Eerie, smoky alley I can’t help but walk down, as I look for
the lost souls of the light people, lost to the negative space. They hide in
unfortunate phone calls and rusty bicycles, the ones we can always ignore,
attention would bring memory back to a fading world. Hidden in plain sight, the
very thing I seek is lurking behind the dumpster that you threw that cherry
bomb in that one time. Really it was two cherry bombs, and 3 smoke grenades all
tied at the wick just to see if you could get the lid to fly off.
It was always about
the run though. To see how far you could get before you heard that burst of the
lid and the faded hues of the red, yellow and blue smoke billow out from 3
blocks away, because you’ve managed to run faster than you thought you knew
how. Even as a fat kid skateboarding, sucking down oxygen faster than should be
allowed, the thrill of being one of belonging to something I knew would have to
end, driving the engine that was my confused existence.
The smoke in the alley isn’t of gun powder and burning chalk
though is it, it’s from the decay of the warm flesh all around, being torn to
bits by the decay of the cold, dark night. I look behind to see the decades of
wear and maintenance left abandoned to the elements of the cold city night,
holding still the remnants of regret and acceptance, never reconciled to be
seen as one in the same, past. The wafting scent barely noticeable behind the
thoughts of the memories they conjure, rapaciously getting to the point for
which I stand in such a place.
I never thought this is what I’d see when I’d let go. Taking
the leap into a future of things and “almost had its.” Thought of the memories
but the sights of the dark side of the soul would illuminate in the only place
the feels like home, the vast cavernous emptiness of a city alley, or block,
where everyone can watch from their apartment buildings and their commutes that
waste them so much time. Crushing confectionary objects of vivid super sensory
appeal, while swiping right to feel something once again, as they walk staring
in excitement as they now have a story to fly high above their mast of
connections and perceived plateaus.
This place FEEL’s like home. But home’s not real, it’s just
a figment of a habitual pattern that would resemble something like determination,
scarcely leading into habit that could be mistaken for hope, quickly reminded
that it’s just wishful mis-perception of inaccurate assumptions. It’s an
enticing thought to think, never really acknowledging that this place I’ve
never been, but feels more alive with the deterioration of the world that felt
like it would always just end.
Like driving around in a cab with a former model who
reminded you that the world will always try to fuck you, looking for a place to
sleep. Maybe for one night, maybe two? Sitting there with my entire life in a
duffel bag, and my world in a backpack, I’m reminded that that sitting there
felt better than the bed in the house trying really hard not to kill me but not
trying to stop anyway. So nowhere seems like a good place. To sleep, to dream.
This alley will have to do. I’ve managed to come this far,
how much more will I decipher in an effort to define where it is that I think I
am? Time will continue to pass as I search for the ultimate question to get the
ultimate answer. Only to be told it lives at the tip of my tongue, between the
moments I look at a bright sunny day, while the cool summer wind dances across
my face whispering the jokes God forgets to mention that life is sometimes.
Yes, the razor wind of the alley blows intensely through this valley of annihilation
I’ve chosen to walk, and these are the things I remember, the good times, while
I search for the worst.
The smell grows faint as the physical world returns back to
its realist form, the progressive decay of everything that was once built.
Sustained by external prescriptions of sprays, pills, and the promise of a comfortable
life, the medication everyone knows is killing them, continues to be refilled
for the fear of anything else filling the crater of that void that explodes
into the dust cloud that could haunt your tomorrows. Its smell is fading. The
normality settles into the brackets of the threshold unconcerned with the end
point sought, as a conscious life, dims its ideological waves as the room
changes.
I think I’ve taken ten steps, each one another person I’m
forced to become as this alley’s jagged ground, rattles the pieces of a
consistent mind as the end draws closer. Harder and harder to keep up with the changes, as interactions are repeated through the fog of self-hindrance, guided by blind acceptance of the unknown guiding the unknown, where could it lead? Nobody knows.
Bad jokes are the only language left to speak. Simplicity
lacks context, with its implied subtlety, but maybe sometimes we mean what we say. But we’ve fucked around with it, trying to get it to make sense, and what we think sticks, sticks. The mush of the ground unstable below as the words seem to seep deep into my psyche, without leaving treads along the way.
Habitual over indulgence of negative absolution has left me empty to the voices I know can remind me that from the darkness comes the light. As the lone light of the alley fades its easy to see the logical missteps of breaking things down into their logical paradigms of the pointless meanings sought to impress the next unimpressed perceiver of false accounts.
The fogs thickened, when I wasn’t paying attention. The door i’d forgotten was my final destination doesn’t seem as fun to get to anymore. I’ve been worn inside and out and there’s nothing left of what was there those times of powerful resentment of incongruous outcomes. Shaken to my core, the insert button still hasn’t been turned off, everything overwrites the half finished code that would execute a protocol to become something solidly rickety.
“Breathe” the pores of my skin scream, as the nerves fire adrenaline straight to what I can’t see, becoming plainly obvious that where I am is road I chose never to always be. I wanted to visit the valley of the shadow of death to die in front of myself, not inside myself. There is a beating in my chest once more, one more pulse, I’ll try not to give in, but I’ve already sprinted three blocks back the other way. I haven’t yet taken a breathe, but the smoke behind me rises painting the cloud over the fog I thought I could tempt. Far enough I’ll fade, into anything that seems okay. Fade, and fade, as memories do, I will follow. As I fade into something. New maybe, but mostly what I need.
Clouds bleed, sometimes.
Arts and Crafting for Turtles. 