Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
Sunday, November 25, 2007
eff me pumps
i made this tonight because i had the song stuck in my head and generally photoshopping lyrics is the cure.
Momentary Eternity (draft)
Time doesn’t exist.
For a split-second, an eternity, we are here. And I know that somehow, oddly, we have always been here, really, and we always will be.
But then life is racing again, and I don’t know how, or why, or when we were ever there. I’m caught up in the madness. The world is ever lasting, and it is finite. And I’ve lost touch of you, and I’ve lost touch of earth, of memory.
Who am I?
Where am I?
Why am I?
Then you’re back and I’m beside you again. Life is momentarily suspended. I am in Limbo, meaninglessly living with all the import of the world. I don’t know how long we’ve been here, nor for how long we will be. But it doesn’t matter, because I’m with you. None of it matters.
Then you are gone again and I don’t remember you leaving. I search all existence for the memory. I need to know why you’ve left, where you are. I discover nothing. Life is empty. Life is vast, it stretches out in front of me, it engulfs me. It is suffocating. I am lost. I am lost, trapped in a momentary eternity.
For a split-second, an eternity, we are here. And I know that somehow, oddly, we have always been here, really, and we always will be.
But then life is racing again, and I don’t know how, or why, or when we were ever there. I’m caught up in the madness. The world is ever lasting, and it is finite. And I’ve lost touch of you, and I’ve lost touch of earth, of memory.
Who am I?
Where am I?
Why am I?
Then you’re back and I’m beside you again. Life is momentarily suspended. I am in Limbo, meaninglessly living with all the import of the world. I don’t know how long we’ve been here, nor for how long we will be. But it doesn’t matter, because I’m with you. None of it matters.
Then you are gone again and I don’t remember you leaving. I search all existence for the memory. I need to know why you’ve left, where you are. I discover nothing. Life is empty. Life is vast, it stretches out in front of me, it engulfs me. It is suffocating. I am lost. I am lost, trapped in a momentary eternity.
All That He Knows
They are separated only by feet. His eyes are on her, absorbing her, taking in every detail with bitter-sweet sadness. She is oblivious to him. He enjoys these moments, as he watches her. He suddenly feels as if he is home again, the way he felt when they were together. It was momentary but splendid, like a sudden bolt of lightening, briefly illuminating his surroundings. Now all that remains of that moment of illumination is a shattering sonic sound which rumbles and shakes all as its waves swim by, leaving only disruption and loss in its wake.
She is alerted to his presence by a friend, she cautiously turns her head and for a split second their eyes meet before she sharply darts her head forwards and towards the ground. Grasping her companions’ arms, she ushers them hurriedly away. His eyes do not falter. They are glued to her. On his face is an expression of utter longing. He loves every piece of her, every eyelash, every pore. He loves her hair – each strand of it, and the way it dances across her flawless breasts. He adores her hands. They appear to him as beautiful creatures. He can lose himself in her cuticles, in her perfect fingertips.
He longs for her now as he always has. Even when she was in his arms, when her body was pressed against his, he needed to be closer to her. He would show up at her door in the middle of the night, desperate for her, and he was glad to watch her sleeping beside him as he traced his fingertips lightly across her back. He was always in contact with her. He always had her touch to comfort him, and now he grasps for her wildly with his eyes. It had ended so unexpectedly, so uncontrollably, and a fire still burns within him. He wants her, he needs her, he depends upon her, and she won’t look at him.
He has given up all hope, and his heart lies deflated and defeated in his hollow chest. He feels a gentle hand take his shoulder. It’s her, standing beside him, smiling up at him in a friendly manner. She is touching him, she is looking at him! In that instant, they understand, and they forgive. By her side, he looks like an entirely different person. His eyes embrace the light and reflect it as it bounces off various surfaces. They talk, and it is as if nothing ever went wrong between them. He is filled with elation and hope again and he believes, as never before, that his life is brilliant. He is captivated by her. Every so often, someone will take him by the arm and lead him away from her, loudly reciting excited salutations. He is deaf to all of them and quickly shakes them off and returns to her side diligently. One pestering girl pulls him eagerly into a dense crowd, where she takes him by the waist and moves her hips back and forth, grinding into him. Not wanting to be rude, he goes along with her, sort of bouncing around reluctantly, upper body turned towards his past lover. He casts a rather helpless, pleading look towards her and sees on her face an expression of confused hurt.
Later, they bid farewell and arrange to see each other soon, and for an instant, before she says goodbye, he feels as though he loves her more than life itself.
Days pass before they see each other again, and when they do, her arrival is unexpected. He finds her in the crowd and makes his way over to her, puts his hand in its place in the small of her back. He laughs with genuine appreciation now that he finds himself with her again. She is the center of his attention. His body is turned towards hers, his arm rests, slightly outstretched, subconsciously reaching for her. She invades his senses; her scent is a distracting undercurrent.
They are upstairs, alone, reminded of the nearby crowd only by the constant thudding, semi-distant sound made by the bass. He embraces her tightly and he tries to put his heart into hers for safe keeping, in case he loses it again. She wears sparkles on her face, and they are transferred to his as he holds her in his arms, and he sees only her, and he hears only her, and he feels only her, and he knows only her.
She is alerted to his presence by a friend, she cautiously turns her head and for a split second their eyes meet before she sharply darts her head forwards and towards the ground. Grasping her companions’ arms, she ushers them hurriedly away. His eyes do not falter. They are glued to her. On his face is an expression of utter longing. He loves every piece of her, every eyelash, every pore. He loves her hair – each strand of it, and the way it dances across her flawless breasts. He adores her hands. They appear to him as beautiful creatures. He can lose himself in her cuticles, in her perfect fingertips.
He longs for her now as he always has. Even when she was in his arms, when her body was pressed against his, he needed to be closer to her. He would show up at her door in the middle of the night, desperate for her, and he was glad to watch her sleeping beside him as he traced his fingertips lightly across her back. He was always in contact with her. He always had her touch to comfort him, and now he grasps for her wildly with his eyes. It had ended so unexpectedly, so uncontrollably, and a fire still burns within him. He wants her, he needs her, he depends upon her, and she won’t look at him.
He has given up all hope, and his heart lies deflated and defeated in his hollow chest. He feels a gentle hand take his shoulder. It’s her, standing beside him, smiling up at him in a friendly manner. She is touching him, she is looking at him! In that instant, they understand, and they forgive. By her side, he looks like an entirely different person. His eyes embrace the light and reflect it as it bounces off various surfaces. They talk, and it is as if nothing ever went wrong between them. He is filled with elation and hope again and he believes, as never before, that his life is brilliant. He is captivated by her. Every so often, someone will take him by the arm and lead him away from her, loudly reciting excited salutations. He is deaf to all of them and quickly shakes them off and returns to her side diligently. One pestering girl pulls him eagerly into a dense crowd, where she takes him by the waist and moves her hips back and forth, grinding into him. Not wanting to be rude, he goes along with her, sort of bouncing around reluctantly, upper body turned towards his past lover. He casts a rather helpless, pleading look towards her and sees on her face an expression of confused hurt.
Later, they bid farewell and arrange to see each other soon, and for an instant, before she says goodbye, he feels as though he loves her more than life itself.
Days pass before they see each other again, and when they do, her arrival is unexpected. He finds her in the crowd and makes his way over to her, puts his hand in its place in the small of her back. He laughs with genuine appreciation now that he finds himself with her again. She is the center of his attention. His body is turned towards hers, his arm rests, slightly outstretched, subconsciously reaching for her. She invades his senses; her scent is a distracting undercurrent.
They are upstairs, alone, reminded of the nearby crowd only by the constant thudding, semi-distant sound made by the bass. He embraces her tightly and he tries to put his heart into hers for safe keeping, in case he loses it again. She wears sparkles on her face, and they are transferred to his as he holds her in his arms, and he sees only her, and he hears only her, and he feels only her, and he knows only her.
Son
I am content. The feeling of elation remains in the aftermath of the previous evening’s events. I slept in this morning; it is mid-day, and I get on the bus. I take my seat in a vacant four-seater; a prime location. I make myself comfortable. It isn’t hard in the pleasantly cool weather and mid-day lazy atmosphere.
A man steps onto the bus. He is tall, handsome. He looks gentle. He pays his due, turns around, and takes hold of a stroller, pulls it aboard. He continues down the aisle with it. The mother is next, followed by a teenager, her daughter. They take their seats. The child is gorgeous; a tiny boy. He is happy, always smiling. The father, he is entirely involved with his son. He places his hand on his son’s head, and it remains there, until the mother reveals a camera. He reaches over and takes it from her, turns it on, and hands it back to her. Dad is talking to the baby. Mom snaps a shot. She laughs. The camera travels to her husband. He enjoys the moment with genuine appreciation. The boy is laughing as well. He didn’t see the picture, but he recognizes the shared joy. Mom continues to capture the splendor of her family. She doesn’t over do it; a few more shots is all it takes. Once she’s finished, she retires to a women’s magazine, but continues to watch her family over the top of its pages. Dad is playing with his boy. Remaining hidden, he grabs his son’s hand and briefly pulls, before releasing it. The baby thrusts his tiny arm towards the monster again and again. The monster strikes! A brief moment of panic, before laughter erupts. His laugh is brilliant! It is spontaneous and mighty. I can feel it. I can feel it inside of me. It is a warm feeling, like the sensation of sun on bare skin on a clear summer afternoon. It is everywhere. Soon, it reaches the surface, and I begin to laugh. The game continues. The boy laughs on. He is small, he is simple. He is unaware of me. He knows only his family. He knows only happiness. And in this moment, so do I.
A man steps onto the bus. He is tall, handsome. He looks gentle. He pays his due, turns around, and takes hold of a stroller, pulls it aboard. He continues down the aisle with it. The mother is next, followed by a teenager, her daughter. They take their seats. The child is gorgeous; a tiny boy. He is happy, always smiling. The father, he is entirely involved with his son. He places his hand on his son’s head, and it remains there, until the mother reveals a camera. He reaches over and takes it from her, turns it on, and hands it back to her. Dad is talking to the baby. Mom snaps a shot. She laughs. The camera travels to her husband. He enjoys the moment with genuine appreciation. The boy is laughing as well. He didn’t see the picture, but he recognizes the shared joy. Mom continues to capture the splendor of her family. She doesn’t over do it; a few more shots is all it takes. Once she’s finished, she retires to a women’s magazine, but continues to watch her family over the top of its pages. Dad is playing with his boy. Remaining hidden, he grabs his son’s hand and briefly pulls, before releasing it. The baby thrusts his tiny arm towards the monster again and again. The monster strikes! A brief moment of panic, before laughter erupts. His laugh is brilliant! It is spontaneous and mighty. I can feel it. I can feel it inside of me. It is a warm feeling, like the sensation of sun on bare skin on a clear summer afternoon. It is everywhere. Soon, it reaches the surface, and I begin to laugh. The game continues. The boy laughs on. He is small, he is simple. He is unaware of me. He knows only his family. He knows only happiness. And in this moment, so do I.
On My Own Two Feet
I would clamber onto him and cling to a woolly sweater, my arms grasping my father’s over-sized belly as I balanced precariously, my feet resting on top of his own.
Sometimes he would take me reluctantly, but I would plead with him and he would always surrender eventually. He would walk through the halls, seemingly unaware of his newly-formed extension. He felt sturdy and wholly solid between my arms. He felt undefeatable.
On occasion, he would belt out a verse of a preferred opera. Long, somber, off-tone notes would emerge from him, and I felt the sound evolve within him as I pressed my ear against his stomach. He would pat my back gently but firmly to the beat of his tune.
In those moments I felt entirely like his daughter. I loved him. Now, we have both grown up. I have changed, and my father has also. He has lost his epic grandeur that once seemed so singular. He doesn’t sing any longer, he hasn’t for years.
I don’t grasp him now. I don’t hold him silently, I don’t focus my attention on him, I don’t try to imitate him, like I used to. And he doesn’t give me rides on his feet. I am too big for him, or perhaps he has gotten smaller. I must make it on my own.
Sometimes he would take me reluctantly, but I would plead with him and he would always surrender eventually. He would walk through the halls, seemingly unaware of his newly-formed extension. He felt sturdy and wholly solid between my arms. He felt undefeatable.
On occasion, he would belt out a verse of a preferred opera. Long, somber, off-tone notes would emerge from him, and I felt the sound evolve within him as I pressed my ear against his stomach. He would pat my back gently but firmly to the beat of his tune.
In those moments I felt entirely like his daughter. I loved him. Now, we have both grown up. I have changed, and my father has also. He has lost his epic grandeur that once seemed so singular. He doesn’t sing any longer, he hasn’t for years.
I don’t grasp him now. I don’t hold him silently, I don’t focus my attention on him, I don’t try to imitate him, like I used to. And he doesn’t give me rides on his feet. I am too big for him, or perhaps he has gotten smaller. I must make it on my own.
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