Monday, May 2, 2011

In The Art of The Moment.

In all that time, the flashlight had never stopped shining.

It’s easier to feel alone when you know there is no real alone. Like when taking a shower in a hotel room and you move in time with, but don’t notice, the rhythm of neighborly love.

We’ve tried our best to keep it here, hold it down-pat. Like any hoe-down, those who live on the outskirts get too drunk to keep going. It’s never long before there’s only a few canes leaned against the wall and velcro orthopedics scuffing the floor. But he’ll be there, in the corner, with that shiny smile in his eye.

The glare off the mirrors can be the worst, before the light refracts and it is all white. I just want to go to sleep.
Where is something more boring?

And he’ll tell you just what you wanted to hear, but never knew that you could. You will assume that he must be talking to someone else. Someone behind you. It is a big party.

Broken hips, every night, for i-don’t-even-know-how-long, we’ll keep trying. Nothing says we ain’t gettin’ it right.

I still don’t know what all these colors are, I seem to see them all the time. I guess they don’t really bother me, but i want them away. Not here. I want that boring again that i can’t really remember. I know it was good.

Pulling the beam of light left to hold on another couple for a moment. Make them feel the heat of the moment. Look up then kiss, this is special.

People are funny.

She didn’t seem to really like my story about the triple rainbow. She told me my life is too mundane for her to associate with me any longer. I told her this doesn’t mean anything.

It’s always a bitch to find the batteries. Every time the flashlight drops it’s like they instantly flee, as far from their dark plastic containment as possible.

The man leaves a picture of himself for someone else to find.

They probably just want to experience potential energy’s art. You want credit,
I understand.