In the rain of the bathtub, hands and feet grew larger than the trees and skyscrapers that clouded everything in youth. It was all suffocating and there were demands to buckle down and suck the lanky chord that was bright pink and miserable. The desire to please existed surely too, but everything in the flesh, seemed to clobber the explosions one was supposed to feel. Instead, there was just the mad rush of necessity. In the mind, the wicked gypsy screamed: “This is what lovers do. Even though you want to talk, right now there needs to be heat. So shut up and bend the way you’re supposed to.” When the white milk spilled out like a cosmic joke, bony hands snatched up skin that hadn’t been touched yet, as a light poured in the direction of the new pond that slid down pearled surfaces covered in rust. In fact, there was a breakfast in the way shampoo formed shapes in the hand, only to disappear into shriveled finger tips and mussed up hair. An anticipation for the chemicals was something that warranted death. The plot outlining the next couple minutes, consisted mostly of just dry ingredients. Silence danced free. In the dormitory with the room-mate and her cloudy eyes of anchored salutations, there was the desire to be cordial, but still the fear that conversation wouldn’t be had, because of the moaning sounds that had sparked behind closed doors. Remarkably, when the man absorbing all such love had disappeared, a willingness to explore the stilted friendship sitting there laughingly, was always extremely pleasant. “Hello’s” veiled some sort of solace, and really meant, “I think you might be a soul mate.” This was nice. One night brought the opening of a theater. Inside there were coked out theatricals and dirty girls with a whole lot to say and bodies to show for it too. Old man Muddy had met Liz there, because it was something she had asked him to. She knew she’d need him as a means of surviving. On the stage while people feigned laughter and sincere “coolness”, she drank large bottles of water and tried to layer her vision, so that she might see their flaws. But their only flaws really, were wanting to be liked and to be social. And yeah, well, she couldn’t kill them for that. So what was she supposed to do now? Months earlier, the boy that had her pinned to the city, had mentioned art galleries and concerts that shined of something silver. These elements of excitability never materialized though, and she wasn’t meant to experience them until later. One day she went to the Natural History Museum and took a picture of two strangers, standing next to an exhibit. Looking at the photograph afterwards, she related the two shadows, to that of herself and the boy that had prodded her into a pit of fire. It only seemed natural. They were animals. Click for high-res image

In the rain of the bathtub, hands and feet grew larger than the trees and skyscrapers that clouded everything in youth. It was all suffocating and there were demands to buckle down and suck the lanky chord that was bright pink and miserable. The desire to please existed surely too, but everything in the flesh, seemed to clobber the explosions one was supposed to feel. Instead, there was just the mad rush of necessity. In the mind, the wicked gypsy screamed: “This is what lovers do. Even though you want to talk, right now there needs to be heat. So shut up and bend the way you’re supposed to.”

When the white milk spilled out like a cosmic joke, bony hands snatched up skin that hadn’t been touched yet, as a light poured in the direction of the new pond that slid down pearled surfaces covered in rust. In fact, there was a breakfast in the way shampoo formed shapes in the hand, only to disappear into shriveled finger tips and mussed up hair. An anticipation for the chemicals was something that warranted death. The plot outlining the next couple minutes, consisted mostly of just dry ingredients. Silence danced free.

In the dormitory with the room-mate and her cloudy eyes of anchored salutations, there was the desire to be cordial, but still the fear that conversation wouldn’t be had, because of the moaning sounds that had sparked behind closed doors. Remarkably, when the man absorbing all such love had disappeared, a willingness to explore the stilted friendship sitting there laughingly, was always extremely pleasant. “Hello’s” veiled some sort of solace, and really meant, “I think you might be a soul mate.” This was nice.

One night brought the opening of a theater. Inside there were coked out theatricals and dirty girls with a whole lot to say and bodies to show for it too. Old man Muddy had met Liz there, because it was something she had asked him to. She knew she’d need him as a means of surviving. On the stage while people feigned laughter and sincere “coolness”, she drank large bottles of water and tried to layer her vision, so that she might see their flaws. But their only flaws really, were wanting to be liked and to be social. And yeah, well, she couldn’t kill them for that. So what was she supposed to do now?

Months earlier, the boy that had her pinned to the city, had mentioned art galleries and concerts that shined of something silver. These elements of excitability never materialized though, and she wasn’t meant to experience them until later. One day she went to the Natural History Museum and took a picture of two strangers, standing next to an exhibit. Looking at the photograph afterwards, she related the two shadows, to that of herself and the boy that had prodded her into a pit of fire. It only seemed natural. They were animals.

Posted on January 16, 2012 at 11:30pm with 6 notes

Post Notes

  1. insomniagirl posted this