SelectionIll
Bluelighter
now
i look back and wonder
if any of the childish things i did
(while a child)
maybe killed the ache
just a bit
every day.
i think about all those nights spent
at the foot of a wooden stairwell,
different faces every time
but the disjointed conversation was always
the same
"You have to see, the hardkiss brothers,
this song has played four times tonight
and nobody noticed."
"I noticed."
"It's all futile. futility and hardkiss."
"You should write that down"
then i thank god i didn't. thank god i didn't
write
any of it down.
but then i have to remember those occasional good times. the kind that don't leave your soul smoking and thin, caught on the bottom of your shoe and being dragged.
there were so many parties (raves, et al) meeting so many new people in warehouses and on tennis courts.
i've seen every city in the east, just after midnight and only until sunrise, and then fly back home quick with new friends in tow.
there were so many bright and pretty girls.
six oclock in the morning, they would roll and skip and dance in the water collected in puddles in the grass.
all the jaded men you see (boys still at 19 and 20 yrs old already)
would sit on the porch in the half glow of a morning sun
and want these girls, these delicate women
who just hours before held our hands while our tops blew.
but we were frozen
frozen with a conciousness of self
that we would not show
not then.
there we would lay, in bed, not sleeping,
while every floor was breathing and clicking and popping
from rusty joints and rolling kids,
and all the boys would lay, wooden still, and reach out with our (visible now) lonely, true and vital selves,
and twist through narrow hallways, along darkened bedrooms, across dreamy sleeping faces, and pray to those sleeping angels, to see our selves,
our true and thoughtful and clean and pure desire for sweet smell of hair and just to walk up, next to our beds, and smile serenly,
and kiss our foreheads,
be kind and motherly,
and leave us to dream in the immensity of it all.
well,
i suppose that probably had something to do
with how thin i feel now, yes?
alright, i'll keep digging.
to be continued.....
[ 29 August 2002: Message edited by: SelectionIll ]
[ 30 August 2002: Message edited by: SelectionIll ]
i look back and wonder
if any of the childish things i did
(while a child)
maybe killed the ache
just a bit
every day.
i think about all those nights spent
at the foot of a wooden stairwell,
different faces every time
but the disjointed conversation was always
the same
"You have to see, the hardkiss brothers,
this song has played four times tonight
and nobody noticed."
"I noticed."
"It's all futile. futility and hardkiss."
"You should write that down"
then i thank god i didn't. thank god i didn't
write
any of it down.
but then i have to remember those occasional good times. the kind that don't leave your soul smoking and thin, caught on the bottom of your shoe and being dragged.
there were so many parties (raves, et al) meeting so many new people in warehouses and on tennis courts.
i've seen every city in the east, just after midnight and only until sunrise, and then fly back home quick with new friends in tow.
there were so many bright and pretty girls.
six oclock in the morning, they would roll and skip and dance in the water collected in puddles in the grass.
all the jaded men you see (boys still at 19 and 20 yrs old already)
would sit on the porch in the half glow of a morning sun
and want these girls, these delicate women
who just hours before held our hands while our tops blew.
but we were frozen
frozen with a conciousness of self
that we would not show
not then.
there we would lay, in bed, not sleeping,
while every floor was breathing and clicking and popping
from rusty joints and rolling kids,
and all the boys would lay, wooden still, and reach out with our (visible now) lonely, true and vital selves,
and twist through narrow hallways, along darkened bedrooms, across dreamy sleeping faces, and pray to those sleeping angels, to see our selves,
our true and thoughtful and clean and pure desire for sweet smell of hair and just to walk up, next to our beds, and smile serenly,
and kiss our foreheads,
be kind and motherly,
and leave us to dream in the immensity of it all.
well,
i suppose that probably had something to do
with how thin i feel now, yes?
alright, i'll keep digging.
to be continued.....
[ 29 August 2002: Message edited by: SelectionIll ]
[ 30 August 2002: Message edited by: SelectionIll ]
