and ear-formed adagios that never change, there is poetry in the rage one stifles and the self-loathing behavior inspired by this selfish culture, there is poetry in release, there is poetry in Hubble, there is poetry ...
Come on, Raven.
It's time to go.
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time & machine