maireandhsi

two dogs, two cats to keep me company. so i am not so lonesome. although horrific photos of various skin disease seem the most aptly rewarding companions as of late. two woodstoves to keep me warm. but with all the in and out, it seems a bit of foul language for the deaf. meaning.. for all its flash and gravity, unfortunately, inevitably, impotent. or it may be simply the result of chronic daydreaming. that these are failing. or i am failing. i vaguely recall adoring the cold. the only way i could recall a convoluted condition such as this. but possibly it was only the inhalation of frigid air. aching in my chest and massaging my ribs.
two small recorders. conjoined twins really, with the shared vitals of a mixing device. in attempts both infirm and ineffectual to produce.
bleeding from too many places.
"in such a world where everything gets told, the weapon that is both most readily available and most deadly is disclosure."
so why.
why this.
edition? some literary dimenhydrinate? a testament to moments of stability in my lingual vertigo. a crack at effulgence.
can only say. as to most things. i really am unsure.
and as with most times, i suppose now i have lost my way to the infinitude of topics. in writings of any nature, in drawing, in painting. on which should i focus? sights. sounds. the optical, the aural, olfactory, conditional, circumstantial, the romantic, the global, the local, the sexual. and more importantly, where to begin.
i can in my mind see how he sat with pads of legal paper. scribing start to finish of internal conflict.. if you'd take the spinal clump and fin off this one, it'd resemble a tiny human fetus. words come from the air. binocular. a condition with which to percieve spatial relations and depth. a condition with which to see. a pair of toucan. ramphastidae. the spark and spontaneity of the mundane. exorcising a block so terrifying that one becomes a hackneyed, exhausted paranoiac. suspicious primarily of him or herself and his or her most secret parts made all the more apparent and banal and tedious through two-dimensionality and unscrutinized productions.

essentially: the orchid blossoms fall in orgasmic refrain. a repetitious utterance or theme. they lie. sucked dry. pale in comparison to what they had once been when still intrinsically bound to their life spring.

and this is mostly what i can remember.
the ravens and cicadas. the former barking over the drone of the latter. dispassionately grinding the day to dust.
then the trees. disgusting pines. growing in unnatural directions never never toward the sun but seemingly always in an aversion of the apical meristem to what it had most recently produced. a visceral necessitous execution at any cost in any direction. dropping their needles in excess. so much so that everything in my memory is covered in rust colored spines. penetrating under and in between the white pebbles.
the key was on a hook in the side facing the door of one of the oldest trees. its corroded surface served as the ideal camouflage. teal asbestos shingles with brown trim. a moldy refrigerator, leaky sink, and defective sump pump sitting smuggly, obstinately in the ankle deep water that stretched across our swamp of a basement. i believe it was below sea level. and across the street from the river.
pornography was under the floorboards of an anechoic attic space. the carpet smelled of animal urine. windows stuck. but eventually came open only under hornet nests. an alarmingly high frequency of aids, autism, and cancer. and bicycle theft.
it's no remarkable wonder she passed. residing temporarily in the pages of the necrology.