Alien Landscape

way of the vagabonds.

you, my soiled teenage girlfriend.

while you bristle like a lioness at the constant whirrs of pictures, we still stayed true to the vagabond way.

living as close to death as we can, making sure everything is moving and decaying. never in limbo, never stopping. and never will we die with motion. we will just keep dying and never really do.

maybe no one will notice when we finally go.

even as a weak flower

from the seed planted in your heart oh so long ago, my wilting head still holds some life as it thuds against your quiet heart while you moved.

and in the depths of our darkest nights.

our tele conversations composed entirely out of clicking tongues and your ticklish murmurs, kept me alive even as things bang on all the doors in my head. in these depths and through the banging, i think of Amie and Hasini and of their great wounds and their gaping heads. and of my lachrymose Terrawatts with eyes of blue lightning. of the boy i'm forgetting how to love,

still, this nomad life has me wanting home.

the weather spinned under my my arms, reminding me of Nuri. feet always unplanted, always teetering and dancing ballet in duck boots, inspiring shuddering earthquakes. even as i grip the bed with gritted teeth, the fall seems so long and deep that Satyra and Twilight stop being ethereal. their solid bodies giving me bumpy dreams of rolling grass and rubber clouds.

these are the songs i whisper into the wind.

heavy with trepidation and laced with lingering hope, they shake windchimes into alarming screams. yet in my idealistic grandeur as a wielder of pen, i am but a beggar. always praying and pleading the Divine to grant me poetry and words now and forever, else i might just disappear. and maybe no one will notice when i finally go.

sadly.

even with certain innate memories nestled safely in a colourless chest which wisdom will one day unlock, many of us live underground, under soft pillow-hearts, under sewn eyelids and fear of each other.

innate memories where fewer and fewer seem to realise that

together we are a vast concoction of multiverses. yet compared to arcane wisdom and the Power of Divinity, we are crammed together in a single grain of sand on a strange beach in the world of the Outside. sometimes they call it the world Within.

so, forgive me for wanting to come home. vagabonds like you and i oscillate and our nausea robs us of taste. we roam within a pit. a beautiful spheric pit it may be, but we see nothing but movement. as Connor says, a line progresses, a circle does not.

and that,

it's fine if you keep moving, friend.

but i'm headed home

Posted by NHJ 11/26/2005 10:49:00 pm

Saturday, November 26, 2005