w e ï r d i m a g e s
like a green sun rising and it’s so bright so everything’s blurry and there’s no mountains, because you’re on a mountain, and everything else it’s just flatland, flat land and just land, and there’s no sea to see and from every direction you look—you’re standing on the peak, the tip top—; from every direction you look it’s all flat to the horizon; and at the sunrise, when you see the sunrise coming up it’s green and you don’t really know why but it is so you don’t question and you just watch, just watch.
or feet lifting off a leather chair, jumping and hanging on to the ceiling fan above, hands gripping tight to the thing and normally it wouldn’t hold someone up but doing this isn’t normal, so it holds tight and then it spins—nothing’s pulled or pressed to make it spin, it just does—and it spins and it lifts and the person, that someone finds he’s now landing somewhere where there’s fish.
or like sliding out a window, hitting the air like it’s in a square room, and when you look around you notice the world around you’s all distorted like painted on walls and then you walk around, and you don’t know where to step because yeah it looks like you’re way above the ground, above the road outside your house, at level with your second story bedroom window, but you’re in a room, and it’s a big room and it’s on a slight slant so you walk around and you fear falling but as you keep walking you don’t, and you just don’t.
or like opening a book and finding that the book is reading you. wouldn’t that be neat, right? not sure how it would work yet, though; how would it work, do you think? Do you think?
or taking off a sock to find another sock on your foot, and taking off that sock to find another sock, and taking off socks and socks and socks until you realize that there will never not be a sock on your foot, and then you’re approached by several sock corporations; you’re revolutionizing the sock industry, the clothing industry because, you see, your feet are a scientific phenomenon, unexplainable in the sense that we have no idea how the hell it works and here you are with feet that provide endless socks and, by god!—you could clothe the whole world if people just took apart the stitching and stitched them back together, in t-shirt patterns and things; sure, it wouldn’t be entirely comfortable, a shirt made of socks, but it’s better than nothing, right? What is better than nothing?
or opening a door into a stomach, the stomach of a fat man and finding that inside is a hallway; it’s a small hallway but it’s a hallway and you crawl down it, and as you crawl down it gets bigger and bigger and you wonder if whether you’re still in the fat man because technically you are, but his insides are bigger than his outsides, by far, and everything is red; oh yes red, painted red, red tiles (the hallway of the floor is pink and red and white tiles and it’s all very pretty—you wonder who did the interior designing, and then you question your masculinity) and you finally come to the end of the hallway where there’s a room, and in that room is a bumble bee.
or finding something you never lost.
Sleep. Sleep seep wet let nest in bed in dark stark cold--jacketjacket--and down and busy and and and hand hold hand press and close and can you see it?--see the cityscaped skyline sk, rooftop tops below us, below, because we're on top you know--and band and no silly! Just bang. Just rumble dust-up city cracked, tax payers taxed to tack up, back together, never together just right. Right right what is right, right? And now building-collapse and fire escapes let none escape, led running-down feet hit iron, what iron?
Just mess, mess is only left is left what's left ringing in ears in ears in all these ears and who listens who and who and you?--and no, not you and damn. Just damn. And no. And don't and think and THINK, GODAMMIT, AND JUST SHUT UP JUST SHUT UP and think. And sleep.
(I don't even know what this stuff is, I just wrote it one night.)
