Free Desire - 44

Her home does not belong to this earth,does not belong this pollution dust sweat and dream-less city.It belongs to her.Its her i-am-stranded-but-i-love-it island.Its the overcoming without apprehension...its her love,too secretive too strange too comfortable.And i could just belong...for hours.Let it (her) satisfy its ownership and quench,famished parched hours with slow filling sounds and words.
I walked those clouds and long roads leading to places we found,together,year after year,breath burning breath,hand leading hand,thought inspiring thought...And still I cant get used to it,it disallows,it begs to be seen,to be photographed..not by a camera...because its not stillness that is worth the capture...but its flight,movement and journey. Somewhere in corners there are places to hide,feel young,feel undiscovered.
There were evenings we spent on our tower,climbing spiral staircases,always in the frenzy of wild uncultured tortuous expectation..little feet,gaining height,gaining freedom...racing to leave the ground and let it escape below.The floor was as coarse and rough as our breaths.The simple finality of being up there...in the spaceship fuelled powered ready..a breathless countdown of launch into dreamspace....just a little sweat and the exhaustion...the heartbeats tripling and delirious.Joy.
Sitting there in her secret shelf...I heard her breathe...the expensive...the treasure, of the sound of your companion's breathing...the gladness celebration of your own survival and witnessing another birth.

My own lungs were burning.I love it here i said.I will always love it here,she said.

One day we sat on her bed.
I held a cigarette,
she killed the lights...
I wore calm
and she wore black...
I smelled of nicotine
She reeked feminine fatality
It was beginning.The fight.The enticing asthetic sin.Love.
And i let my cigarette ignite free something untamed inside.The cages i lock, the bars against which i press my head, the solitary.I let it out.My animal.

Shes a witch,a child of the voodoo..the proselytizing...the insane.But hiding magic from the rest of the world with accurate simplicity of a new born.She can...make me shiver.And she knows.

but nights end

I miss my spirit and hers
Sitting here

far away from free desire

Im not writing anything
I promised her that I will have a coffee
and I will

Some stories are really that simple
and
Passion is a Sin

"Suicide among birds. First feeling will be the freedom, then fear... Whatever, i always want to fly anyway..."



I have been watching for quite a while
attempts to prevent way finding and destinations
getting soft loose numb and dizzy...drunk losing mobility losing voice losing care, just losing..

My face suffers and becomes the hardest to hide..my disposition and spirit is more elusive...perhaps because its never surprising..to anyone..and only honest to a few.

Or maybe because i can handle un-hallucinate everything, loose faces bad haircuts dirty clothes sounds, mostly sounds...of laughter and the undertow drone of human voices muddy slurred sometimes angelic sometimes wicked and shapeless...
I have tried at times to explain what happens to me when i sit in the corner seat or better right in the fucking middle of a fast food joint and become clean....so clean that pollution is almost inviting and pleasurable.
Then the tidal wave takes shape... rising equalizing...squaring out and filling in...growing deep and constant...almost a chant rhythmic repititive and magnetic.
voices voices voices synchronized
controlled stray
vibrations drowning the traffic
and motion
silverware on porcelain
sudden cold conditioned artifical air waves from the hidden air conditioner
And then...the girl sighed..and I couldnt place her face in that sea of flesh...only i could hear it....and it sounded to me like glass breaking...in a Hall, a Tomb, a Midnight Monastery... ...uncovered unconfronted and uncompromised.As loud as the silence it breaks.

violence.self check.silencing.
Because I knew she was there
Someone I loved in this deep, amorphous kingdom of faceless freedom-less fools....sitting on the imaginary far side of the table,watching me,worrying,wanting,holding,breathing. And she did. And i did too. Only in those few passing gestures and moments I lost my chance. lost my will. lost the touch, the connect, the will to take both of us away from this planet. I gave up. And she saw.


http://x-horizon.deviantart.com/favourites/ - David Preissels own favourites...becomes mine too...quite naturally

"The present moment, however, is unmediated by the way we tell stories—no author/authorial tricks or teases, no techniques to enhance or degrade or hide until the final act. And that's tough. When you're the Narrator. To let that compulsion go. To fail is to live perpetually in the past or the future, trapped in descriptions, in structure, interpretation. Simulacrum. Sitting on the train I'm shaken by the beauty all around me and the heaviness of leaving, projecting the writing of a letter with a fever wanting perfection"