there is a sadness in the air today. i met it as i rose from sleep. a certain hue of the light of the sun on those overcast days that leaves an emptiness in the air, its murky blue scent patiently lingering and ready to take hold. it made me think about a summer morning in upstate new york, some time in july. before the heat had won the day. the stink sweet stench of the wet grass and the drooping trees after the overnight drizzle of wispy rain. borderland. it is where sadness is channeled between one to the next. and you feel it on the city street. that sadness is our feet against the earth. WE are not distracted by the beautiful yellow swords of the sun nor the slivers and oceans of magnetic blue sky. it is us being humbled by the rain for just as life pours down upon us the rain solidifies our helplessness, our humanity, our sanity, our choices, our loss, our gain and at what cost to who or whoever, or WHAT THE FUCK EVER.
this is the voice of the rain and the quiet blue light MELTING A HOLE IN YOUR DICK. this is the smell of the wet grass AND DIRTY NEEDLES. but i am personally more more than a glutton for pain, loss and forget? what does the sad blue rain mean to another it really is all relative and maybe in this city setting to me that is what it represents and WHY THE FUCK SHOULD ANYONE CARE? yet there is something about it, SOME MOTHER FUCKING POINT I WAS TRYING TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT making me remember and trace the outlines of grey hued days that drape me in warmth, their hazy remembrance of thunder lurching outside the walls and the mud expanding and rushing out into the street. the leaves of aspens golden AND UGLY stuck to the panes of my window. and walls that are nothing but keepers of the memories. like alaska in winter. like the clouds are the keepers of the future and our memories, recycling them and spewing them back down upon us like white feathers and acrid sweat and hot gasoline. maybe i was that glutton for pain burning a hole in my arm so i wouldn’t forget. not to say that again. maybe its when the boss eyeballed it like she always eyeballs my arms thinking about my sanity. and then i finally just lost it and she embraced it. and there is a respect there, that i cant decline.
written summer on the machine.
finished tonight.
on the mac.
