Whoo...litttle out of sync, That’s what happens when you visit the past. Those blog masters did restore the past, but with a tint off. Or maybe I'm just inpatient. But having been an In Patient, I believe that I am allowed.
It goes so slowly, circles.
It use to be a child's game, Spinning. Twirling around and around, arms stretched out. But always pushed too far from enjoyment into the scary darkness. A terrifying dizzy buzz. Falling to the ground, lying unable to move from the high. Spread eagle on your back, starring at the sky. Watching as the world spins uncontrollable past the glassy eyed lobotomized smirk and really not caring. I guess that's the child part, not caring. But then came the vomit, rolling over on all fours and spewing one’s guts onto the swirling green grass. Suddenly soaking it with “not so much fun”.
It use to be a child's game, Spinning. Twirling around and around, arms stretched out. But always pushed too far from enjoyment into the scary darkness. A terrifying dizzy buzz. Falling to the ground, lying unable to move from the high. Spread eagle on your back, starring at the sky. Watching as the world spins uncontrollable past the glassy eyed lobotomized smirk and really not caring. I guess that's the child part, not caring. But then came the vomit, rolling over on all fours and spewing one’s guts onto the swirling green grass. Suddenly soaking it with “not so much fun”.
It goes so slowly, circles.
Try to catch a glimpse of when it actually happened. Put a Finger on it, Nail it Down. Pinned insect behind glass frame, is that what your true colors are? Look, I never noticed that before. Yet my bones know, they echo the empty pain in my head. The cold snow burns in my eyes and forces the tears to freeze on my warm face. I snap off my ears to glorify the silence and quell my inquisitiveness. Still the silence demands more mutilations. Next victim, please. And the screams echo around in turquoise painted rooms. My eyes vibrate out of my head. They fall to the ground rolling here and there, what a view.
It goes slowly, circles.
Should I wrap myself up in barbed wire just in order to realize that I can still feel the pain? The pig’s head is starring at me, starring from atop of the phone booth at the convenient store. I was buying a newspaper. A woman had entered the store and said, "there's a pig’s head on your phone booth". I guess the disbelief could be read on the faces of the clerk and myself. She said, "No, really, I went to make a phone call. There's a pig's head on the phone booth.... I just thought someone would want to know". She turned and slowly walked out the door. I returned to paying for the paper and followed out that same door into the sharp breeze. The woman drove by me and smiled. It was just a glimmer of one, her red lipstick twisting upward in a wirery sort of way. It was the first smile I've seen in a very long time. I felt like I was possibly someone. I had to walk around the pumps in order to get to my car. The gas fumes laid heavy there. It all seemed so familiar, sweet spacey intoxication. And there was the phone booth. On top of the small open sided box was a pig's head. Grey and lifeless it almost didn't look real. It's eye's open, round black marbles staring directly at me. I thought, you know she's right.
It goes so slowly, circles.
Do I really know anything? Why am I here? I draw marks on paper, angry slashes and calming circles, I hit keys, and slowly they become words. I read them over and over until I memorize each nuance. Can't I be whom I dream? Or am I just a dream of a dreamer? Speak to me, speak to me about truth, speak to me about lies, speak to me about your lust. Ou...there's and idea.
Try to catch a glimpse of when it actually happened. Put a Finger on it, Nail it Down. Pinned insect behind glass frame, is that what your true colors are? Look, I never noticed that before. Yet my bones know, they echo the empty pain in my head. The cold snow burns in my eyes and forces the tears to freeze on my warm face. I snap off my ears to glorify the silence and quell my inquisitiveness. Still the silence demands more mutilations. Next victim, please. And the screams echo around in turquoise painted rooms. My eyes vibrate out of my head. They fall to the ground rolling here and there, what a view.
It goes slowly, circles.
Should I wrap myself up in barbed wire just in order to realize that I can still feel the pain? The pig’s head is starring at me, starring from atop of the phone booth at the convenient store. I was buying a newspaper. A woman had entered the store and said, "there's a pig’s head on your phone booth". I guess the disbelief could be read on the faces of the clerk and myself. She said, "No, really, I went to make a phone call. There's a pig's head on the phone booth.... I just thought someone would want to know". She turned and slowly walked out the door. I returned to paying for the paper and followed out that same door into the sharp breeze. The woman drove by me and smiled. It was just a glimmer of one, her red lipstick twisting upward in a wirery sort of way. It was the first smile I've seen in a very long time. I felt like I was possibly someone. I had to walk around the pumps in order to get to my car. The gas fumes laid heavy there. It all seemed so familiar, sweet spacey intoxication. And there was the phone booth. On top of the small open sided box was a pig's head. Grey and lifeless it almost didn't look real. It's eye's open, round black marbles staring directly at me. I thought, you know she's right.
It goes so slowly, circles.
Do I really know anything? Why am I here? I draw marks on paper, angry slashes and calming circles, I hit keys, and slowly they become words. I read them over and over until I memorize each nuance. Can't I be whom I dream? Or am I just a dream of a dreamer? Speak to me, speak to me about truth, speak to me about lies, speak to me about your lust. Ou...there's and idea.
But then the cybotic video game seductively screams "in danger...abort...abort..., Welcome to the next level".
There was no blood and it's snout was open just a crack. A small slivered mouth gently curving upward oh so slightly. In the back of my mind I can still remember the flies swarming over my body. I close my eyes tight until they hurt, lightening flashes dancing around retina after images. Pig Head, Pig Head where's the pike? Squealing and screaming before the separation is in sight. Hack, hack warm blood pisses, pisses around. Drenching and dripping on everything to be found.
There was no blood and it's snout was open just a crack. A small slivered mouth gently curving upward oh so slightly. In the back of my mind I can still remember the flies swarming over my body. I close my eyes tight until they hurt, lightening flashes dancing around retina after images. Pig Head, Pig Head where's the pike? Squealing and screaming before the separation is in sight. Hack, hack warm blood pisses, pisses around. Drenching and dripping on everything to be found.
When I open my eyes again, the pig's head is still atop of the phone booth. You know, she's right.
It goes so…
It goes so…
so slowly…
slowly circles….
I think they are vultures. Then comes the vomit.
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