Corpsepuscle

My mind is melting down itself, in to a wide wide ocean of cranial horizons and towering ceilings gleaming with red glow. I am in my mind, and I only see red. The red stains my hands, stains it from the liquid seeping onto me and stains it from the blood boiling inside of me. The flesh on my arms seems more real than ever. The clarity is cardiovascular; I’m enlivened to manic proportions as if I had been running in circles in place for hours beforehand. I’m sweating more than ever, but the sensation only accumulates into beads clinging all over my body. Nothing drops and nothing from my body mingles with the hellish landscape. Only the landscape induces change, change towards melting away. Everything is obvious, everything is coming to a climax, everything is on the verge. I feel hungry, I feel aroused, I feel poised for an ambush of tigers striated in patterns of open flesh and scorched meat, beasts as long as anacondas and as wide as the fear in my eyes. But the beasts are hidden, hidden all around. Their growls are engulfed by the whelm of blood and mists of fire that crackle loud and soft, near and far. The rock is afraid, the jagged fingers groping frantically from the retreating shores. It clutches me like I am the only chain separating them from the stabs of a thousand lusting murderers. The heat comes, I am roasting inside. What could a broiled boy, shriveled to an unwanted husk, offer? Sacrifice? My skin maintains a pink color, and my eyes are watering. It cakes a line of evaporated tears and human salt, and the eyes sting more. I know this is where it starts, where I splay open and the skeletal form of a prostrate corpse begs before the onslaught that has already killed him. Belief in death – believe in death and the essence of destruction gurgles in a gourmand’s delight, the confused shriek and only look inwards. If this world of mine could collapse before I do, if only…

Space-Spanning Dream

Tiki hut at the end of the galaxy in a world of night, rock, and civil oceans. Skies as starry as the shattered ice in the two sipper’s glasses reached up from both horizons at either shack-side. The bartender went behind the display of layered liquors some time ago, so I have started humming to the stars. The two sippers were here before me and I feel like they will be here a little longer. The threshold of thick timbers are wet with a recent storm and, like water purling off the Cliffside, I am drawn out the portal as if the lone bartender cupped a hand on my shoulder and moved me on my surefooted way with assured words of parting. It may be the last time I exit that tiki hut. I open my arms wide to the outside, to the deep night and the starlight. The moss underfoot opens itself as wide as the black rock of the unending cliff. They touch like soft green leaves against the smooth bark of a branch, oblivious to any low and cold place. I have come this far afield, to see a stellar spectacle as if it had never hid itself beyond view of time in space. Like the cliff standing and gazing past the distant figures of islands, so too do I gaze at the slowly coursing expanse. You can watch a moment’s thought project into the zenith and it will sustain your mind until any morning. I loved the conversation of the two bar stool sippers, and I knew I loved this stretch of lone space as much. The moss held me, and I dreamed of the tiki hut under the span of all space.

Watercolor thoughts: Unclouded Impression

The plateau was a sponge. It whipped up into the sky. Its pores many big and small; colorful flowers grew in all of them. It was large enough to stand without sinking; I was floating. I wanted to run and fly, but my heart was already doing that. The plateau soaked up the vast sky and let a cool breeze from the sun-kissed warmth of its body. The sky was as open as my eyes, and I felt that if I thought clearly the sky would reflect in kind with equal clarity. I fell to my knees. I always had wanted to let go. The sun shone and the plateau grew lighter. It was growing towards the light; it thrived on the light. It synthesized the every shimmer of the sun. I clutched at the stem of a small bed of flowers. They didn’t come loose. They did not loose themselves; they could not be uprooted. They opened to me, floating to me like a small child gifting a token treasure to their mother. They had no unmoving roots. The entire plateau was drifting like a great wandering healer, with origins unknown and life-sustaining as the first fountain. Everything was given as pure as breathe. At the edge of the plateau the sponge bubbled up. The wind weaved itself between my toes like the rivulets of returning waves. I felt the limber stance of the plateau ease itself into my back. Rising and falling like shoulders in an embrace, neither rigid nor formless. It became me as embraces unite bodies. The plateau did not have the sentiment that separates two bodies, and I did not hold expectations or doubts on why it should allow me to be so close. I believed in it as much as the sky stretching before me.

1-3-2012

Light in runnels jetting from between the trees. This photograph is very simple, but the actual location where it was taken was a hidden haven. It was a series of interconnected clearings. Pond shaped ice tables, variegated white and black, lay in the center of them. The sun shined apart from the umbrage of the fuller woods beyond, lovingly unrestrained within the fringe of the forest.

1-2-2012

I went for my year's first photography junket yesterday. There was a bare area where the trees were cut to stumps, an open area in the forest just off the roadside. After some intrepid darting back and forth through the clearing, I found deep-set tracks trailing off into the proper wood. I chased down it to uncover some secret dwelling under the eaves of the deepest tree. There; a hare.

SOLLLLLITYUUUUUUUUDE!

And it's like there is no key for my imprisonment in this frontier land. Nothing but every sweat I suppurate for each lonely run I schedule and commit to each day. I need excitements not committed to, and nothing is offering. I exhort the execrably untimeliness of my seclusion.
A run would be better sweated with one sultry sexiness, wouldn't it? Or at least a friend with whom I could console with on the fact there are no bare-bottomed hotties running out from the greenwood and abreast our own wood-s. Yes, to see every fine particle of sweaty essence coursing unctuously down a slick-skinned spine and to the comely bone corrugation just above a jiggling hot ass. I can only smell my half-sex-smell as I recline on this table chair in a dark, tenebrous, desponding dining room. Not even the tap of sylph heels up the stairs in an ascent especially to greet me. NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!
Something unexpected! Something so ineffable and obtrusive that grabs me by the shoulders like the scruff of a wrongly stabled stallion and rides me to some ever-increasingly illuminated incandescent point of light until I am shaking and angled and cocked to heretofore unimagined vistas of utter bliss and unununmirthlessness. A sexual experience, a mono-course-surpassing galvanization that just screams "HEY, I'M HERE TO JUMP YOUR CABLES AND SATURATE those languishing lodes of your mental repository so that your brain convulses its locks off and lunges into the slickness of future-come as A FUCKING BEAST!"
Maybe if Summer Glau descended in a metallically mottled space gondola to my bed with some mellifluous incantation like " I am here to extricate you from this sub-space sepulcher, with me into the aether be revived." That'd be ... wild.

Pores in a bruised matrix

What a drab existence, when removed from what running days scudded by weeks past. Plans even fail to summon strength enough to gurney me up and away. Trying to get from this stagnation should entitle me something enjoyable, but I need more friends than the creatures sparsely bold enough to just cross my path.
Wildlife? Nothing so wild there.
Should a stab at night-waking suffice? I can barely drape my eyelids above these starry eyes. I'm mute to a verbalization to my surroundings, can't ruse myself out of relapse upon relapse into bemused boredoms. It bewilders myself.