it was july 28th and my mind screamed. the pitch and volume told a story and this is what it had to say....all without words:
Watching. Breathing. Squinting. Screaming. Click. Click. Shut. Shut. Shutter down. Chino screams the way I breathe. Inside the mind that is. Chip on the shoulder hidden behind a grin and splitting lip from cracking jaws and grinding teeth. Can you see beyond the pupil into the steeple of an inner church. Where the focus is always wandering from one falsity to the next depravity and back again in a sick kind of back and forth that uses you like a 72 hour cocaine binge. Itchy throat and bloodshot eyes and the twitches of a left for dead dog lying in the gutter. The truck speeding away to a place called honesty. Only dreamed about in the most depressing dreams you've ever imagined because it doesn't exist in this time. It flutters away like a radiant butterfly every time you think you caught a glimpse out of the periphery. Floating away on a breeze that moistens your cracked decaying lips with just the thought of where it's been. Always flowing without ceasing while you sit decreasing in this festering clime you call a life, blood dripping from your gums all the while you play mirror, mirror on the wall, why can't I have it all? Torn down, ripped up, like the packing from a root canal. It takes you thirty years to break down while you soil the soil that surrounds you like the wretched and shredded soul that you are. The iris deceives the pupil and now the people all look like nothing's the matter. You are reminded that nothing cannot be the matter. It's an oxymoron which is just another word describing another word describing another idea of the relationship of two other words. Words that do not really matter if it matters to you. Break your pinky and you do not feel pain. Pain is bliss because you missed it and twisted all the good things into televisions and movie screens just so you didn't have to think for a few hours a day. When you looked up, it was yesterday in your mind but not your body. Who is right? Time always wins. Give up and quit trying to get around it, it's too big to go around, take the path through it. You'll be better off not fighting the tide, you can use the energy to embrace now instead of punishing yourself for yesterday. But again, mind or body. Where is the glue that holds the two? That's right. We've forgotten and now the word is a joke. Soul is a genre now and if it's not, then it's nothing at all. Forget them all, words don't make the meaning. A rose is a rose by any other name after all. You can't take one from the other though and have the same thing. Intertwined like man and woman are meant to be. Like Christ and the Church. But I sold myself to media, the middle, if you will. Neither hot nor cold, deserving of the wretching I may cause. Forgive me, my mind is too shallow to swim beyond my eyes. All that glitters is not gold. And if they believe it to be gold, then it is aptly named after its pursuer.
amen.
Watching. Breathing. Squinting. Screaming. Click. Click. Shut. Shut. Shutter down. Chino screams the way I breathe. Inside the mind that is. Chip on the shoulder hidden behind a grin and splitting lip from cracking jaws and grinding teeth. Can you see beyond the pupil into the steeple of an inner church. Where the focus is always wandering from one falsity to the next depravity and back again in a sick kind of back and forth that uses you like a 72 hour cocaine binge. Itchy throat and bloodshot eyes and the twitches of a left for dead dog lying in the gutter. The truck speeding away to a place called honesty. Only dreamed about in the most depressing dreams you've ever imagined because it doesn't exist in this time. It flutters away like a radiant butterfly every time you think you caught a glimpse out of the periphery. Floating away on a breeze that moistens your cracked decaying lips with just the thought of where it's been. Always flowing without ceasing while you sit decreasing in this festering clime you call a life, blood dripping from your gums all the while you play mirror, mirror on the wall, why can't I have it all? Torn down, ripped up, like the packing from a root canal. It takes you thirty years to break down while you soil the soil that surrounds you like the wretched and shredded soul that you are. The iris deceives the pupil and now the people all look like nothing's the matter. You are reminded that nothing cannot be the matter. It's an oxymoron which is just another word describing another word describing another idea of the relationship of two other words. Words that do not really matter if it matters to you. Break your pinky and you do not feel pain. Pain is bliss because you missed it and twisted all the good things into televisions and movie screens just so you didn't have to think for a few hours a day. When you looked up, it was yesterday in your mind but not your body. Who is right? Time always wins. Give up and quit trying to get around it, it's too big to go around, take the path through it. You'll be better off not fighting the tide, you can use the energy to embrace now instead of punishing yourself for yesterday. But again, mind or body. Where is the glue that holds the two? That's right. We've forgotten and now the word is a joke. Soul is a genre now and if it's not, then it's nothing at all. Forget them all, words don't make the meaning. A rose is a rose by any other name after all. You can't take one from the other though and have the same thing. Intertwined like man and woman are meant to be. Like Christ and the Church. But I sold myself to media, the middle, if you will. Neither hot nor cold, deserving of the wretching I may cause. Forgive me, my mind is too shallow to swim beyond my eyes. All that glitters is not gold. And if they believe it to be gold, then it is aptly named after its pursuer.
amen.
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