hey jude flow chart
Dreamboat
Swirling delight, flashings bright, filling the mind a thousand shades of November. Long, thin strands of hair holding up the veils of reality. This is what I believe was in my dream that night. A darkness that I have always known, a baby crying now that the lights had all been switched on. Four thousand workers running around like ants in a gigantic monolithic structure, jutting out from the earth and extending as far up as to be directly in the path of the moon’s orbit. Colliding particles spewing forth massive amounts of energy that burn into butcher’s paper and create fractal patterns that edge upon works of art.
I dream a bright star that I am travelling towards. A hundred million years pass and I am still no closer, yet I press on. All acquaintances slowly pass away, and I seem not to age. Wisdom comes and goes and is replaced by truth and then discarded again. Twelve thousand angels do battle in my mind, up in the clouds and but one is the soul survivor. He then disintegrates all the bodies of the other angels and then goes about telling everyone that he is the only angel and that he was always ever the only angel. Bolts of lightning shoot from his fingers into the hearts of all those who question this nonsense.
A pulsation from electro-magnetic radiation emanating from a recently destroyed solar system sets off sparks in my head. I shake. I twist and turn. Bodies surround, they huddle and dance, they make love, they make war. Electricity strikes the same place twice, thrice and again. The universe comes to a standstill and then begins to retract in upon itself. There is a boat, traversing waves that seem to grow and subside ten thousand feet into the air. It is shooting out whale lines into the water, fifty, one hundred and more. The ropes are electric. The harpoons seem to hit their targets and lay taught, an extension of the tiny sail boat. Slowly they converge towards the front, and we are being pulled forward. Faster we fly just over the water, and through many waves.
Colours come from the horizon and dart past. The ocean turns to nothingness and the sky turns black. Geometry presents itself to me in it’s simplistic perfection. I see a perfect circle, and a curve approaching an infinitesimal downturn. Tambourine halos dance in synchronicity to a music never imagined even by the most insane minds. The melodys turn into bird calls and the bird calls turn into birds, millions upon millions, of all different species and colours. Some are trying to eat the others. Some are trying to get away. Most are just coming straight for me. I brace for impact, but feel nothing, nothing at first. Eyes open, I see a bald eagle, frozen in front of my nose. Our eyes meet, then it hits me, along with a million other birds.
Flesh disintegrates and floats off. I feel myself in each speck bleeding. I come together on the sand of a tropical beach, but there are no waves. Looking down at the sand, they seem to be saying something, all at once, each grain. I try to get one. I see a universe expanding. I see a universe contracting. I see myself pounding the door down at the edge of infinity.
Darkness descents, and senses start to fail. Long awaited loves come and then they pass. I grow up a thousand times over in different directions. I free myself from the pig pen only to see that I am now the only one on the outside. Great Danes bark their way into a Mozart’s Requiem. Infinity goes on show down at the local art gallery. It sells for a measly seven dollars fifteen. I kick myself for not bidding higher. I contemplate a butterfly. I contemplate a rainbow. I contemplate a field of rye and falling from that great height.
I wake with fright.
listening to "The darkness-Love is only a feeling" →
i had seen, i had touched, i had tasted and i truly believed
The Guppy
by Ogden Nash
Whales have calves,
Cats have kittens,
Bears have cubs,
Bats have bittens,
Swans have cygnets,
Seals have puppies,
But guppies just have little guppies.
Shattered Glass Dreams & Broken Bottled Promises
Mute screams and broken applause as The Stone Throwers stumble off stage, the dreary drunken daze that hits the face while brushing past backstage curtains gives rise to faint expectations of enthusiastic encore demands that quickly fade into the next bottle of beer — so to speak — politely asked for over or under the counter, as the case may be. Need one last drink, second last perhaps, so over to the bar, no people to step over this time around. Left feeling only cold. Perhaps that is the idea.
Rewind time, I’m handing packages of hope to various venues of the Valley, my final demonstration, and final destination for the night is here. The doors are still closed, yet not to those of the underground in preparation of the show. Waiting outside for companions and comrades, great white envelope in hand, familiar faces adorn the longview and begin to converse ideas, mind to mind. Most do not recognise.
Inside, ambiance abounds as The Little One takes to stage, though it is the cellist, the somehow strangely enticing one of two, that appears to draw and dispense the greatest gaze. The coffee making lady behind the bar seems disinterested in what I would like to give her, though she eventually takes my package just the same, promising to pass it on, but I have my doubts.
Perhaps she has hers as well, just as all of us there that night singing “na na na na na” in the dark.
~ by undergroundman on 15 June, 2007.
(just an old post i found from a fictional blog i started, but never got off the ground)
Posted via email from phocks | Comment »
Lmao. I love this so freaking much. I love my Paul in pink not gonna lie ^__^Ringo’s blue-ass suit!
John’s super, awesome coat!
Paul’s pinkiness!
George’s trippy pants!
George’s t-shirt tie!
