It is with great pleasure that I reckon how much human infrastructure it has required over the generations so that I may be sent the following automated message: "Hey!", from Indecisiveness L. Olmstead.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Friday, July 08, 2005
Napkins
Shame intervened with the rough gravel cold of cracked ice, smiting my forearms with blue as even my own blood would draw back from its onslaught. My knees are long numbed, bare and indented, twin foundations fading into imperceptibility. The weight of my spine, twisting forward under the slothful drag of my torso, and the gentle warmth of my heaving abdomen spreading like a welcome breeze across arid land, both fade unnoticed into the paralysis in which I kneel.
Too loud, too loud, sirens and crashing, a space so full of sound nothing else could fill it, yet I was there, overflowing an empty hall of despair with my presence that forced me to take in my place.
There is a vacuum inside my nose and the harder I inhale the more it smothers me. My upper respiratory tract yearns to implode, its soft nurturing membranes clinging to their homeland, like rebel zealots scorning the end of conflict.
Too loud, too loud, the quiet would come just too late, but realized enough.
Dust - now mud - blackened my corneas so that momentary rapids emerged along the flowing silt in my tears. If I could see, there would be nothing where I was looking - inside, away from the source.
There would be safety. Eventually. And forever.
Too loud, too loud, sirens and crashing, a space so full of sound nothing else could fill it, yet I was there, overflowing an empty hall of despair with my presence that forced me to take in my place.
There is a vacuum inside my nose and the harder I inhale the more it smothers me. My upper respiratory tract yearns to implode, its soft nurturing membranes clinging to their homeland, like rebel zealots scorning the end of conflict.
Too loud, too loud, the quiet would come just too late, but realized enough.
Dust - now mud - blackened my corneas so that momentary rapids emerged along the flowing silt in my tears. If I could see, there would be nothing where I was looking - inside, away from the source.
There would be safety. Eventually. And forever.