backup universe

backup universe

long fitted absence of mine.
finding that fitting space between new job, old job, new space, old space, look me up in graceland or shout out from dollywood.
forward
in
time.
there is a pair of black adidas by the guestroom door frame and a box marked with martini & rossi and all i can think is of porco and a studio somewhere in japan. smooth things slip in my head.. too much decaf with no ice, no whip, low fat and gash my stomach hurts with the recent betrayal of lips to greasy cheese laden with "god my liver hates me" so i flow. so i go. so i walk along with the heartbeats of this evenings just in.
too much to go from when the natural spring up and i've all this time to tell you what i really mean. what it is i really think, what it is when it is what it is, and how does this cookie crumble? down in the valley down in the hole, archive of ours hours folded origami style...whispers of something else made from nothing else, pretty paper, pretty memories almost tasting the sky on my skin that night.
thursday night disco comes in so slow, finding paperclips on the memory of your face, side scribbled and not much that is still legible.. that book, that story is somewhere in birmingham, sitting on a shelf with a friend who keeps it all safe when i go missing..
all in all
things are well.
i found my pen.

leave it all to me, i'll do the right thing.

i don't have much more than that to say these days.

living lyrics, living in lines,
shock me shock me with that deviant behaviour...

up from C

i'm waking up from a grey day induced corporate coma.
comma- separate two like minded half witted thought patterns, still though this thing is stuck on a window sill.

MAGNIFiCATION times twenty seven and all good monkeys go to heaven.

I always hit the stop button on saturn day nights, when the booze comes flowing and the smoke starts smoking and the girls start purring something gutteral between the breast tucks. i've got my own private table next to the stage, fill me up with synth. I'll drink it all in till they tell me i should be blind and goodness me where did the time go? Fell down, not in a gutter- too much trapped in doors for that kind of a shenanigan, fell down in Down. Drown out the pixelated axe chops and my pawns click click bang away the night.

chicken taquitos and an sore thumb.

my car creaks when i turn corners.
my oil needs changing.
i've got a great life staring down the barrell of my gun and all i can do is wish that the clouds would clear up so i could spin the stars and find my lost palm print again.

they say success comes. they say it goes. i don't really know- they want me to move cheese. patent Vee Bee scripts and fuckwitted me didn't cling to the it film when it came round. Now playing in corporate logons and Vee Pee Ends.

Some one kick me.

I need to wake up.

memory slip

thinking on a song, thinking on a dream, thinking on drumbeats soothing and telling me of pride had and left behind.. two twists to the left and i want to kiss my pillow and shuffle through half printed digital hiccups.. sun kisses my fingertips and through the diffused light i feel a day dream slip through my cracks, too bright to look away, too true to do much more than sigh off. somethings don't flow so well when reason and names are brought into the hush along and that's more so than less so and hearbeats repeat in the tropical rain soaked eve...
german wish purrs grace my hear lobs and a mistaken identity turns upbeat even for a moment when pop goes posh and unrecognizable. mostly though i think i've created my own language now. but this is all part of the afterglow of last minute decisions and split second snap offs, when you loose the ace in the hole and trade up for mystery and a chaotic chorus of strangers singing in time with words you never know.. save the universal... oh. yeah.
thought back on.
repeat clicked.
lighting up...
wondering if it takes more than a half blink..
seeing, the search even when i thought..
you've been the only thing that's been right in a life time...
intent
outsides
insides....
playlists.

sleep in a thimble

funny thing this, remembering.
i've had quite the dry spell lately, sketching, colouring, writing, finding inspiration.

and then i read something from far away and not so long ago and the light turned on inside me ed, and within an hour of reading a new star map had been sketched a new course plotted and
red read the inside of my thigh.
tomorrow i've a race to the finish for my team, boost their numbers, close cases, resolve issues in only half a months time. retain, reuse, recycle.
but before i can begin again, i must interview with the big ones. for a big position. the one that recommends me to it. night before preperations, polish the nails, dye the hair, lay out the makeshift suit.. roll l's off my tongue and try my best to relax.
early early. an hour and some change before my normal shift. groggy lucy, fluffy lucy, i'll do something grand for a change..
fortune cookie says, your success will astonish them all.

headlines

it's subreality here.
waking up to find a half read and a photograph of a bike under an explorer.
hands shake as the news comes in that he was a friend.
kareoke with the girls. payday dine outs. michelle's secret cuddle. disney. the tall guy in the superman shirt. saturday i didn't see it. sunday it was tagged along with another article. monday they wouldn't let it go. tuesday came and it whispered along another. most of his friends from work went to the funeral. but i could not leave due to position and meetings set for the day. but wednesday was the worst. a friend had the front page news and was upset that this photo had once again graced its pages. it took up nearly half the sheet of news.
i can't really write about it yet.
there is so much to say, but mostly i think those things will stay in my head, and in the low words spoken over coffee with our group of coworkers and friends that knew him.

the first story can be found here.

juice and the metal cup

i want to write. i really do.
Every time i sit down and start the familiar click clack my stomach jumps up into my throat and makes a mess of my fingertips and I can't focus.
i wish i were more like my sister.
instead i'm more like me, pouring orange juice in an aluminum metal cup, unfinished, metallic taste tanging up the orange. i sip on lukewarm soup wishing this nausea to go away.
i think everyone just makes excuses for me.

i'm tired.
i'm pointless.
and i can't write anymore.

too much past presenting itself in dreams in swirls in match points in "we're all grown up" in it at all. i'm going to curl up, i'm being stood up at the moment, and round eight i'll be made to feel guilty for not going out earlier.

i'll bathe.. read another book, that will be three in this past weekend.. i'll try to sort this muck, and try it all again... tomorrow..