Sunday, January 31, 2010

Density of your deeds

Act I:
The smoke fills your bedroom. Delicious pungency strewn across your immediate atmosphere, bouncing weightlessly from the ceiling. Skeletons of your rescue-cigarettes splattered around your nakedness. Sands of singed nicotine surround your contour. When you move, it will be shaped like you, like you were killed there. You were.
Act II:
You crash into the fog. You burn yourself into it. Like crematory smoke of everything worldly. You are alive, breathing into the fog, the fog breathing into you, seeping through your lungs, a cloud of dense vapor, you feel it rub and coat you from inside. Velvet marijuana.
Act I (reprise):
The hovering smoke is heavier than the air you breathe, it is strangely magnetic too. You are lifted, not uplifted. Balducci’s levitation. All apparent. You want to break away from this dimension. Fall back into emptiness with a big splash. Keep falling, freely.
Act II (reprise):
You collide into the fog. It washes the stagnancy you feel. You are in motion. You want to run, you run. Aimless, amuck, adrift. It starts peeling your skin, congealing the hair. Delicious pain of sweet surrender. You are swallowed into that white hole. Keep running, endlessly.
Act I (reprise II):
You are still spinning centrifugally to the smoke. You are a satellite to the planet where you buy Gods. Orbital to everything dark. Gravitational to everything beautiful and everything ugly. Fabulous neon. Psychedelic sexiness. Jarred, blaring and arrhythmic. Tainted.
Act II (reprise II):
The fog engulfs you. Your edges are blurring, you are decompressed, you are dissolved. A pool of your being sifting through that opacity. Your memories have shut down (only those of your favorite swing at your school remain) Blank purgatory. Ablution of your actions, it is just one repetitive yet lovely constant now. Cleansed.

image url: here
image url 2: here