for square, inflate

2003-05-05, 7:41 p.m.

How to have someone here without asking them, it seems hard; especially when I dont call back. How does the pantry door attract me like moth to a flame, look sideways and i am walking through solar panels bleached white. i got out of the movie (Better Luck Tomorrow) with my hands in my dark and dirtied jeans, jacket edges flipped up like some Bob Dylan cover, except I had no girl to shoulder- is it necessary though? Is it necessary to walk along the edge of the theater just so i can see the Halo of sky on the lines of the roof? Then fast forward through all the choices; I find myself looking up again. Same dark green smudges in my focus from the trees, same hands and same walk. The only thing that tells me Im real is the people walking around me on their way to the window.

Choice--choice---CHOICE------------------------------c-----ho----i-c------e drags on in some continual burn, too much oxygen to take it all in, not enough abstraction to make me float. So I sit in the rounded c of concrete to call a friend. Only when i finish the call do I see the layers. All those layers! As if we have never made a single decision in our lives, but its when the layers show up, thats when we actually call them decisions.

So then the decisions must come to the characters of a book in two ways only. They come like the morning paper, wrapped in plastic so that you can have a clear front page. ."Open your eyes" and wake up to the world that was PLACED in your hands, see the light of a temperate moon at 3 am. Some of the choices though, they must come to characters as the moments slide, like the changing direction of a sparrow. As though he would have an expectation of his own actions, the choice comes to him quick and strong; high tide in a lunar eclipse. Suddenly you are on the floor with a smudge of life on the tile. You are trying to moisten your mouth, clicking your tongue on the roof of your mouth. It was some change, it really was change and it makes you smile as though you won the battle of a lifetime. The second kind is always better, I dont want a clean picture.

i looked up and saw your eyes see through, i saw through your eyes into the sunlit sky; but maybe it was just that your eyes shined the blue and the blinding white, the sky was your eyes and your eyes were sky. just a memory placed in the shelter of a strong grip. this must mean tommorow could be great