supersonic
Bluelighter
quiet movements towards home, towards the place I know where I need to be. And I stand on this stoop outside of this paint peeling, misplaced grass, weeds overrunning the specks of brown on the lawn. A frame of a car sits in the driveway next to the remaining bricks of the garage. And oh this dirt road that runs parrellel to this stoop goes forever perhaps into the darkness, could be, wouldn't matter if there were millions of people down it or no one else in the world because it looks that way anyway. And peering up at the place that surrounds me I see paint peeling, I get this shiver feeling inside, I'm feeling deep inside. At the cracked window that stands silently before me, the dirty white drapes that hang in a few just for nostalgia. The door it doesn't need to be knocked on at all. I put my hand in front of me and slowly feel the texture of the door as it slides so quietly open. And before me is a faded black and white picture of the shadows I keep so deep inside. A stairway ascending to the right and a stairway descending on the left and two chairs in the middle, and maybe I'd go forward into this abyss I like to hide away in. Slowly so tissue like would I graze my fingers upon the paint as I pushed the door back to its duty to close around me and take the few specks of light the nights sky had for me. Before me is the choice I need to make, deep down and kiss the dark clammly concrete of below, or the hightened awakenings of what may be above me. Those chairs seem to be a place to stay to think about it. This night seems to be the night when it matters, and I sit creaking and snapping slowly in this chair while its sister peers into me wondering why it remains empty. There is no thinking here I remind myself as the chair gives way to the weight of the world and I plant my hands upon the dusty wood floors leaving handprints. Signs there are a million of them, we pick which ones we need to listen to, and my ears grow deaf as I make my way towards the concrete bed below. I feel the rails of the stairs and make my way down following only the trace and glimmer of a half dead light far down at the bottom. My eyes grow blind from such shadow, and I only have my hands to feel the jagged edges of the hall, my ears to hear the twitching of spider legs, my nose to smell the musty compressed air that has died many years ago trapped in its own darkness. And there I find myself being able to see the one light that hangs above the center of the room, ever so flickering in and out. And there is nothing to be found when you look to the darkness, because you are unable to see. and there are four walls around me with no importance at all. And I turn around and make my way back to where I began next to a broken chair. And I sit in its sister, contemplating the ascencion that my choice has narrowed me down to. And I remember what I felt, pulling my self in that cellar and I never forget, I can't ever forget even if I wanted to. Its a good thing I want to. So my eyes peer to the stairs that lead up, and it seems so obvious as my feet press upon the creeking steps towards the portaits of life that line the stairway. There at the top of the stairs as the moon pulls itself threw the dirty cracked window across the way, I see down the hall a red glow. I stumble down the way past doors half open, doors closed, but only one door interests me cracked slightly enough to see the red. Massaging the embers I feel I let the door go forward defeating its mysterious purpose by revealing the room beyond. And there on the ceiling lies a red light glowing so dim by the minute. And there is nothing to be found when you look into the light but it slowly growing dim by the minute. and there are four walls around me with no importance at all. I turn around and make my way back down the steps to face a broken chair and her sister. The shape has change though the form has recalculated itself and the mass of the chair has aquired another. And the chair breaks sending the form toward the ground. Sending its hands to the dusty wood floor, to reveal a second set of handprints. Not taking a moment to sit and think my hand outstreches itself and pulls the form to my eyes. And what I see is me, and you do to, but we aren't each other in physicalities its true. Oh but we could be one in the same person in such a way I need not speak for you to know. And like snakes caught in each others own seductive glances we realize that the only way to leave this house is from where we came in. And paint peeling the door slides open to reveal a dirt road that could go on forever. And on this stoop I stand with you realizing why it is I had ventured inside. Oh and this road could go on forever...
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If anything I do drugs to appreciate reality.
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If anything I do drugs to appreciate reality.
