selections from part one, criticize my ass
by SivadBop
Posted to Stories on 2003-11-15 14:26:00
[i would love, kind strangers, feedbeek on the more colorful moments in the two day story that i posted here plus i dont wanna make everyone read that tome Part One more than once… im eventually gonna trash the gilroy interjection, i literally had not the balls to use my own prose right here where i needed it so i used someone else’s and i regret nothing dammit)
GILROY! GILROY! Your blood is my afternoon, my sinuses pour their buckets on your gridlines! GILROY! Where I am truly a skeleton searching unearthed graves! Where my lips are dry as your rainy hillsides! Where I am not safe and you are not safe and we will finally know what life is like on the surface of the sun! GILROY! When will you show us your secret sexual curves and ejaculate-earthcrop? How long are you and I and Jeff noodled in the whirling tidal soup of California time? GILROY! GILROY! Tell us where we evacuate! GILROY! GILROY! Cows falling into piles of other cows! GILROY! FOODS FALLING OUT OF THE SKY!
______
O sea, born to drown the shore; wherefore at little rocks do you fail!
I built this shore on shattered glass and peanut shells,
And slept in the nape of your neck when the seasons spun-
What body, of man or nature or intelligent design
Has not been snapped at the back against your walls
And breathed your last breath at the end of his life
To find life anew!
Beneath the blues and greens and shades of ground
The water and rocks flow in stereo disaster
They find good homes and loves and jobs
And for the rest of time split ions in the ether.
O sea, of syrup and diamond mines!
You feed the fauna drunk as death
And pull his knees below the bedrock
To grow your roots inside his belly.
I cannot tell the shore your secrets
if I died inside your mouth.
O sea, on the next day of everything
I shall find myself another sea!
And I will live beneath his shore
_____
And somewhere in the dizzy parallax of the hillscape design I went completely blind. My eyes aren’t trained to see things like this! Does anyone really ever try to look right at the fog, to cast its shape and spot its depth, to capture its strafe across the thicker strafing walls right behind it—to know the shape of the air and know where it moves and where it lives and not just … … … What? Did you hear what I said at all? Staring at the fog was harder than staring directly at the sun; in fact, the sun was staring directly at me thru one of the fogs and I could see the face of the cosmic wind in heartbreaking detail, as clearly as I will ever see anything… and it was just horrifying enough to keep watching as long as the topography would permit.
___
Somebody had the good vision to vault us pedestrians from the hip of one mountain to the groin of another, and complete our tumble downward across the America in a gasping fanfare of ironworkers and masons, throwing rice and toasting blueberry wine to the spirit of the ocean waves, 300 and howevermany feet down… where was the ocean anyway? The fog had stopped moving which might have meant we were no time soon getting out of it, maybe the fog has something to do with the shape of this canyon and the narrow, plaster-dense column of subtropical sex-dream forest clinging and crystallizing, glazing over in violent obsidian birthrock, along the piddling row of freshwater bubbles belching between alien rocks and halving alien chasms, nursed by the alien streams and killed by the dinosaur seas and slowly being invaded by an army of robot kelp and rucksack lunatics.
______
Oh yes, I remember—I accused him of continuing to survive simply by skimming the empty profit off the top of the public swimming tomb, a heartless midnight naked raid of the sterile bathhouse hanging gardens of the greater Bay Area—and that maybe even though my less-than-noble approach to conversation is to skirt the issue with cyclone circular mathematical semantics, at LEAST IM NOT A DICKHEAD LIKE YOU, MAN! I may prod the evolutionarily useless parts of your brain with meta-cognitive shark chum, wait for a bite, and then dangle it over your gaping maw singing an elegy to lament the eventual deaths of your children—I may abandon your drug-store metropolitical playschool soap box EXTRAVAGANZA by crossing all the wires of your closest-to-heart issues, tripping you into a chaotic alcohol infinity by simply joining your side of the fight—I may have nothing to say and no drugs to give you that will change your mind, but at least I can tell you that you are totally and completely safe for the rest of all time… and all because of me and jeff, so be thankful or at least shut your pissing mouth for a brief moment. The quantum dynamic orgasm fantasy of your youth lives on vicariously thru us extraterrestrial sociopaths—and so how’bout we’ll tell our kids about your kids and everybody will come together and have a family barbeque and drink refined petroleum wines and eat fish that’s as fresh as creation, all at the bottom of the ocean.
I was still upside down. Everywhere was monkey bars. The eternal nameless wholesaler was the second person I met on the road who had lost the battle with the aliens.
______
We took deep breaths and lay diagonal over the fallen shelves of tidal sand, scratching our ears and picking our noses, and the confused sky fell and smashed into black light all along the injured coast.
