I'm sure an abstract painter adores the confusion of their lovers. Glass reflections on materials in a bedroom E M P H A S I Z E the EGOIST in every sofa and actress in a television set while it rains out (creating pockets of water on the balcony) Where is my foundation for times like these when feet become LOUD ER in the daytime and obstacles have grown their teeth?
Perhaps a dump truck full of nicely dressed mannequins will finally be ticketed and my eyes will see as soft as your hair.
Quarry of bones in an office space and the FORMAL TIE HAS DESTROYED ITSELF WITH SOCIETAL EXPECTATIONS AGAIN (LUCIDITY KEEPS INSANITY DISTRACTED)
Caffeinated Canadian Bohemian daydream of firs showering adjacent Manhattan batteries. Tomorrow's rejections watch bright and beautiful waves smile with false inspiration a n d a n o t h e r concrete victim is created.
!MADNESS! (the solar flare of the Neutral) the ammunition in my coffee and conversations blinking LAUGHS OUT TO THE ABYSS (gorgeous and hollow lineups in front of a Vancouver bar 11:30pm)
Pale October energies and the Dharma Radio feathering my fantasies as this year reaches it's last quarter CREATIVITY MEANDERING NEAR NOTHING anxiously I roll around on the mattress, open window, listening in on the intricately staged oblivion of trees who've become infatuated with coffins.
Gastown (as it appeared in my dreams) has found it's dusk anthem! Adriano Celantano's "BUONA SERA SIGNORINA" what a strange dream that was the music was vivid to the point of impossible recognition and I'm awake and dizzy not from all that but from love (it's tilting my axis!) Always has......
An untraceable eye lingers in malevolence to ALL city banks where the late bop players stand united and "free" (Outside, by art on a wall with animals dancing in a hot air balloon, jealous of their own permanent state of painted euphoria) Restaurants are consumed by silence upon closing down, but NOT the Fisgard streetcorner cafe I frequent! It's LOUD TRUTH and San Francisco weeps in the decorated walls.....some far off dream of North Beach Trieste evening with people who were once ALIVE!! People that bleached THE AMERICAN VISION with sharpened language sleeker than the polished jaw of Apollo.
Here I am again, accepting the same sweeping misery as those before me (settled tombstones barely seen beneath a wild oak while cars cry exhaust to beach-view apartments and Winter's harsh wind drums against the window pane) sure they were good people, but living plays no favorites.
I'm awake and dizzy! forlorn with the morning. Stars surrender to a sun which often wonders how we adapt to this asylum. (Vanity makes me sleepy)
Warm in the delicate crimson light, I lie in a temporary peace. I am setting as all else rises.