Here the clocks draw tendrils of red that drown by the time they surface.
#Light blue rug free#
Stygiomedusa / giant phantom jellyfish: In the stygian dark, what are memories but phantoms? Long snaking arms like the velvet form of a woman dragged deeper and deeper into her abyss resisting the pull of gravity and the yearning for breath, fingers free from the sun’s warm hold. The sleep of a kingdom, trapped in a dream.ĭay 759: studying medusae to kill time before it kills meġ. Such is the lure of beauty: enticing…and pulsating, like The insect in the darkness of a beak, resisting the call of death, like The spindle seducing Beauty away from the windows, to its shimmering, diamond head, likeīeauty to the sharp shine of the twinkling spindle…Ī touch, a drop of blood…a cold finger in a hot mouth…the rush of warm iron, coating the tongue like caramel…where does desire end and hunger begin?Ī dark dime of blood on her butterfly like finger, the pulse fluttering, like The hooked beak thirsting for the tender flutterby, like To walk the dim, damp stairs, as voices in the head seductively sing, die die die…Īnd standing atop, vertigo whipping a storm in feet, while the hard ground yearns for the soft of the body, waiting to have a life in its maws like
Nothing is more delicious than the siren song of self-annihilation. The butterfly to the sharp of the beak likeīeauty to the glint of the spindle in the seclusion of the dark, forgotten tower. The seeds of a dandelion, if dandelions were hued green and yellow, but I wouldn’t really know because it was already in a bird’s mouth as another avian watched,Īnd even from a distance I could feel the butterfly’s bulbous body crush, turn brittle, turn paste, turn mush in the jaws of the winged beast, its thorny beak powdered with the glittering down. The blue awash with the freshly woken sun shimmering across tufts of cotton while the air sparkled, likeĪ delicate butterfly, which fluttered by like Or was it his one true fate to battle the dark, all light swept under the rug, living in an upside down, where time is as farfetched as light in outer space? To atone for his body’s inability to be devoured by sleep, do you think he scrubbed the floors, dusted the windows, swept the streets? Did he wash his daughter’s hair, tenderly, with his tears? Did he gaze at the gates, in longing and in desperation, waiting for the lips of the man that would end their slumber?
Trembling on the edge of sleep, dreams and visions combusting into each other like planets and distant stars, all sparkle, no sound, because dreams are soundless or all memory of sound is rubbed clean as soon as the eyes flutter awake.
#Light blue rug tv#
The shadows shivering across ceilings… somewhere a conversation buzzes…in some other place the TV screams…or is it the computer or the phone?… the blues and the whites and the murky colors of the grainy rainbow lighting up the face(s), aurora borealis for the unsleeping awake, or the unwilling awake… Yes, the fairy godmother’s counter was to put everyone to sleep.ĭo you know how lonely insomnia is? It’s not enough that the night is stretched endless, every sound alive, every shadow awake there’s also time hammering against the skull, worming its way deep inside… the tick tick tick incessant, like drops pounding on a face one droplet at a time, long and prolonged, which is also a form of torture in some places, or maybe all places… When Sleeping Beauty went to sleep, her father smashed the clocks and drank the sands nestled in the hourglass.
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