gentle choke excerpt

Crickets are my downfall, my Kryptonite (I really don’t care about the correct spelling of that)

Just add a few crickets in the background of any song, movie, whatever, and I’m getting all nostalgic.

Walking down 12^th early tonight I started wondering what it’s gonna be like this time, having to go back to Fort Erie, Fort Dreary, Fort Bleary, Fort Who Gives A F**k… easy, yeah, but caged by trees, rows of cookie cutter homes, yellow and brown the heat wave colour drone of southern onterrible, twelve-year old addicts and fifteen-year old mothers, flag waving f***s with flappin’ gingivitis…

Anyway… yeah, I started thinking bout crickets, how good it was gonna be to hear crickets. What the f**k is up with that? I miss what? The only really good thing about going back is f****n’ crickets? Yeah, f*****g crickets. Like lapping tides, the kursh of neon lights, thunder, and rain hitting the thin canvass of a tent to name just a few. Crickets.

Now, as I walked down 12^th street I imagined and saw myself walking down a street in Ridgeway, the two juxtaposed, watery realities lucid and entwined, and I realized I had transposed time…I placed the notes on a sheet then banged the keys like a drill sergeant. If time could be radically altered and played with in words, why not in actuality? We all can swim, wade, run, walk, float, in our own realities, but when it comes to performing in front of others we call it stark reality, and we demean our true realities by calling them dreams. Our minds kick moon sands, our thoughts eternal and ever searching. Pin pricks of light tearing exponentially until the whole sheet has dissipated and only an all encompassing chaotic array of information thunders down tsunami wise, no bright light, no flame, nothing pillowy soft, and no stalactite slime drip implication hell. Just whatever is really f*****g out there. Bands of youth attune their senses by roaring through jungles and being nothing but fully aware.

 

Reviews

[Sweet_pale_cacophony]

We all can swim, wade, run, walk, float, in our own realities, but when it comes to performing in front of others we call it stark reality, and we demean our true realities by calling them dreams..'we demean our true realities by calling them dreams'..only you could have written this..that line blew me away.You have a soul which is so free that it is beyond grasp of mortal and grounded..:)

[Vesa Lee]

This is equal parts poetic and narrative; you slip into and out of both effortlessly.
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Like lapping tides, the kursh of neon lights, thunder, and rain hitting the thin canvass of a tent to name just a few. Crickets.
>>>>
I don't come across pieces like this very often, but when I do I am almost always sure to enjoy them. This being no exception. ^-^
Great write.

[jenniewren (J.W. Bouwma..]

Like lapping tides, the kursh of neon lights, thunder, and rain hitting the thin canvass of a tent to name just a few

that line holds a lot of beauty.. your stream of consciousness writing is so engaging.. i can just about hear your smile as you tell it

[Emily Burns]

Hey, I like it! I want to come back to it. Sometime when I don't have a six year old chirping in my ear. This bears reading again.