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lifetimes

Originally uploaded by Tsunami Notes.

(a) frantical attempt at mimicking one of Tulsa Doom’s slaves as he witness his master turn into a gigantic snake. mixture as in cooking: fear, awe, the inability to turn your eyes elsewhere. skipping breaths as the snake crawls up through the tower stairs. stir, serve cold as the sweat down the spine once you stop.

(b) insurgence, or recurring, of summergrimeysummer in recent tags, everything too difficult to explain because of laziness, and excuses made for laziness as well. sweat pouring over the sclera: burning, blurry world, redemptional feeling of anti-triumph clearly rewriting anti-history. we are almost extinct. as a matter of fact, the we are particle failing to describe coherently any action of sort. anti-history turns manga. v-prime all through the night.

(c) zombie days at their best. old workingclassposeurism tag hinting from September 29, 2005 with a smile. the new working title is from enslavement to obliteration: somebody draws pyramids over the unused margins of old yellowish notepads, picture stays locked up in folder, smallish rectangle in the preview boxing you, no air at all, amidst a world of colourful wonders. this is as far as it gets. please notice: sunday evening, end of the shift, back making crack, the strangest urge for road hypnosis in the chance that the eyes might rest.

(d) July 7, 2006: wake up through hell of a storm. sky lit up in awesome strucks, water infiltrating through too thin a wall. positioning wrapped up stereo microphone outside the window first thing over coffee to record a rich half hour of rain falling through electrically charged kaa-booms. disconnect local network once it gets too close. lie back on crowded sofa, jolt down a quote from the book you read. later in the day your eyes full of Horus and Laura waking. frantically scribble a mail to Z79 explaining him in details what you discovered about bird nests last time you turned into stone. small delugey pools under the window reflecting the wall above.

(e) we’ll be entering the supercontext into chariots of fire, snake-charmed via wormhole tunnels of uncolored light to get dumped into a final sempihallucination not out of merit but out of blind chance. i’ve dreamed about it quite clearly and i am obviously wrong. the ramble is actually trying to protect you, the puzzle has the solution to it all but you’re obviously missing some of the pieces if any still exist. blind chance, dumb luck. your fifteen minutes have just become eternity.

(f) there’s a lot i am obviously being silent about. but: the copied note, excerpted by Jason Louv’s Spooky Tricks, on Generation Hex, that went on like this, coming on quite emphatic at the end of a strong paragraph:
I stood on Sunset Boulevard, on the patch of concrete where River Phoenix died, and as I called out to it all, I thought, there will be time enough for all of our dreams. Our hearts are nothing when weighed against this world.

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