The sun came out of nowhere, like a bar fight.

January 26, 2015 § Leave a comment

What if it’s all just jokes? Casper the holy ghost. What if it’s all just stones we get to throw.” – Kevin Devine – Between the concrete and the clouds. 

I waited for the drums to die out before I really started to think about what was going on. There’s no thinking to be done with the heavy rhythm so prominent at the forefront of my brain. The symbols smashed and the snare and the weight of that bass drum would have to cease. They did, and for the moment at least I was able to hold and form and move the thoughts around my head like unwanted food on a plate. Just pushing, no progress. I asked the same questions. I was stuck for the same lack of answers. I twiddled my thumbs and crossed my arms and breathed heavy and felt that temped frustration in the front right of my brain. Like dragging it all over carpet just in an attempt to feel something new. I’d smiled, I’d laughed, but I’d got no where. Was that the point? Was that the destination? No. It wasn’t. I’m in a lucky enough position to know what I want. Is that lucky? At least those who don’t know are afforded the blissful ignorance that allows them to dream. I’m stuck in the realisation that my salvation is not forthcoming and is boxed exclusively to one hope. One saviour. It all just became twisted wires along the way. That’s her problem. No fucking charm. No fucking love. I see it in her. I see the restless madness, I see the lost hope and the clinging and the wild eyed madness of a story that she thinks she’s finished but in actual fact is still just bleeding away. The story is her life, and it’s so far from over. Like mine. Like yours. Fuck, this one is starting to spin out of control.. Better pull it all the way back in here. The whiskey is starting to twist me all the way over. How I’ve come to feel a feeling of loss I don’t know. I miss her? Is that a thing. No you clinical fuck. You are emotionally stunted. You haven’t missed a person in years. When you did you were lying. You were exploiting and making capital. You are a cold hearted bastard. Just. Like. Everyone. Else. Fuck – Whiskey madness and blood dance. Things are about to get real weird around the – above the neck – region. My crooked mouth – my swollen tongue. For Brooklyn and madness and smith street and the way the statue of Liberty looks with the sun coming down behind it. The way it makes you feel as you trundle out of Manhattan. I’m pretty sure you could feel this one going of the rails. I’m pretty sure you could pull out your red marker and show the world where we started to slip with this one. It’s easy, you’re no talent, Freud would have a field day.

Let me stay ’till the morning I will sleep on the floor. And we can talk in circles no dollar figures, just what is owed and paid. Tonight’s not happening. When I got dry as a desert I got mean.

Tonight I am drinking all piece and warm.

The sun came out of nowhere, like a bar fight. And it knocked out the wind and it bruised me with light.

– And I felt grateful for living just like I feel tonight.

Simon Blake

No Longer an Astronaut.


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