sorry bunny

sorry bunny

Thursday, July 14, 2011

there is a lot of time for everything. part 1.

Cold Ray One

"Yaai WOa!" baby screamed wildly. Blonde curls. Straight dark. Clelboy the Cowboy, walked into the cafe, cafe Vita, life of coffee, life of tonic. "Tell a sonic story baby...", the baby as an elder whispered to him as he passed. "And the reason all the things we talked about exist, because if they didn't we wouldn't be around to talk about them..", balling. Bailing in moments too, in Brooklyn on his old rooftop, or was it Jesse's, while the sun was rising. Did that really happen? Snow covered, and marked leprosy ran in the family. Him arms warmed up to the sun sometimes and melted like molded wax. Ran feathers down his spine, to breathe. The weight of his hat, the rim large and rounded with grim remarks on reality, stones and bones, dead animals, mmm. But to look down before the hot sun arose, catch a glimpse of a fever beginning, stewing in the summertime sea of people.

He them they we, came to New York after some romanticized idea of what the world Could be like. Dirty. Dark. Loving. Creative. Hard, but not too hard. But, part past love and part past desire and part past abandonment, and deep inside yes I did hear a scream, was a seed, dark dirty wet mushy loving. Sit with yo shitty sity-mouth. A different city here a different city there, and all he could say is, there is some comfort is putting your butt in a small puddle of rain and cigarette smoke. Dust. Spit. Shit. And it is all okay. You.

[Oh you. Both a baby and a lover. My father. My grandmother. I heard you singing to me as child laying still scared of the dark and unknown. I felt your bones against my bones ingrained when we were the same age, and singing from our heart chords, outloud, so out in the loud, how can we keep from believing this incest disturbing?]

A sea of people raise their hands, their heads above water. The water, buoyant, lifts the crowd to surfing level. When you fall, you float. When you rise, you fly. This is the valley, the city, the convergence of energy unlike a mountain. And then, so much the inverse. And I suppose distance to the center of the earth can be described as the inverse square root of the distance you are to the nearest mountain top, of the inverse square root of the density of species. Love like layers, love is energy, love covers like a see through blanket. If you want to breath, can you give me some space too?

And so Clelboy the Cowboy, left the city, and headed towards the woods.

And where this story starts is the point of his own recognition into a world that surges and protects at once. Where holography is the study of human development. Of evolution. I believe my cats can see. And Clelboy, out in the woods with one Violin, scratched it to raise the clouds away, and keep the rain from ruining his hot summer day, alone, away, high up on a mountain top. He sat with his back to a stone, shaped like a chair, and peered over a cliff for hours, as birds soared down and targeting pin-points of space to fall to, knowingly and for fun.

Oh and in this watching, a scene was set for neutrality. Nothingness. For it to be filled. With.

"this is my sincere hope that you'll float. baby I love the way your skin hugs, a matter runs, with your sliver in silver of shivers and riverring. It's not such fancy word garbage, I mean it. The way you lift your finger. Well I see a ring fall. And that ring symbolizes, how we can never forget, and always remember, and always forget and never remember. That we are seriously in some way the same people who starve and shit in streets. Aren't we all kind? blind, stepping in the same time line?", said she. Whispered she into breath. But she was getting old and her lungs like heavy lead, and as she hoped, got lifted. Then put petal to the foot. Then realized her home was the ground beneath her feet, her soles. And 'er she goes... This is my sincere hope. That a rope will keep on being a rope. First the cotton, then the manilla, then the polyester. Each one, a Pattern Integrity.


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