by Elliott Lyngreen
—————->Burnt, flashed, hot fainting spells of the inextricable knot of vertigo, clogged the back of my head, grumbled wicked control over deep devilish sounded terror, mwhahahhaha; the hit began to settle in real cool and crowded. Endlessly cutting into the square, I kept playing around my tongue in separate foreshadows; found myself hurled in the everlasting; but ever so much slowed as the long ceaseless atmosphere unraveled, or ingested us; and before I really started to go, or swallowed, or got further inside that infinity, outstanding life, as everyday, as every second, as every moment possible, as without myself there, none of the ‘everyfacehadasmilelikeagoldenface_for-a-second_biuughh’ and all that everything and the intriguingly surpassed intake of the knowledge and the exploded answers pegged in new brains almost vacantly like pockmarks stunned by what they dread; this here, the new knowledge and new ideas but then sleeplessly retrieved from the ragged pages and mimicked the licked tumbles within, frivolous alacrity, the fake skimmed jumbled world I could almost have formed there of such eloquence then lost in a context of the extracted chronology of that perfection yet entirely too described in some grand sense of these emotions, of that crossed corner of sunlight vaguely slipped into a memoir of everything spoken as it happened.
The core barely recalled not so much the acid concentration as the timing that went on down but theatre-like in the pre-existence of the buzz of a story that seemed to be involved in myself, in fragments; that I could near predict; that never went anywhere as I imagined, as I narrated it might; just coincided with the level of fast forward slo-motion ooze the heartbeat reacted to; the ongoing world around somehow replayed the story as it unlayered, but the lines reversed, that chronology, the multitude of fragments; they all lead further an unveiling of the twisted wormhole after wormhole to whole other sagas that formed in the characterization that beheld before myself the dispensing despair of these spilled guts. One thing crossed precisely as I figured while operating in the general evening. Then one thing lumped; but one kind of jaggedly criss-crossed in a mere figuring of my horrible brainwork, that seemed stupid anyway, at least screened or congested, and struggled to the lack of common sense, and wound, and curled; so, I held the excessive sensations, weeped in the general murky cries of the palpitations that extended from this one passing day.
Justin, who unscrewed the kitchen faucets and ignored me at first and foremost in this separate forever of silence; when I had come in to ask what he was doing; when he would not shut them off; which made me join the exalted group outdoors; that nabbed an obscure piece of metal that attracted; a thumbprint impact of the distorted beam dashed everywhere, blinded in some retort once penetrated through the aluminum storm door. At first, a strain inserted into my encapsulated clip, when, just stoned out there, the stumped occurrence of shortcuts seen in a labyrinth through the dementias that emerged the friction of treacherous characters in this envious dialogue tongued in inability again to surrender or accept such fortuitous timeless levitations lingered for decades until we rolled over into the night and waited for the rest of our lives to return to this one day.
Back among Justin Strudel’s mother’s home when she had went away on business or something (whatever the reason was it did not matter so much as that we had, for two weeks, a place to end summer), for the most part, was all too normal; that we would meet that eternity formed in Justin’s muggy living room; that we placed a fan on a folding chair by the front stormdoor and tried like hell too cool off. Assumed that just prior to this what seemed a hallucination of them angles among airwaves that hoped to maybe become personified amongst the usual cellular frequencies and calls back to Bowen and the buzz that came from this time, like others, and spread around to places so to whoever was on the other end of the line perhaps for brothers or cousins, older friends in general, anyone old enough anyway to buy a shitload of beer; deviated back from the beautiful and rung around, “um…cigarettes too”—“and and Swissers”—“Boones, wine coolers for the girlys,” heeded requests, “and forties, what kind of forties should we all get, Stides?”—“Generic smokes – for Justin’s younger brother, whats his name again?” from the infinite turned to another gleamed star that went, “hearin’ the scat of Soul to Squeeze rrroasting on the alternative stations always now. Just blared. And the raised portions of the background incessantly blend. The utter noise is sheer brilliance,” about ‘theangelsinmydreamsyeahh’ while he scrapped some change off the picnic table in bright drops and let it go flash 10,000 flickers back inside a jar rinsing his hands with the broken lights the world (right there) stopped on him.
We started jumbling madness onto brand new awakenings and realizations that startled awake the rumbling voice with questions of the massive lugubrious conditions or positions the eating dose was ensuing. And as such, I hung in the darkening where the wild twilit gathered earth dilated goons slipped between fantasy and tomorrow with feathery cusps of ear follicle Elvin curls reverberated to the nature and bare footsteps in the grass, the uneven nails by silvery clippers of this day but unearthing gnaws and an unnatural sense to the anymore fundamental eyebrows, the piliferous crests of furrowed sights tumbled back to the all too real confusion that occupied all these long pants down to shoeless creatures which figured into the small Elvin-like imaginations there some mythical fantastic living as far-gone organisms; and attached to their dirty palms and hairy feet-tops, to themselves even by thin exposed lines that once seemed human, until veins now were so much more inside forever and ever returning to that indifference; now unwired from so many appliances, electronics, the very buzzing gadgets and game counsels, all that now were strained and awfully cruised in the drip-drip-drip-drip barely discernible heartbeat rhythm that powerlessly clutched back to grip the impossible vision of the unfathomable miscellaneous realms which presented in themselves and undoubtedly incoherently escaped of all the same fading light; and the prerequisite imaginations and feelings, all the time, wanted to so badly join the exalted group to THIS since there was so much coming out and supposedly instrumental for THIS, or inducing Time into the captivated air; though with standing neck hairs of the once insoluble beings become wholly in the space as aging polymers, the spines hardened to a complete presence in a plastic hybrid, fearlessly full, alive in the stages of the impervious incantations of ecstasy, transpired.
Thus, interchanged or replaced, a different interest came undone when I inserted a word about the song, one single word as I had there and there that astonished the situation, every time; to better describe, I stopped the lurking conclusion the day had unturned, the ancient; when I spoke out, “once,” expecting everything to fall into place; and hovered around; when I finally expelled this one confounded paragon agon, since they knew I was inserted there, every time, but never said much, one but had been asked; so Bowen responded too, “well I just heard it the first time too, yesterday on 89X,” humoring the instigator of the topic that annihilated my single word with, “pppph.” I will never reverse from me; yet wanted to know that I could; and every one of them would not tell me how in the weighty bubbly blank criteria albeit the smeared convex mere looks perhaps but too close to the loose touch had spread after my word.
The worst kind of sickening disgust this world could have placed before the pit of these emotions impressed a seed of fruit that bloomed and blushed mighty, then charred rotten or bruised, as if rushed in this exchange of worlds progressing from the inner dimensions; that I cannot recollect. His eyes closed right thereafter, off that perpetual stare. I sunk around the creatures. Through the glassy intellectual, a precarious mumble clamped up animation, then the personality of Chuck spread my face, performed the mind within a proud grasp of the kingdom it occupied, the pilot in the cockpit, he controlled levers and buttons, spoke in headphones without connections; so the wind blinked and swiped the speakers away; a minute freaked. Chuck clawed from the inner walls of some stereo then unraveled from that mourning moan of the herd in frantic mess as he slunk his cheeks; that goo gathered beyond the holocaust fence, he forlorn. While the celebration surrounded these wild kids, there, guzzled slurpys, when the rug kicked, really kicked, thickening in this fantastic place, the earth moved underneath as he said it would still be the same tomorrow by twitching and tremoring an eyelid, by tweaking my nerves that tried to consume the uncomfortable which remained, the time capsule that made one alive feel unreal.
Eventually, we faked our chances at this muck-muck carryout where the gnarled angry ‘forever’sgonnastarttonigth-forever’sgonnastarttonight’ entangled undertones and blissful sores for longer memory of this one day in my throat; which seemed inevitable. Considering that no one old enough could be found, as most evenings went; so, on the other side, reality of the main road came at an angle through the intersection. A few of us mingled into shattered advertisements in the front cluttered glass of the carryout, the plastic atop the sign pole was half gone, the fluorescent bulbs illuminated with a little daylight, soared. Inside, all the merchandise was coated of cigarettes from some Arabic guy’s smoke behind the displays and candy-filled shelves, the convenient counter detail. Presented, with a friendly grin, the unspoken, arose. Someone whispered, “that sand-nigger knows we’re underage”—“we might just pretend a little here,” the rosy, baby faced and half confident half obvious or just naïve hazel-eyed friend of mine, Bowen went, and on, “just providing a different mix occurs this time around, you will have to be cool and quiet, Link. Get as many as you can in your pockets if this fails.” A commix of imposed wills entrenched; this familiarity between the muck-muck and Justin, who entered a minute after we did; Bowen, Chuck and myself. With innumerous trips he had taken into the carryout for cigarettes, rolled in, Justin, through his Camaro that grinded in that automatic shift out of gear, introduced this distraction. With Chuck and Bowen way in the back near me, when the Arabic guy remembered that grind, and turned from down an aisle at Chuck who had me full of innumerous slips of cartons between my arms; Justin showed. His initially excited ability to just buy smokes from the Arab pie-eyed, the middle-parted long hair half slit to a degree and charged straight, thin-like garrulous high rage, a character right out of Dazed and Confused, tilted so precise; he would not necessarily make contact because of the stoned effigy that squinted elusively too much and encore in the same fear a leisure curiosity reveled within a kindness that overwhelmed a burnt mind of the separate peace in Justin’s appearance brushed listlessly. I hardly could pay attention or get too involved with him, Justin, emulating mostly these sweet actions digging a featureless face rumbling of himself congealed in a reality that never went on as we were behind the scenes. With his soft-spoken voice so high (like he had towards me the night we talked in a darkened parking lot covered and surrounded by trees and a privacy fence which separated us from a trailer park, a background far cornered from a huge grocery lot shadow where we passed a joint on the little fin of the hatch of that Camaro), always stoned, smiling, Justin said things trivial and sort of loosened. The muck-muck flung happy change, “thanks, Mannie,” Justin built around and an idea of the desperation in the opportunity that anymore presented itself also said, “hey, how’s it going, man? Haha, boy where’s the party with all that? Where you guys bout to roll?” as Justin turned to leave; as we appeared next to him and the front counter. And Bowen followed suit precisely, “party’s everywhere tonight, dude.”—“Haha awright. Yeah you got that right. Catch up with me later then.”
When I scratched and scribbled, just jotted this mythic dream, the perplexing arrows blotted, scratched more, remolded this eternity; which was talking it to myself; though, said he’s trying to appear to not be with us, I guess; as if we had not known each other; so Bowen took away the beer from my arms and up onto the counter with a couple grips snagged his fake ID and presented in one tumultuous smack that which altogether was risky on the timing; as this clerk had only let Justin slide so far.
In the first place, forever mostly spaced intensity or overwhelmed dreams, but one of them sharp squinted universal persons, Justin, within shallow eyelids like crossed swords, he confidently convertible wide, seemingly unaware, blitzed the muck-muck’s sight and made him laugh of something about the beer and to my friends ID as he exit the scene. Enough We all beamed to smiles, but the guy knew his age, him. Bowen. And Me. However, had otherwise never departed with the wondering Justin instilled. I chilled all over the place as he rang us up without a glance at Bowen’s ID.
When, with some speaking like ghosts about who’s ‘incinerated’ fake ID always worked, we swerved back around the sad face in the O of the “LANE CLOSED” sign where they were eliminating a portion of unused train tracks across the road, we strolled the infinite, across the sidestreet, the end, which went downhill into the main road and into the direction we headed, the environs seemed real. Personally proud that we scored, “so my incinerated ID once again came through, huh?”—“I have no idea how that faded garbage fools anyone. It’s so obvious,” Bowen let Chuck explain how he knew everything. And here I was, there, weeks before it seemed and –phoom! Instantly in the scene of my dreams, telling myself things that I had already been…
Back then to that terribly warm place, the wide trimmed archways, the heavy plaster walls slit in corners where wallpaper was stripped away forever, to get real drunk I imagined in the unfinished desire of things feared, in the wasting; in the unmade home; in the musty mashed furniture and full untreatable disease and broken lamps extended to the unexpired shadows; onto them slashed walls; by the end tables of the family pictures with the smell of wet dogs and feet trampled throughout the cardboard thin carpet worn marvelously, used, lived upon –like my mother’s –where we could keep our shoes on and all that crap…..I anxiously assumed positions for caps, wound up, figured the sploosh of quarters into Taco Bell cups and all over towels and our jeans and eyes and music as games continued until our beer was gone and we were slammed, annihilated, sloppy, stumbling, slurred around quiet, slobs ruined in leans against the scratched wainscot of the dining room in this sort of wrrrrigled comedown from the doubling dismal aura-eyed everywhere to an Alice in Chains song, Nutshell, which Strudel always put on. That which slithered alive in thoughts passed thinned, tiny, infinite, and spooky. These beings only gathered over by the congruently dimmed dining room table. Euchre shuffled back inside without Justin there shooing us out back; there, where flipped ashes and weed crumbs dashed adjacent to a tobacco pile of a Swisser Sweet; as whomever casually unrolled and unraveled as he played lackadaisically, rolled up a blunt in such a long big deal.
The smoke cloud hazed. But with enough gas bleeding to burn just a bit further than a few crystallized hangs in the balance, sustained the eternal indifference of these days, where they would forever be in that quiet dusted encircling, stems. We got a dream for one more day. Stealing lines in these ever uneven crazy shivers then sunk all into twilight that lasted for an eternity outside; where I had to be forever beguiled in glum disappointment and worthlessness; and that kid, Justin’s younger brother, who took flips at the ripe age of 14 in his own draped slacks and thin hair; so took to haunting, carved away ancient eternal looks from a dining room corner awaiting the blunt and like at my belly tightened more and more; everything lulled and distracted, hanging out inside.
Then no one really wanted to play anything; just chill and become contagious. The indecisions waged, incorrect faces communicated in the slowed moment I itched my nose –in IT!,,, dropped further in the eating dose, tightened up behind my neck, throated among an imploded sensation verging to collapse down down down, curl up the impending oblivion, the inextricable knot of vertigo struggling; in fact, unbecoming, or coming undone; because I never so much mentioned ‘haaawcanchatellbythewaythatIrun-everytimeyoumakeeyesatme’ the ragged recording rumbling our classic voices that I cannot fully stop now or remember now yet expected to, though, when THIS was me, and as was as I expected as now writing about when that which would be me here going on about back there so nearly blurted then to never forget, so it seemed real then, for now, nearly went, “it’s what I need to figure out, but I never have. Will someone else, will…No one else wants to…No one else can…Oh, and this moment’s sooo huge for….” ‘sooooGoodbyyye_High’ll-beleaving..and so on and so forth In a sad sad flawless despairing that spilled over that and unto these peers of mine, and all that I wanted to really talk about anyway.
As Chuck and Bowen there among the others pretended they did not know me like this—since they were so far far away from that which concerned them with what was happening inside me—I have never finished or began to tell them I thought; while I almost had everyone’s attention in a silence of sorts and poetry for a second someone mentioned the end of the world, how it never left so close as it did right there and then; but something moreover rearranged the old perpetuity and we returned within that backyard with Justin going, “c’mon dudes, let’s head back out while it is still here.”—“Okay!” I raged airborne and was ready too.
Justin’s mother’s home inevitability elevated a certainty of what remained all too curved under the sky in the subcity wires and treetops; and slanted branches weeded throughout the wonderment of remaining daylight as we arrived and smothered chain fence glimpses of vines bulged, of train tracks’ stones and railroad ties swelled or stretched parallel with the whooshing traffic and the fluttering lines we had always made across that one avenue to the muckmuck carry-out and back and whatnot. I gulped, lumped between tiny spaced scrawls of textures with glass chunks cut into my hindbrain there without any shoes as I fumbled around the picnic table just out back on the jagged patio, gritted a lean onto the clothesline since no one wanted to hack; jostled the universe on-and-on for a century in every heartbeat. No, they all just wanted to melt dark illuminations and cool off waiting for something to cling to their tightening digesting through Justin’s backyard.
Two neighbors from down Strudel’s streetblock wandered in clean as spirits too from the other side of the home. They immediately guzzled Justin’s beers and I think Justin’s younger brother there coupled with the friends in these worn out muses as they guzzled his beers too in the protruding crabgrass; then head to the upstairs garrets to play covers rearranging chords over the overgrowth in all so I felt towards them and then above them as J.T. and Alex Sweet, as those two yet acknowledged me. Actually Alex Sweet was the kid with the golf shirt, the one who paged Bowen back. I had not seen since school ended and he was fired from Hank’s. The buzzed sly owner of the pure white Bonneville graced alongside J.T. and at me with them unnoticing eyes; the one who sold a sheet once to Bowen and who had also seen Elsie’s naked body take a square out of the infinite satellites around my neighborhood; since he lived so close and all; and like J.T., like some figment of my imagination turned to a character I knew so well, so real, as though I environed myself with him numerously. Alex finally became distinguishable. Weaseled low and plenty of misplaced joints bit between his gnaws that I detected as his sternly face toked with the mighty, “hammmPretty Boy’s here, awright. Take a hit, Pretty Boy. Oh man this foo’s awesome right here. We got all the raging heart ever needed in this fucking world right here with us boys,” direct and inside my view as these other dudes watched him offer me the doob . . …
Mmhmm As the superior acid mental handed around, “you know the satellites show most the world is perfectly divided squares, various sizes, precise rectangles and shit, man. Wicked fucked coincidence?” Justin expounded. “Yea, maybe America is..” Someone else retorted when the paradises once again dispersed, in his bedroom this time; where, in the opened balcony-less storm door above the back, the unpainted outline of the vacant balcony I heard the radio songs go through the chunked window screen to the summer, and heard Justin’s brother claim stories as if they were his own through the open screen of that back door, and of one in particular entitled ‘Parallels’. They wondered about him with his notebooks aghast up there on the gnawed fiber headboard. Heard J.T. explain how they have parallels, “longitude and latitude degrees going across the land,” but not up and someday they would have to, “for Time-zones that is.” I guess, at first, their overheard voices was all immediately forgotten where those kids so absorbed in the below, then jazzed myself to look down to them capitulated; yet, with a reputably phenomenal haze the green eyed friend of mine, Bowen made them change and me feel real comfortable amongst these kids of this generation by assuming that was a cool thing to Justin. Though barely made in eyes with anyone else in there until the exchange turned away tears to the interiors, contacts gathered and spook the third kid from the Bonneville so he would know, remember always how cool it was. The way these kids never met eyes though, the way they just sensed ‘weeeeeechasethisprettylight’ a beginning uncategorized or insequential, delineation that would hang around the pretend deals and the tracked paper-mache cuts into a confetti trail to know the way back; this one day, passed around perfectly into the unclaimed quaint killings of the anymore unprecious Time.
As they swallowed the sun faded yard the moment I flipped mine dose one last roll and washed over into the ghoulish sense of that twilight, chills transferred in waves to tripping balls, then sunk sadness with goofy down comings onto the freaking earth so alive; then whirled to the moon abysmally. As I thieved joking glances which fled scrounging wild fantasies of THIS in the eyes of all these kids; that instantaneously spooked overwhelmingly, bloomed HERE then faced my insanity there; the world had overgrown inside itself like that slow assuring drop into the thin center of my dilating soul; and, finally, I seen where I had always been. Stranger in a Strange Land. I grokked, lapsed cranium bitten spasms, corners of the brain like stood out; then, thrown in the outside, looked at forever, then went back in beyond the fragile flooded doubts of the theatrical melancholies, and the shadowy cache of déjà vu slightly blurred, overlapped, then shown unto myself the pale fidgeting in a window pane. So, I kept looking at the kids to ignore me, the grimed hairy, or dirty unfamiliarity; or sour eyes melted; and I shivered away something they could not see, but I will tell as I should. The way my thoughts began trembling, the rumbling voice winged exactly to THIS very moment you are reading.
I had not even begun to really feel it and wanted the hit out of my system. The stomach pressurized with such anxiety, churned to simply gag too many adjustments that maneuvered up my heart and thyroid for a release, a mere relief of these vamped rashes there that squished the weaving evening, the far unbelievable slides of the anymore red sky rage taken far in the acceptance in these sort of kids; meaning the shimmed and mushy leaning against the knobbed corners of my entire body was very unattractively slipped throughout myself; so I told myself, I promised I would eat no more doses or smoke no dope or cigarettes even; no more. When, right there I thought I was done with everything, needled the evermore. Considering the way that I felt before the hit and real waves stretched and the neck gulped, the skies themed jet streams and individually our nights had become straight stained life, was grossly inevitable; would always be like this. This desire accompanied, kept onward and left those companions with every intention to do what superduper shaping of the contact with that knick of readiness for the ghostly absence I otherwise had been anyway; realized the distance and ghastly transparent utter desperations for connection and touch, for contact back out of this quiet billow and the vinyl blind soft rattle melting in the lonely accepting existence—and I will tell no one how bad I suffered for a way to muster the acid through the softened system quickly; or the strong desire of what it must be like for the process, for whatever they felt down there in their own throats; wanted to trade places so bad—cried inside that I should know the slow circulating curves as they had inside their shapes. I could not get out or away from the hooked, noticeably yearning stare, that gone off wonderment, THIS it seemed, which easily started to build and begged to be drafted in this sad sad expression molded onto my face and hardened, flinched, that made my fist cover the trapped oozing panic, encapsulated the mouth and searched the telepathy; assumed, as if I could follow them with my stares and watch their own fake eternities brightly absorb in delightfully inside me; and that which went courageously ragged, warm even, would have penetrated and conquered this day.
Then another heartbeat came from miles away. Thought I would not trip so hard; as had I only downed half or so; had ripped the intergalactic speck of quadrants from my teeth with strained fidgety fingernails; yet a mountain of momentum afterwards classically rafted. Sloshed canals slumped with such anxiety in me somewhere in the creased crevice of the wet wood feces accumulating in such vacancy. Along the gravel drive, glared, collapsed and pulled, my guts, in a tired will all unseen as I headed to go inside, into the unavoidable, heavily and especially lengthened or slacked, just tortured in seeping plaits beneath my ribs. As if I did not have enough pain, forced toils brushed entangles of a thorn bush hung across my sides; and the earthbound spirits squeezed deep and longer flat blanketed bits of crossed swords for eyes from this awesome fantasy that chased me into the forms in the grounded night of fires that swelled in the distances even further back; and for the first time, the depths of stars emerged as Time and space aligned; the expanded balance of light and dark took off from where we were going.
Alex, who stood huge over me inauspiciously in the screen doorway before I could get alone inside somewhere and begin to fetal in curled squeezes in my own secret places, gnarled pandemonium, rotting; seeing all that he was in my tingling and so shoved to expel, Alex, he softly, caringly said, “you think you and Bow might need anything else?” I answered Alex like I had never known him before then, “naw I on’t…think…so…”—“awright, but I just scored a whole bunch if you want smoke, got that Link. I could get rid of some real cheap. I got so much. I got so much,” and tugged his chain around as he blocked the doorway to reverie, to the loneliness that kept peering round like I had to be somewhere else; that I was more interested in; being absorbed by Time. Paused through knotholes in the backdoor, into him more sober yet merely in Time, an hour’s worth behind me and extremely dangerous, I shook my head at Alex but too long inside; that not even drug back to the other side of another ‘no’ before he interrupted, “well hell let me know later bro, I know you will be crawling for it to come down smoother—know what I’m sayin’?” Seamlessly before me but ever so much spooky, he contracted the sunken pollutions that went quite wooly. “Funny, a big thing I am, all tiny upon you,” he then just flipped back his eyeless gapes to show me what happened in the reflection of his glassys through mine, “see,” pointing at the unfigured gross infinite mirrored thing that was left ceaselessly between us, assuming that to be enough to drag out of me something undone from our past; to get me to smile; however, let my stomach up three steps away into the desolate. Alex was wasted to the depleting centuries behind me as these violent dry heaves that never surfaced afore he became fantasy and thought intertwined in utter fascinations that bothered. He had inter-percepted them, transferred me more and more as they mauled and nagged organs, wiped me to crouch together in the center. He could feel right into my gut, and he stoned tweezes and sallow lurid designs curled away from all of THIS and that little gag fully coughed, hacked aside, a minor agape; then wiped my eyes clear, then doubled blinks that relieved myself from a moment of his thoughts in my head inside and enjoyed the one and only chance at enjoying the tiny piece of tongue curling beauty, to blast the dream square ooohh! like ripped notebook paper flakes that flutter serene from a mess (start over); to tear the heart of the silent mirth dabbed in the most miniature buds, bumps on the lick –phew! split the maze I had sucked a good 45 minutes before I swallowed; my utmost portion of the sheet and this day and now this maze of wrenched belly.
Yet I could not refuse a drink from the sink without a cup, hoped that would wash clear all the effort displaced into the air I breathed through nervous like shakes and thin boney repositioning that would never satisfy when I refigured, every time I moved; then, always like I had to pee paced away in my mind, shortly swayed, dripped further across those liquefied sensations then evaporated instantly. Erupted, engulfed, enflamed, scarred through insides hollow, the canals filled with enormous uneven cringes to have savored the water more and near bloated in the laziness that drilled with holes in what I saw through the end of these canals of all the unusual. But I lifted my head as far to the heavens as I could; with a personal tranquil flash, a zone when the turd solidified as the innumerous particles trickled and thumbed, triggered the lump, breathlessly ripped clamps. As the neck and back tilted for an impacted enormous resistance from releases of then polops, lumpy bits and pieces seemingly gurgled away undigested throughout, cleared the canals so empty, so entirely empty. Albeit, drained I almost puked as the fluid had overcome like some virus; had penetrated the lumps which devoured the tingles. Blood flowed extremely inconsistent, rushed, closed off. My soul curled up. The esophagus, in this awful infinitesimal burn that rolled over the lid of my stomach, warmed the back of my tongue, swelled my throat. The knotted uphold of emotions worsened when I became so unreal as I had no real chance of escape from that; but I needed something like a diabetic that failed to produce insulin. I need something.
Feeling the spiral outline of my entire small intestine, I could have with a magic marker drawn the walls on my insides, followed and traced the firewall cylinders throughout, corners and cascading which compressed; on my belly if I had the strength to; that determination to comprehend the excrescent atrophy, contagion, squeamish and touchy confiscated cringe with the quick return of big huge excitement which zipped the entire length of my intestines, the antisepsis, the sublingual emaciation, enchantment, went averse; the lucid paradisiacal reticent amulet, benign rucks, the abundance of pessimistic inimitable diatribes, convalescence, reproach, suffocation was awaiting this exhalation I am writing; so I can get out of here. As I said, I believe THIS is the lone reason I have not died yet. To tell of THIS.
I wanted the end as much then as I do now. The agony of being liberated, excited claustrophobia, broke out before I could. I just transitioned my mind to the things that I just wanted; to say, unfortunately deviated, translated my thought process to capture more perfect words for describing this little portion of the infinite; and I could think of only the blood thin floss slit between my teeth, to match the way a drop of ink merely would only loosen slumps; a tiniy sip of water could like floss the interiors into that which had I been only able to describe how I felt in my voice maybe I would not suffer now as I write write write that from the tiniest of slits, my little elimination with lopsided eagerness as I involved myself in something that I have no idea what to do with –that I cannot even write—which I love, obviously— Yet mixed up personally yet exotic, and directions changed within to be somewhere else, to write something different, to change the wasting caroms to jumbles of the arcade. Big screens, filmy grungy welds the kids at Justin’s were always interesting in making; there was much going on, oh such a beautiful traffic that swarmed the stores within inched flying through these skies. The visible tangible disarray and concentrations longed a doomed deep long gone, sweep of centuries and dark ages away and such eccentricities as but from the first real garrulous expression of eons passed from the 90s, fast, and the countenance grew, and the century of the 90s now came fast, went cool, became overpopulated while the art fell out of magazines like debris of screens changing scenes and poetry and went behind 3 chords of a 3 man band or an acoustical jam, became a tribute on Music Television, an Eric Clapton masterpiece invented, the blues in one song there; so much occurred. He, who turned the TV on had me suffer to trap the grains of poetry in so many impermissible traces, and all the paths of every stream of conscience rolled just like this one only telling with much difference, reshaping the free planet, ideas reached with so much diversity. It is quite possible to trace back to the image boroughing all frail and wasted. See, you know, like nothing could stop the latter writing, the way things could not be changed; to open the pathos of the tattooed strips alongside each wireless stop, we used a beeper and payhones; plus stored chains in general, and hairy floodgates of self expression came available anymore in a blink of art that seemed obsolete; but something historical that day after the sun come the whole way down, for purposes which only remain to the movements, so tiny, the subcultures of subcultures that altered the modern suburban folks, the little bands that migrated, gathered pictures in my head about how celebrities will comment about this; them admirations posted some new style adorned in the buildings and bloomed further into the billboards. I thought of some new style and tried to imitate just the rawest hypersped reach the world had never seen. We have it all figured everything out I assumed. Just —
The philosophical whatnot picked up a remote airwave and cruised with the feeling of awful dissipated veins and groans turned over and over in the unfulfilled clenched kidneys (oh get away from me). That I would rather write that is not true. But I would rather space out to music than anything else. That concentration looked, figured out or determined across the roll of the universe next to me that Justin had, A CD case. I would rather suffer my opportunity alone and maybe-maybe tear to a lyric, I thought; no, just lie completely sapped and spacey weeping on the covers like dipped into the colors and sagged too soft to concern of a calamity of thoughts of summer of sorts too overcrowd with cheer, or strained, thrown from pockets onto the glorious in the adjacent indifferences (oh just that I am rambling as I have nothing else to do which is absolutely THIS anymore)…..Phish A Live One
With the emotionless personality staring at the walls or the window, dried my eyes and went black for a second as I watched the television; almost developed a sickness to the feeling of deprivation of sorts which perpetually perturbed; not so much dreaming but frankly staring empty; just absent-minded, literally incomplete in vacant nerves softened through the cracks in the wall; yet unmoved, a temperament of completely disgusting petulance, I breathed, flowed the tingles in so many places; the soft heartbeat grew the hair within, the sensations of my body loathed into the milk of a tilted kaleidoscope. I thought with a new triangle or shaded corner then that multiplied and flipped over, turned of songs through discs in the sleeves until I was out of sight and out of mind, until something triggered and inspired, sucked these developments, and well nearly inserted into the nature for that matter a sort of cognizance upon all things imaginary.
The discography that emerged without anything perfect, in silence; there, in the height of the white solace dominating in the very last legs of that everything, and the penultimate celebration, and in the streaked acid on this kid, dashed, circumnavigating.
“Now This’s the 90s,” he generated in.. Walked in thee time period. I posthumously became alive, “shaped this one little flash (and the world became wavy -‘thelasthingIrecall—Iwasintheair—Iwokeupinthestreet— crawlingwithmystrawberyyburns’), which metamorphosed eventually, to The Sundays – Summertime. My adolescence imprinted my soul for all of eternity and raised my heart with such things as that which seemed incomplete, yet at the time marked but touched enough to leave me forever wanting dim feedbacks of the barely lit candescence that which fiddled with… the instrumental insides captured in the resound unknowingly weaved in the rearrangement of chords that started from some song traced into his hand. He had thumbed the volume on Tom Petty’s Don’t Come Around Here No More video turning off my radio and reverie yet as something else I don’t remember now, “no shit! I knew they’d throw this on man. They always play it after the news.” But that which stands out as this unravels… like the cranks I made on my bike.
J.T. dwelt in those melancholy guitars which made electric supercharges of minor keys into the mainstream cast out there as some kid raged off in the back of the neighborhood, of the bright new dusk, thrust in the early maelstrom brought forth, through the back door ranting, “what we trying to do in here boys? The festivity is outside!” And J.T. continued as the other clutched a beer and backwards cracked his ballcap into the atmosphere again, “…haha”, J.T. amused himself, “you looked like you might have undergone certain switches and freewheels backwards…um when you made it around here- when you went around here, Elliot. That’s which holds it all together for me. Right?” Energy the world will never see again streamed all innate, a multitude of images, artistry, flickered across that arbitrary carnival of each and every single frayed, rapt cultivation on that swarm of the patterns on the ~Mags~ of J.T.’s shapes of eyes looking at me. And tuned with a sort of lick of context that impatiently confounded back to the neighborhood; because not everything happened in my head; in the binoculars that rotated the kaleidoscope unto supernatural impressions which are anymore inborn, duplex thoughts, impetuses of revolutions scrounged within the melting poetry that boiled in psychologically suppressed and grandeur, in the world across from me, in that dimension of criss-crossed arabesque fleeting, in the magic carpet ride high indefinably; the surrounded sound went beyond anything perfect and seemed just short of downright awe-inspiring to demure eyesockets; installations that I am not going to quote like a journal (though I should capture and captivate as my feelings and thoughts, express the self portrait like that) but the instrument cannot be invented in those thousand worded pictures, micro cubes of pedaling; besides, this new design that which inspired or presented itself upon your eyeballs when you seen my cover, thus transgressed.
Lively, pure, dreams pretended on certain glimpses by the ripples maybe, the initial, “yeah….and I never seen my life in the flash. I knew I wasn’t leaving,” I went with inevitable admiration of reinforced pumps through to where too many things were beginning to instead simply put forth a concentration or focus upon something I had never seen before; all gained the desire to display out before them and spend the energy on what they are reading and deciphering, the world before you. Like these sweet jumbles of camouflage, the boldly blasted words, the shape-shifted reality with an extra large capacity thus interposed some dazzling light off those links. I assumed my own shielding of this place to my freedom anyway; as everyone should know. What I had done anymore because of the luck, then in some nirvana in the good spLitting image about how nothing equally puts the escalated, conflicted, and all at once classified well wishing; almost slowed, minded the heart, spaced. I was thrust into where the draft became my heart 10,000 miles away there, where I could vicariously take in the gigabytes and the electronic simulators, transmit me in the middle of the evening beyond alive, but the whole time tried not to fall as I leapt and complicated with balance, then turned the aortas through Time as I stood up seized and surged almost instantaneously as I dazed beyond J.T. into spectacular numb confinement from this awful cell which I occupied; into that which bothered me with claustrophobia of girth built inside while at Justin’s until that moment, “you are a great character.”
When I returned to the world outside just as vapid and wholly narrow everywhere in the color and shape of expression as that “Scream” painting; credulously displayed holding myself: due to the frail and the weakness coursing these veins; an impotent use of the energy became apparent. But when I went, it was to the front porch with what little amount of how it felt as though I had these new vibrations of THIS turned to backwards coast the energy, freewheel that uneven sense that I am gliding or was becoming skimmed along in every heartbeat and hardly blinked; and these wobbly blinks, involuntarily fast throbs went continually brutal as I dropped to the steps and crossed my toes, reached to hold these annoying flicks unconsciously exhausted, slugged, worn out in every pump; the preoccupation that could not follow so much where the let out concentration upon the uneven backward spins had happened. When they crossed my desires of the physical and mental blocks, someone called me to the back having seen me out front in doubts instantly aggressive upon the tramps, flinched and knotted in such sadness that I had missed my own youth while riding away; and seemingly out of nowhere, that uneven mind blinked blank, differed to them losing these thoughts and unanswered questions inside the promoted logic. Shot responses to the areas of interest as say a conversion will, one they could not imagine; what miraculous, what stupendous points positioned, and raced out as I hurried in to them to not lose the strength, the inner being, the crapulousness. In 1998 as I was, 19 and with nothing yet happening in the world because, save for the documentation intermixing, fields of races in those streets now completely had immersed from all angles but the stress was ever-present, beyond limitless, the amount was unbearably incomprehensible and too heavy to float. Yes, sinking in the backyard with all the diversity of the world, I had the incredible twisted built up ironically dawning conclusions; and had encountered within every mess that poured through my own meager trials, lodged into the beat and that long raged bearing down on a single violin note yet inaudible outside; ah this flimsy realm completely drenched onto my virus perspective, chilled and tingled all over and welled up a rotund, eager edge seemingly ageless, the pixel in physical contact with me, the effective armor like a new titanium NASA singly unearthed; my own will and destination when the spirit began its upheaval, shifted to the races and intermixed an eyed creature glance appeared with that sadness say; when the stars come out clear country and took hold of some ghosts handing the awful distance around, that bulldozed through my central nervous system and tore the expelled imagination again I was so close there to becoming, that hero you expected me to become long ago world.
At the same time, the little joint they finagled me to join, provided a real good energy, good for you to follow. I, but went out of range in the psyche; perhaps, fearless; ever slumped, blinked, altogether whipped, dripped down deeper in the middle of the night than a heartbeat; felt as though literally involved in nothing with the unordinary might I will leave here in a few years I thought. The airwaves reflected back how the world felt at that precise moment, say like LIVE television, a sort of undelay of the speed of light, anymore inched, even freaked across the neighborhood and inexperienced lit porches nearly clutched the unrest off lawn chairs, the wild movements that changed due to some figure or form perhaps stuffed in the cozy universe, yet quickly delivered to reanimation which came out of the dark, alive. And I yet blinked them away and persuaded them that tough pulse that maybe Time does exist and it expanded across the light slower than milliseconds when the LIVE viewers had undertaken the pulse at the neck of this mighty included arabesque intermingling, one subcity foretaste of the neverending future now.
The idea coming out and being introduced into that very air, now the spines hardened, neck hairs fearlessly transpired, and the lurking conclusion of the day turned ancient all in one gasp expecting everything to fall into place; albeit at least in the smeared convex looks and dire loose touches disgust…or should I say, pit these emotions, and the seed of blooming and blushing mightily as if charred, rots, vanishes away, burns and becomes acne…From these inner dimensions, through this glassy intellect, I sunk around the creatures, the humans, greatly considering what it may be like to be one..blinked and swiped the speakers away ‘see-Icanmaketherestup-Icanmaketherestup’, forlorn, unraveled in a mourning, a moan, so close to night to the herd, to the frantic mess….the goo gathered, greasy hair, follicles waxy, fingerings oh precarious, mumbles and clamped animations; ahhhh with a proud grasp of the kingdom I pilot this ship, a minute freaked celebration, thickened fantastic tweak my nerves and consumed artificial feels closed off into that perpetual stare….
Just cruising all unrestrained ~drip-drip-drip-drip~ in the barely discernible heartbeat rhythm, he came at me sideways, backwards, from the end of the century to mythical-like phases again and again; so the legend will say; thus interchanged or replaced, interposed interest, come undone from imagination into the lost literature of my phenomenal progression to capture that nothingness in the hands of everyone; now, like – Oh boy oh phoom—phoom—phoom zip round the horizon and thee fake eternity wriggled in in feint waves and slick like smearing—‘wearethefossils-relicsofourtime’—surreal slowing of the timing to mine own gaunt chime-sick climbing always inside myself… I figure here’s the real state of the curve of this universe, but perhaps the major twilight seemingly surrounded by like nose and sucked paint thinner snorts, shook out the magic carpet rolls
and vertigo as we stood for hours in dreadful heartbeats, the glass curled-in corners of three fine rims glinted, and vibrations rattled instant to utter silence across ultimately the brave crystalline kingdom of this holy subcity; to be within these great ripped invincible like grips of some new science, but really extraordinarily, yet perpetuates the classic world we went wild in twilit gathered earth and the dilated goon-slipped fantasy now with feathery cusps of ear follicles, real clear Elvin curls reverberated to the nature and bare footsteps in the uneven nails grazing the slivery gnaws upon backs and mental necks standing in the grass, eyebrows and piliferous crests, furrowed sights; we became all too real in the confusion…. Thinking —–
Here’s the real state of the curve of this universe, an essentially excluded amazement, but perhaps the reason for the major twilight seemingly surrounded by like fake eternity I wriggled in in feint waves and entropy and vertigo as a few kids busted up on into the craters of the ribbon drive so the tailgate scraped, bottomed, and the transition from my effortless insanity was smothered by the violent rakes of metal on concrete…..Their tinted glass curled in corners, three fine rims glinted, and vibrations rattled instant to utter silence across the hood as a few white boys smoothed on out. One kid real neat, trimmed, a hulky wristwatch—‘yougotafast_isitfastenougwecanflyaway’—with no eyes…I swear, he had no eyes. Another was no longer a boy. Everyone just ‘sup and erything’ as the third but stood for hours in dread. Who was I glancing at him? Thinking the same damn thing. A normal narrow face and frail body, but all sucked together thin; assumed my attention from a real dream of something far off and scenes everyone collided. Intellectual junky that only unimaginably seemed as the actual J.T., one I seen in the soulfilled halls of high school about three apples high with that eyeless Alex Sweet…A new beginning and devoured path toward each other in the backyard, in just one ultimately crystalline kingdom of this holy subcity, to be within these great ripped invincible like grips of some new science, but real ordinary yet in the perpetually classic world, in mythical-like phases again and again, so the legend say thus interchanged or replaced, interposed into a different interest, come undone from imagination to be wild in twilit gathered earth time after time now and the dilated goon slipped from fantasy now with feathery cusps of ear follicles, into the real clear Elvin curls reverberated to the nature and bare footsteps in the uneven nails, in the slivery gnaws upon backs, fundamental necks standing in the grass, eyebrows and piliferous crests, furrowed sights; became all too real in the confusion….All these long pants, shoeless creatures, all these tight imaginations there in some mythical fantastic far-gone organism, altogether attached to their dirty palms and hairy feets, and to themselves and to the uneven thin exposed lines unraveling and unveiling themselves as to you as to me as to that of humanity, just an afternoon wasting the now greater veins and so much more inside forever and ever…..
But now unwired from so many pagers, and Nintendos and other electronics, music videos, from attitudes and demeanors, just buzzing all that unrestrained and awfully cruised drip-drip-drip-drip of the barely discernible heartbeat rhythm,,,,,His bangs drooped and lanky face just glowered, he came at me sideways, backwards, from the end of the century to this kid who grew up so old from each beginning…Hmm yea J.T. and his slick nose stuck like paint thinner snorts, he shook out the magic carpet rolls in draped pantlegs, in the lost literature of my phenomenal progression to capture that nothing in the hands of everyone now like -ooh and ahhh waiting and expecting and wanting so much more….But Oh boy but I just blank, starving stare from out of nowhere, his encounter trapped, the ghost standing so surreal before mine own gaunt chime-sick climbing always leaned against myself…..Cuz with phlegm through the sucked nose, his voice blew into me and you formed and prowled, moved between the sideyards with twilight’s gloaming nearly vanished, and all the unbelievable of the day intertwined to this lingered head..Within these gnarly dreadlocks, J.T., who I definitely recognized all of a sudden, further and deeper, who was anymore infamously clear as he was bug-eyed curious about this very stranger that drew him into myself…..Unbelievably congested swarmed me in ridiculousness, for the first time ever, and invented right there in this snuffed raw pinched dialogue. ..“Awe, now I remember You. You -you used to always hang at Breakingaway?…Yea you rode that white featherweight Mongoose everywhere”….phoom—phoom—phoom so many connections dovetailed, zip round the horizon (((((((((())))))))))