Synapse Trigger

I’m writing to the spread of roses in my chest, the coronary dreams of blue science and pulsated veins. There was no way to describe how I had come, dark rivers untraveled and my life a cobblestone path, but I remember the mornings that fell, sleek seals on my forehead and nothing in my words, no fire nor punch. There existed only a silence that sat in silence, fermented slants of rays; rain, a bus ride, words from another time when words were not scarce and the meanings in the dirt more than scratches. Playing with words, I hear a voice and I pause, uncertain of where it’s going, where it was… I have become hesitant of smiles.

Then you cough, I bled. The momentum from the fountain pen lost in awkward cycles because I knew there was no more life in them, only halted steps littering the floor and I’ve swept away all the footsteps into a box set aside for rainy days. It never rains here I say but I think of the moon and the ocean, the causes of madness knocking at my door… and who can open the wisdom from the skies I’ve fallen from, the many-layered heaven before this hell? On a sunset, a gull catches a southern swell and suddenly becomes a chimera of contentment, elusive chameleon on this western isle of solitude, far out desolation in these words that were destined to fly; to fly and to speak nothing of the stars. It was only a bird then, flapping wings.

Another day passes, another way without you. I lie on my back and listen to the roar of somnabulant pens. There they go marching across the page and how do I know when to stop them, afraid that they might die upon waking, without memory in a different life, in a world without dreams? There’s nothing to say tonight but the slick tongues are in their quiet corners and they say I have glass heart, a transparent and fragile delivery. I tell them it’s made of lead and it weighs heavily in my chest, made to withstand falls because my mind was weak and could not hold it tight. Here in the depths of coldness, you weigh my heart and tell me it could have been gold.

That I could have learned to love.

[Original Post Date: 10/24/2002]

Slick of a Slip

Driving back to the office from a client site today, a sudden epiphany crossed my mind: 75+ mph in the rain is not a very good idea. Especially when the left rear tire resembled something like curdled milk. This realization dawned upon me as I veered into the left shoulder just as the 241 South toll road curved; a wayfaring puddle sent my car spiraling (420 degrees) across 3 lanes, whereupon I traveled a full hundred feet backwards, before an instinctual jerk to the steering wheel re-positioned myself just as I cleared the right shoulder, jumped the curb, and came within several feet from a lolling drop down a rambling cliff. The pack of cars 1/2 a mile back had caught up to me by then, passing by with wide eyes gaping, twisted necks craning, at my completely unscathed vehicle.

The funny thing is, I felt nothing during those 30 seconds… watched, twisted the wheel, and tapped the brakes. Only after the world had stopped spinning, the hyenic laughter poured forth uncontrollably. Such is the comprehension of mortality.

True story.

Weekend in Brief 6 & 7

Apr 01-02 Worked. A lot. Slept. Not a lot. Ate. Not at all. Spent 10 hours on Sat and 14 hours on Sun working a data/server migration for a major supermarket chain in Southern California. Not your average superhero. Dastardly fiends, those glitches in the Matrix.

Apr 07-09 Ventured forth into the unknown with David and Willy to the never-heard-of Morena Club. Small town dive with the coolest kids; come in late, magic starts at midnight when the kings of beat and break bust on scene like ninjas. One day over, began the voyage to Bar Dynamite but wound up at Red C for old time’s sake. I still have that receipt hanging from my wall, my last night living in S.D., one and half years past.