Monday 20 September 2010

Daughter of Beach

A giant dreamed about a guy who was a sleepwalker in Norway. Far north under rainbows, the giant lived in a fractured castle made of glass and ice. The aurora bourealis and polar sunset-less horizons scooped and turned upside down expressions of apathy. Daylong haze of mauve and purple gave everything a passive angst. To the edge of a cold shore, a bizarre inlet catching angles of light, one could almost make her out under the surface. Down there - to her, he dove. A statue of a women with a permanent peaceful gaze and stone rivulets of flowing hair. Every night and not on clockwork odd and stumbling this lanky graceful alien, to himself was pulled through invisible and turbulent passages of crisp coolness. Kissing skin and transferring dreams.
The giant would toss in sleep and crack all that shit beneath.

Thursday 16 September 2010

whatcha makin?

Without anticipating anything, a blank slate in a larger dirtier terrain,

he squeaked his feet
through the sand.
Trudging happily to the edge of the water

and then standing there. The wall of the room shimmered
and lightning bugs spilled into the room
with all the style and frenetic turbulence of angry wasps.

The ocean scene with its distant oil rigs

on the horizon splashed up and creatures lapped coarse tongues into the air.
Capturing lightning from their glass wings.
An icicle with rainboid transparent smears coating the room.
Something to appreciate, an idea- to travel on from. Or with.

He enjoyed what he had and didn't expect anything more. And that was what made it suggest a vaster range. Mostly it just made creating that much more intense.

So much going on, and it seems like a bunch of nothing sometimes.


If you think you think you should heed the warning of your mother and sister and not risk uncertain sorcery,turn to page 25


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