yesterday's scribble

[asterjolly]

23 ways to know if you are forgotten are like 90 nails on the floor rusty and they used to be in a ship, a great ship, accross the ocean on the coast of africa in the sun, sand on the decks, carrying death to a world we forgot. their fingers are gone and the ropes fall down and you can only look at the sky while it rushes closer its warm and your eyes might close and roll away into those empty dark places behind - your empty eyes are green but not simply and they only pull something into them like

you claim they dont exist and tell me why and neither do mermaids or telephones or lampshades or little men with pink ears writing books about forests and all the insects in Washington state and the years of people sleeping as if they desire not to just sleep forever inside warm sheets with cold air on their faces dreaming of ghosts and water and beautiful kisses never in this world. and always wishing it was a week before you like to run and always ending with a carpeted floor, a bottle, deathsleep without those dreams.

yesterday up the stairs the room is small and bare with white walls grey floors clean and dry under the room of balloons they sit and look for pins under chairs, big chairs, large blue arm chairs, huge cushions all around, but no one sitting no one standing no one walkingtalkingdreaming they see only pictures of themselves on the walls in black and white overexposed little frames black metal smooth thin. i will go into your room next door and take off all my clothes - thin skin blue veins hip bones - this bathtub is too small for you and me and the water is cold and the drain is open but the water rises - blue soap blue rubber blue water blue rubber-bands, blue bus pass, blue letters blue bracelet blue flag blue curtain blue paint (shiny) blue corn blue sky! no blue ribbons anywhere. wax ruins skirts before he and she or she and he? under bridges looking for bright light like no atmosphere he left his home forever and now he his back in his old room meters away from yearbooks and tied the room is large and cluttered. there are never enough speakers or floors smooth and not-falling or there are never enough half-pears and carrots for eating or trains for riding in some direction like towards neptune, under the sea, deep in the dark water. like deep at the end of the bed where only your feet go and they have no eyes how do you know the little men do not live there and teach songs to your toes at 7 AM and ask questions and do not receive answers and hope forever. symmetry is lost and underneath the covers layers like onions but the center is an old mattress not firm but soft deceptive bright light colors long dark wide ribbons around our foreheads, over our eyes. fog and tomorrow the sinister moon stares down noting is natural if a day is not and a day is not 1-5? yellow green? 43? when is the 16th month of this year? tomorrow is not another day he is _convinced_.

red like a fire-engine is the color of my true love's hair.

[vonstalhein]

...what?

Seriously, what?!
'faces dreaming of ghosts and water and beautiful kisses never in this world' I liked this bit a lot though....the rest was a bit abstract for me i'm afraid.

[asterjolly]

; ]

[J.R.V.A.]

Good stuff, Thanks