I an walking down a hall. No a a street. I do not know any more. I keep on going tell i find a wooden bridge. Do i stay or go? I cross. It's unstable and stinks of rotted wood. There are small fishing boats on the river below and it smells of Trees. Big ones. Pines and oaks. all with red and orange and yellow leaves, that crich crach under my feet. Birds sore overhead and I hear the chatter of chipmunks the soft pit pat on the trees. small saplings continue to grow on the ground trying to survive winter.
I’ve been too human for my own good.
With a tendency to squander and destroy.
I was going “that way,” Now it’s “this way or die.”
Oh, this thing in my eye? That’s a railroad tie.
I’ve been trying to get it out.
(I haven’t slept well in months).
It doesn’t matter where the elevator takes us.
It doesn’t matter if the election is rigged.
(Money is only valuable because of guns.
Weapons sustain the value of money.
Export - Import Extrovert - Introvert
It’s not an astrological situation of any kind.
It’s organized violence - the threat of pain.
“What is this worth! Maggot!”
“I don’t know! I don’t know! Please!”
“We didn’t hear you! What is this worth!”
“A dollar! Oh God, a dollar! Please, that is worth a dollar!”)
It was the tail end of a global recession and I was overeating. It was at the bottom of hitting bottom and I was having trouble sleeping. The weather sucked worse that TV sitcoms and I was sick of the gray and the rain. I see people crossing paths and I question their love for each other. I see couples dwelling in their houses and I wonder how their love dynamics work. It was the beginning of the recovery and I was increasing my water intake. I was crossing things off of my to-do list and thinking about my future. It was the start of something special and strangers were walking around me unbuttoning their coats. There was a star ascending the stairs, and I was there staring at the stars.
I come into the room and start undressing, searching for things in my closet.
'How was your day?' her voice echoes the room.
'You're not really there, you're just a piece of my imagination.'
'And if i am just a piece of your thought, it is still Your thought. You thought of me. And want me. Come lay with me, like in the days you had me over for coffee. Those chilly days when you called me and said i should come over. And i came every time, and you brewed me coffee. And we sat and sat and told each other whatever crossed our minds.'
'Those nice old days.'
'Those days when your worries didn't pile up and touch the sky. Those days when you carried me in your thought and i carried you in mine. Those days when we used to lay in your bed for hours and hours, just staring at the ceiling and thinking of things. Why don't you call me over anymore?'
'Because i missed it. I missed my chance. I had it and i lost it. I'll never be yours now. Come. Lay with me. Like in the good days.'
'Like when i had you over for coffee'.
Few things have consumed me more than the obsession I've had to know more about Beth Hurley. It is hard to say why she interested me so much in the first place. She's beautiful, undoubtedly so; but so are dozens of other girls I see on a daily basis. In fact, now that I think about it, it certainly wasn't her beauty alone - it was something else. It was her simplicity, I think. It was the matter-of-factly manner in which every word that came out of her mouth was spoken. It was the way her eyes teased me, revealing just enough to rouse my curiosity, never enough to fully satisfy it. It was as though there were unspoken thoughts and abandoned feelings inside of her, both of which added many more dimensions to her beauty, and it was upon my job to find those out and make her even more beautiful than she already was.