He holds onto the edge of nowhere, establishing sad american escapism in small talk about the weather, television informercials telling you how to increase the size of your penis. His sad life is all wrapped up in getting away from himself in addiction. This man is all of us. The man is sitting in your room drinking beer and eating chips and slowly slipping into death, unhealthly and uneventfully. He calls himself your father. If all we are, are useless meat bags doomed to hit the fryer in death why even try to live, to be an expansive being that feels, smells, loves, and has human capibilites of thought, art, abstract life, masochism, hatred, anything that shows he truly has live and functioning brain cells. In self discovery life is discovered, and in non-socialable and sub-conscious realms god, love, sex, hate, pity, destruction, everything we pitiful beings are, it’s all in this place. Jesus is drinking down a cup of water and we are being sucked into the sunset in the lake, its time to dream, to live to be controvesial, be real, be humanitary to humanity, be qued up for your next role. Its time to flip the tape side a= non-chalant ways to live shallowly in parties, sex, drugs and a shit life. Side b= how to avoid everyone and act like your choices have no effect. Flow into my mouth and swim in my dreamscape. Love is alive here, sad sorrowful, detached and beautiful, alive. I do not enjoy pain but rather pain is sometimes more alive then true love. Do I love her? what the fuck is love? what is it? how can abstract feeling feel so concrete yet so far away, oh lonely feeling drift away into obscuredy. Floresent schemes balance on my sternum and she kisses me in the dark, I can’t light up the darkest house I am too dim. Who is she? how is him? I, do rather well, well as in hell if i know, she is quite, wonderful though, who is she really? I talk with her so much, yet I only scratch the surface of her being with my boyish hands. I feel happier being close to her, yet sometimes I’ve never felt more alone then when I am surrounded by friends. Hollow spots in the wall are good hiding spots for potted people, that is to say two dimensional beings who are no one and everyone all at once. She is my nobody and my somebody all at once. She will never be gone, but how can she be gone? is she a breathing vibrating being or only a loving glimpse of eternity? I have never “liked” or felt happy with any woman like her before, it is strange to be so real and yet so vacant. The hotel signs are slow in pattern and so is love, come and vibrate inside my skull.
copyright andrew kerr 2009
No comments:
Post a Comment