BadfishBones's Xanga

Thursday, August 30, 2007

Thu, 30 Aug 2007 00:23:53 GMT

She has raven hair which suits her perfectly. It falls over her bronze shoulder and rolls over curve of her clavicle. The sheets are drawn tightly around her body, proof that she does in fact steal the covers, but every line, every curve and peak and valley of her perfect body beneath shows through the thin satin, so I make no attempt to retrieve them. The morning sun lazily bleeds through the cracks of the drawn blinds as if it has traveled those million miles for the sole purpose of resting itself with her. The shadows don't seem to mind as they softly recede to the warmer underside of her body. She is asleep and smiling. She always smiles in her sleep an I never fail to find it amusing. I can only imagine where such peace and happiness come from, but I like to imagine it has something to do with my being there. I move to get out of bed. She always seems to know when I am awake and as I am about to get up she stirs just enough to wrap herself tightly in my arms. This small gesture implying that she isn't ready for me to leave is my favorite moment of the morning and because of it I find a few extra moments to spend there. Her hair falls all around me and the warmth of her breath skims across my shoulder. I move to get up. She sighs, smiles, tucks herself tightly within the sheets, and gives me an " I love you, Husband". I tell her, " I love you, Wife." This is sort of a running inside joke, but in truth, I think we both just really like the sound of it. "Have a good day, babe. Can't wait till you get home to me," she half whispers as she falls back to sleep. I steal a kiss before she does, then close the door behind me. I pause for a moment on the other side more amazed than the day before at how truly fortunate I have become in a matter of only a few short months. I am more in love every day. My heart will surely explode.

Saturday, August 04, 2007

Sat, 04 Aug 2007 19:47:41 GMT

I've realized the things I chase can only lead me away.

I remember I considered myself clever.

My words and work and efforts were much more than meaningless.

I thought I could make the buildings,the city, and everything within them mine.

But I became suspended among the vapors within them.

As one of the abstract, I fell out of place in the ever changing potrait

And haunted the image we all, together, create.

May my failures and wanting be compressed into only a season’s lifetime,

dying gracefully so I can witness the red and golden tones of the sun rising through the city again.

Keep me unafraid when the light changes against the windows and on the skyline.

With the darkness retreating at my back, assisting the movement of the clouds in half-light, may any sadness be refused.

When my indifferent bliss has lost it's value,

I must prevent myself from living out my excuses.

She tells me she loves me.

I am

In flames.

For the first fifteen minutes in five years,

I forget that I am not fortuneful.

She is a brilliant star, racing across the dark.

One to chase and lead me away.

And everyday I am kissed the sweetest goodbyes I've ever recieved.

Monday, February 19, 2007

Mon, 19 Feb 2007 18:07:05 GMT

Though her sleeves concealed her sores, I could see the edge of a round, rose colored blemish protruding onto her wrist. During our time together, on the day before, I could have sworn I smelled roses. At first I thought it might have been her perfume, but as the day grew warmer the scent was more that of decaying flowers. I know, now, that her pockets were most likely filled with the petals. By now, everyone knows that posies are no true deterant for the Plague, but every little bit helps, I suppose. Her eyes are full of sadness and fear. I give my best effort to console, and at the same time, fear is enveloping my mind. I know she’s infected me as well. My sadness is that I will have to watch her fade first. My thought are of the horrid moment when I must lay her upon the pyle and set her body ablaze and the thought of my own corpse on fire, soon after, offers no comfort. Through the window, I can hear a small voice singing the chorus.

“Ring around the rosies

Pocket full of posies

Ashes, Ashes

We all fall down.”

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Tue, 06 Feb 2007 17:48:44 GMT

A little word of advice. I'm sure you've heard it before, but here goes. Just be true to yourself. If it lands you in hell, well at least then you'll know.

Monday, January 29, 2007

Mon, 29 Jan 2007 17:40:06 GMT

The convex nature of my eyes confusing my perception of your depth is both the excuse for and the root of my apology. I outstretched my hand, in hopes of grasping that something you showed with your smile to be attainable, and felt the air wash across my fingertips as you pulled away. In this moment, the disclaimer in my mind spells out the need for caution, as wants may often be farther than they appear. Intangible and perpetually fleeting, my desires have become as stale as two-day-old beer in which cigarette boats float about. And speaking them is harder than trying to screw the top back on. It would have been a fine time to fake a seizure to have felt your lips on mine. My liberties sought to abort my sanity, for fear of sleeping alone. I apologize, accept the stab to my back, revel in regret, mourning the moment you left me bleeding on the floor. It was my mistake, as I should obviously never have been so relaxed knowing a killer was standing in the room.

Between a rock and a bottle, a rope and a needle, confusion directs me three steps past the line drawn with your foot, which was erased, then drawn again, a pattern which has been repeated a thousand times over. All the time you spent crying wolf for a savior, now the wolf is the only one answering your call. The moon's full and I finished off the tranquilizers hours ago. Your red hood is no match. I know you'll never truly be ok, but things tend to work out right and if not right, towards compromise. I’m pleased as piss to announce that gluttony is my giving tree. A crucifix never was as effective as a four-leaf clover anyway. I would have settled for being laid like concrete if nothing else at all could have come of it.

And as I drift off tonight, I’ll rehearse the song I’ll sing for you on Friday and words will seem louder in my head than I'll want to shout them out.."At the right place, at the right time, I’ll be dead wrong and you’ll be just fine. And I won’t have to stop doing fucked up shit for anyone but me. And at the right place at the right time it was worth standing in line for you, my little devil, to know I’m alive."

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Tue, 23 Jan 2007 17:44:50 GMT

If I could find her

Like a plane crash that never reaches the ground, I would fall ever faster for her. And her voice would be the sound of sirens racing to a fire, promising rescue. Under my breath, in my own selfish way, I'd tell her I'll love her forever.

Thursday, December 28, 2006

Thu, 28 Dec 2006 16:34:11 GMT

Sorry I'm late. I was out spoiling my liver. The sun was up for far too long today and I can't see straight, but the two of you look awfully pretty. I wanted to be here earlier, but I've been awake for far too long today thanks to the sunshine and ephedrine washed down with cooking wine. I thought I'd chase it with milk, turns out I was drinking bleach instead. I'm just tired enough, if I closed my eyes I'd sleep for days. You're fucking beautiful. And we're strong enough to burn away too much wasted time? You think those flames are hot enough to lighten the air under my wings and carry me through this? Nah, probably not. What a dumb idea. I'm just tired enough, if i close my eyes I'd sleep for days and days. You sure are a sight for sore eyes.

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Tue, 28 Nov 2006 20:08:23 GMT

I spent the night awake....again. Laying in bed with a train of thoughts racing through my head. It's a pointless thing to lie there like that. No one thought ever reaches completion. Just fragments of could be's, might be's, wish it would have been, christmas shopping, what was her name, what if I do this tomorrow, what if, will I have the money for that, where can I find the time for this...... all fragments. Though I lie there for hours with these thoughts bouncing back and forth, ricocheting off of the inside of my skull and back again, I resolve nothing. My dreams hold more value to me than these thoughts, yet they never come soon enough. So I finally got back out of bed at about 3a.m. I Flipped through the channels, infomercial after infomercial. Why does Chuck Norris think that I need to buy a blow up ball for three easy payments of only $39.95 when I can go to Toys R Us and get one for five bucks? As a matter of fact, why is Chuck Norris trying to sell me anything? Shouldn't he be out karate chopping some columbian drug lord played by some bad acting extra somewhere? Since when does Chuck Norris sell out? And on the next channel there's Mickey Rooney trying to sell me a hoveround. I don't know about you, but I don't remember my Grandma ever staying up past eight o'clock, much less 3:30 in the morning. Which leads me to the conclusioin that hoveround marketing is years ahead of it's time. Preparing masses of insomniacs in their twenties for complete hoveround domination 50 yrs from now. Selling their product 50 yrs in advance, what a strategy. I finally tore myself away from what must be some kind of subliminal hypnosis ( you people know what I'm talking about. You've stopped on an informercial only to find that 20 minutes later you're still watching it when you could care less about the product advertised) turned off the tv, rolled a j, and made a leftover-from-Thanksgiving turkey sandwich, no plate of course. Who wants to have to wash dishes for a sandwich. Not me. I sat there on the couch, turkey sandwich still in hand, and sparked the sensimilia. That's the last I remember until I woke up at 7. Two sllices of bread still in my hand, turkey in my lap, and a half smoked j sitting in the ash tray. I always thought you had to eat the turkey to get sleepy from it, but apparently it works through osmosis too. Who'd have thought. So, if you've never learned anything else from my writings, and I doubt I've ever said anything worth retaining anyway, remember that I was the one who proposed the theory that Tryptophan ( that chemical in the turkey) can be effective through osmosis. A cleverly placed slice of butterball should do the trick. I will soon begin producing the Butterball Patch. It will be available over the counter at your nearest drug store for the sole purpose of curing insomnia. Side effects may be and are not limited to ecoli, salmanila, difficulty urinating, shortness of breath, swollen throat, brain tumors, bird flu, herpes types A and B, snoring, clogging of the arteries, morning wood, sudden death, etc., etc, etc,. The Butterball Patch isn't for everyone. Consult you physician to see if the butterball patch is right for you. Women who are nursing or pregnant should not use the Butterball Patch. Smoking increases the risk of developing these symptoms. " camera pans to butterfly landing on the nightstand and ....cut". !!Brilliant!!

Monday, November 06, 2006

Mon, 06 Nov 2006 01:00:16 GMT

I sat there on the cold ground with the salt burning in my eyes as the tears ran down my face and soaked my shirt. Mixing with the blood from my wrists as I wiped my cheek. I couldn't stop shaking.my muscles twitching uncontrollably. Teeth grinding tight , the front four scraping as my jaws came together. Unable to speak out. The weight inside my chest pushing out violently then pressing shut so tightly that I could almost feel the point of suffocation between breaths. I pressed my face against the the brick wall, soaked with my sweat, and my tears, and my blood. I pushed the metal cylinder to my teeth. The metallic taste firing through the nerve endings as I bit down.My thoughts slowed and fell away like an ember turning to an ash. All the fire cooling. I thought about her again. The tears stopped. And I knew what I had to do.Minutes later, I'm walking down the sidewalk. A crowd is gathered on the opposite side of the street and I am drawn towards them. My legs taking over as if in an involuntary reflex. I cross the street thinking to myself how effortless a task this is. Only seconds earlier, the avenue was filled with the business of cars whizzing by; almost as if the drivers on the near side were all speeding towards what must have been something spectacular and not worth missing, given the hurry they seemed to be in. While the drivers on the far side seemed have already been there and could not get away from that place quickly enough. But as I found myself in the middle of this street, there was no traffic. No cars to dodge, no people walking. Nothing but the still city, the frozen crowd on that far sidewalk, and a soft, dry wind blowing across my still bloody shirt. My foot touches the curb and the city resumes. I step into the crowd. I attempt to speak to a woman. She is beautiful with long, red hair. She is very professionally dressed and groomed. I want to see what color her eyes are, but I cant as she is looking up. I wonder what she is looking at. I turn around to attempt to speak with some one else. A man. There is nothing distinguishing about this man. Average height. Average build and looks. Completely average. Absolutely nothing about him would ever make seem distinguishing to anyone. I think about how funny it would be to watch him in a police lineup. He would be the guilty man and the eye witness would never even recognize him due to the fact that he was so very average looking. And how he would simply walk out of the jail house and fade right back into the crowd never to be found again. I attempt to speak with him but he only stands there looking up as well. As I look around myself I come to realize that everyone in the crowd is looking at some far off thing above them. They are all completely silent as they watch. I look up too. There is a building in front of us. As my eyes pan up I see the front lobby and above that, thirty or forty more stories.Atop all the windows and people wandering aimlessly within them, no doubt fulfilling some mundane and meaningless office task, there is more concrete and glass stretching toward the sky . By the time I can see the top of the building I can only make out the silhouette of the structure meeting the blue sky. There is something else. Breaking the sharp lines of the building against the sky there is a figure. So small, but undeniably a person standing at the edge of the roofline. The silence of the crowds awe becomes broken as some begins to cheer. Then the others follow. "Jump. Jump. Jump....", over and over until their voices fall into perfect unison and they continue. Their cheers are so loud that I cover my ears, but continue to look up. The figure falls and everyone grows silent. I watch. Story after story he silently falls. His arms are outstretched and he falls gracefully in an almost swan dive position. He falls. Second after second he becomes closer and more visible. He is going to land at my feet, but I am frozen. He continues to fall and then..... He pauses, at my eye level. His arms are outstretched. His jacket is caught by the air within it. His head tilts upward and as I see his face and he looks at mine I realize that the man falling is myself.

I remember the look on his face everytime I think of this. That look scares me more than anything ever has. He was...I was... content. I'm awake now, but I can't help but wonder why I would have this dream. More than once, even. More than that, why did I seem happy to have fallen?

That's not my life. Only a dream.Despite what I've written, I am happy with my life and am surrounded with alot of people that I care very much for. Anyone who knows me knows this wouldnt be me, but if anyone has an educated guess as to what this all means; I would like to know.

Monday, September 25, 2006

Mon, 25 Sep 2006 16:20:57 GMT