New one. 4/20/07-5/10/07
Blending
Oh the random apartments! Oh the red plastic cups! The rage! The trance! The muuuuuuuuuuusic! Oh the twinkling, flickering Christmas lights twisting around us like the stars of the most distant galaxies, sprawled across the wall like our bodies dancing in the next room. I’m dancing with my friends. I’m dancing with strange girls I’ve never seen. I’m dancing dancing dancing with boys and girls and boys. I’m feeling some body I can't identify. I’m feeling its wrap around me and its tug and its gentle slide up and down. I’m feeling this body and we're sharing bodies and we're becoming the same body and finding our way to a bed covered with other guests' clothes, exchanging bodies atop the mound of cigarette stenched winter coats and scarves and gloves. We burrow through and break each other and roll to the floor and find ourselves always fleeing for the wrong embrace. We dig into the wounded wooded floor one in the same, tangled and twisted and preparing for liftoff as we soar through the ceiling towards the clouds and the great release of the Milky Way.
Oh the excitement! Oh the flash and radiant red juices soaring around and splashing and spilling and hanging on to our clothes to remind us the next morning just where we were last night. Oh the countless tapped shoulders in vein, all for missing friends, the strange looks and goddesses and loose belt buckles and tainted necks and fingers crawling beneath clothes like fugitive centipedes looking for a place to lay. In a fast moment we're all in the same stupor, we're all singing along to the teenage camp make out songs of our parents, we're ecstatic in this moment of misguided nostalgia and flooded bodies and grave decisions by overflowing skulls. And over there a girl screams but everyone plays along and joins her and shouts and bellows and laughs. Oh the excitement of the moment missed by sleeping beauties on the sofa waiting for that kiss from some prince pauper peeking where he has no business and making empty deposits of fortunes promised and never fully realized. None of us ever really stay where we belong. All these smiling faces are the promised spoils of climbing over fences and exploring back yards and running away for a few hours and never settling for the threat of that nice, neat guidebook that was never distributed.
Oh the soiled pants and ripped shirts and missing braziers and socks thrown across the room! Oh the missing shoes and torn egos and blistered virginities and that teary eyed girl apologizing on her phone to a wrong number in some state she's never been. Oh the smoking smokers who don't really smoke but refuse to turn down anything on a night so positive and clear, a night so foggy and misconstrued and teased and tarnished and beautifully painted with well traveled tongues having had the pleasure of exploring many mouths and scars and skin and all the unseen. Everyone is well traversed and everyone is bruised. Like a candle the night flickers softer and softly, simmering to a moody cool and purple, the feel of a soft pillow is everywhere.
Oh the mundane nights! Oh the stellar! Oh the splendor of life as heart rates rise and fall and submit. How the cool bountiful air runs up and down my hand randomly interlocked with yours. Your lips wreak peach and chomp on bubble gum and cigarettes and gleam in the moon light. Everything has a current, everything a free flowing waterfall, only stopping to let go, leak into the bushes or spew on the front porch next to shiny new shoes and raven red lips squealing, only stopping to clinch on to scrapped knees after the tumble over the curb and slimy kiss in the gutter. How we'll march to the beach like ancient armies, we'll be swans on the lake or mermaids clamoring for air as we lay star struck on the sand, reaching for the heavens and squeezing the sky into submission just before we tumble around on the sand in confusion and delight.
Oh the rearranged mornings! The feeling lost and the feeling of being lost. How the face staring back at me is not the face I remember and the face breathing down my neck is one I’ve never seen and my socks are no where to be found while my pants lay sprawled across the floor having scurried away from my hips hours ago. The aroma of the room is no longer the fine stench of surplus and excess and singing, dancing, drowning roust, but rather an odd scent of dimness and down and dreary, muddy eyed, mistakes and regrets beneath the throbbing walls and expanding craniums. Oh the sunlight tearing through my skin and eating away at my eyes as I walk out the front door! Oh the painful, piercing steps down the sidewalk towards anywhere! The morning is lost and the day scatters.
