i exist, but only in a mirror

"c'mon, you are NOT crazy. i saw some of those other people in there... really? you really think you're like any of them? let's be honest... really?!"

right before that short visit, my mind was traveling a mile a minute and stopped promptly at the hospital. i'd arrived at a peculiar affection for her, despite the fact that she was many years my senior - but that didn't matter; her voice propagated a sort of mysterious, yet inviting, youthfulness that seemed to transcend her physique. the silk that draped her weathered frame coupled with her soothing tone thoroughly shattered the glass barriers that indicated rigid boundaries my mind worked long enough to create. she was erratic; ecstatic at times but when her demeanor declined it was tragic. i sneaked a peak at the sheet lying on the desk and how i managed to do so i guess was somewhat impressive; i'd gotten a real glimpse at what they call a manic-depressive...

ah, and then there was her, she was a neat one. she spoke with a speed that kept her condition quite sheathed and discreet. quick and swift, our conversations would drift about and come full circle, reminding me of where it was i forgot we started out. she seemed rather shocked when i told her my plan to clock out early and, furthermore, retorted that there was no reason to hurry. that i was keen and rather practical, tall, smart and attractive; that i ought not to detach from this world just yet and that i still had much more fight in me left. she saw no reason for my weaned self-esteem and truly believed i was incredible in every way - and the unforgettable part was that i'd only known her for a day...

one day...
a day was short enough to disrupt this downward cascade barely displayed on the vacant spaces of my face

______________________________________________________________________________

mere days prior, his mind's diary recited how liquor filled the vague places where life was abated:

here's to number five: for the guy who can't decide whether to live or to die;
and yet again, number seven: for the gentleman who's spent quite some time trying to buy his way into heaven;
finally, to number twelve: for that part of himself who's already ungrounded a few encounters with the depths of hell...

incorporeal bridge

certain experiences are not able to be represented through a sequence of symbols arranged in such a way as to adhere to normalized notions of semantic structure and, effectively, are not able to be communicated sensibly through verbal or written discourse; however, it is true indeed that we may perceive the end result(s) of such experiences. unfortunately, instead of acknowledging that they are suspended in isolation, we try to categorize them by confining their parts to nouns and adjectives in a failed attempt at expressing them.

i propose we leave them be, as some things were never meant to be shared. i suppose hedonism need not be a complete taboo...





and yes, at the moment i'm sort of obsessed with this song...

memoirs of a junkie (pt. 1)

attitude adjustments deconstruct past factions but
a drug addict he still was -- actually, that can be somewhat annulled because of dastard and disastrous actions he once practiced


but finding a needle in the greystack of feeble white dust and black tar wouldn't be hard because
trust me, he needn't look far...


and yes, guess what? once again, our friend is
dumbed, dense and doubtlessly doped
but above amends, he'd outwardly hoped
i'll give you a hint: he's on a downward slope


spiraling out of control
holding a viral vial from which he vouched for a toll


one afternoon he had a mad dash for the attic
a bit scuffed up and duffed up he was right back at it.
there he sat aghast for a fraction of an hour, scratching bare gashes, and acting out past happenings


past the mirror he lashed, at a more transparent glass
he slumped, jumped and
dumped his own trashed ass


a blind dive from up high, kind of like the adrenaline rush that comes from driving at night,
minus the headlights


instead of nighly sighing and finding bright sirens striding to his side for a second time,
he collided with the divine...

free love

vintage flick
nine minute clip of an interracial couple cuffed up and in loving bliss
not literally, but they might as well have been attached at the hip
must've been back in '76 or something like it,
no dispatchers in the background or packed rounds in his black mound of skin

just him...
just him and his lovely miss...

free association 4

dream
sky
fly
high
tree
weed
seed
pick
choose
now
time
space
vast
blast
rocket
ship
sail
drift
float
water
mist
breeze
cool
blanket
tea
fireplace
holiday
sleep
dream

catharsis of a narcissist (pt. 1)

blinking, partially thinking,
he starts charting sparks through the bits and parts of matter that are
incarcerated and jarred
in his skull.
the head's better than the chest, since
matters of the heart can be dark
and rather dull...

darkly scanning through broken glass, he fathoms the reflection of a partition;
it's this that is what marks the inflection heard
in his remark as he
barks on about some part of his youth
that a group once abused and then handed back to him and, in due time,
abandoned...

but granted, he too used them in a sense,
later on as the subject of recompense,
for subjecting him to undue
lies; fooling him, cooing him, wooing him away from the truth.
he tried to maintain his muse, ascertain his cool, but
it was useless; he believed them when they said
there'd be no rest when he eventually laid
in his tomb...

the only option left smack dead center in the back of his head
was that for the rest of his life,
there'd be eternal doom...

outside looking in

vexed, much less perplexed
starring ahead at his mess of a head, reflect
shunning what's left of his reflection, vest resting on his chest, flexed,
veering at his earring, dreary and hearing left near-deaf
initially his definition let his gaze spread, but the
motion sickness left him with a refreshed theory...

___________________________________________________

looking at a mirror, he sees a black kid, about 6 feet tall, kind of lanky
kinky hair, skin fair, slim jaw and lean neck
wide hands and sporting clean b-ball shorts
broad shoulders, thin legs and big feet
an all-around clumsy demeanor

looking at his friends, he sees someone who's easy-going
composed and somewhat stern
sociable, concerned and a good listener
quick to hide his temper and a bit too analytical
witty and down-to-earth but easily as fantasy-stricken

looking at some old pictures, he sees a kid hugging his younger brother and little sister
a mom who looks hispanic and a dad as dark as the couch with slouched cushions in the living room
a young bride and groom, hard-workers and faithful Christians
images composed of clean clothes and a few cheap pictures hung
an older son who one day unintentionally abandons them

looking in at me, i've no idea what i see
and maybe that's exactly why i need nothing less than
a set of reflections to set me free...