 | ...(old) Hmm...must get a title for this one.
Sing it and swing it,
From the jazzy guitar to the wailing trumpet,
Wailing like a mad ass breeze on the 5, desolate wastelands and the
Hope of more to come, just like it to leave the driving brainless and numbing,
But fun for fumbing, and succumbing, I guess ,
To some weird wish to be alone in all of it, but surrounded with the sweet jazz.
Liza's gone now, and some boxes of interstate and other things whoosh by,
Or maybe they don't whoosh,
But kind of fall behind,
Like a lost minute I was thinking of this morning.
It was in between a girl and I,
It was where love fell an inch short,
And I lost time. I lost a single minute of life, and it was sudden.
The thin line between love and hate is a misnomer. It's the thin line between love and ex that's a kicker. Funny too, because the leap up is big. Possibly the one moment you can never lose. The biggest gap on the way up, and nothing on the way down. And then you fizzle.
But with best friends, it's the opposite. You'll never remember the moment you became family to each other, because it's been there most of what you can remember. I've never had it happen, and hopefully I never will. I guess it can disappear, and when it reappears, it'll be there like it's always been. Like this guy I know.
I didn't really know this guy, but what I did know of him, I didn't like. He was this lanky kid. Apparently, and without me knowing it, he had hated me for a number of years before I had hated him. I hooked up with his girlfriend. I didn't do it because I disliked him, but just because it was fun. It was hooking up. I didn't think he'd mind, it was 7th grade, or no, maybe 8th.
At any rate, he took it as a personal affront. I hadn't meant it as a slap in the face, but some people take things different ways. Like Andy says, "If a girl will cheat on her boyfriend, he's not doing a very good job." A poor ideal, I think….but why does it sound so true?
Cloud ballerina dancing over pearly white waves on the edge of the horizon,
Flowery hand outstretched and a trail of sooty,
Dark
Clouds,
Her exhauuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuust.
That's fucking annoying isn't it…a stuck u button on your keyboard.
But she's almost dissipated now, our ballerina,
Gone in the struggling moments, and a failing u.
But she gives way to a ying yang with crow's faces, the beaks as the opposing colors, with the eyes inset.
And the sky leaking a thick paste of orange against cerulean,
And a dismal coyote/roadrunner/wren alighting from the gray and floating closer,
Faster, against the rest.
Run coyote/roadrunner/wren, run like hell.
Before your run ends, too.
Now, I'm not sure about this one.
It could either be a marathon racer, diving across the rope,
Or the rope,
In suspended boomerang fashion,
Pulls her back to her partner, head thrown back in what must have been,
At one point, the runners haze.
Hmm…kinda rambly, kinda hazy, kinda happy, or sad, or melancholy.
All juiced into one session of…
Ah, yes.
Cloud Watching,
Or the funny feeling of doing it,
Going home, or whatever else it takes you to fill a couple minute here and there, but really all is action because even sleeping,
I'm doing.
Get your head out of the futter!
Doing this and that.
If you were to die right now, would you rather be doing this…
Or that?
I think rather that, but are both an answer?
Could you potentially be doing this AND that at the time of your demise?
I hope so. This would give a nice maximum type of efficiency
To end all efficiency.
Like a certain group of born again pagans. They get to be pagan and born again their whole lives. Talk about some efficiency!
But no, really…
Cloud Watching
August, 2001 |
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