The Field
myflourescenceandmyterribleneed to say what is not what is and what ever shall be what is the future or the past when you stand on the bridge of tomorrow and you sway because swaying is all you’ve ever known and you want to feel good you want that warm rush of euphoria that comes from first love from first taste from first hit from first dance from first boots outta the box all outta the inside trying to fish and finagle its way out into the world
When you stand on the streetcorner and absorb the surroundings when you can smell your own terrible humanity your terrible dry weakness and the fact that one moment you’d never been afraid of anything in the world and the next minute you’re afraid of everything in the world including the cigarette butts that line the gutter and the fact that that stupid gutter has been there for a hundred years soaking up all the grime filth effluvia of a century what an occupation to be a gutter! Can there be anything worse! Maybe to be a sewer rat but I don’t know they don’t seem particularly unhappy do they. If the sewer is all they’ve known, what’s so bad about it to them?
There the question of perspective I won’t and I will, I don’t and I drill, I’ve never been I before and I is a shell of interaction anyway a pink blobbedy perserverance and pounding of hearts and lungs and brains and don’t forget ovaries those tiny but insanely painful little nodes that press on the rest of my body a painful reminder of the fact that im supposed to be procreating but no it can’t happen no it’s not in the cards
What does it mean to see? What filter of mindlessness comes to shine down on the objects that we perieve and the objects that are witwithin and without. What do we do with them when we have decided we see them what do we do with each categorization each percieved limit of understanding and the whole world recedes everything fades away except for that moment in time when the sun dips below the oceans edge before the sun makes that gilded awful searing line that tells you that the day is done you’ve used up your chances and you’ve spent your success, whatever success is on that particular day and in that particular field
When a field is a bunch of grass swaying in the wind all together now or a field is a bag of skittles candy that is a bunch of different colors but somehow becomes one color all together what does that mean? Is time a field on which we run and try to etch some meaning or is it a void field where we scrabble across trying to figure out our reason for being there, or to find the edge, or to scrape and divide the field so that one half is ours and one half is our ex wifes. I don’t know but im sure Ill spend my life trying to find out. What for the whiteness of the field, or maybe the blue green turning to brown green of the oceans depths, where great behemoths glide throught nightscapes that they love and that we don’t understand, where the great depths of an abyss are really the beginning of something, something else that I don’t understand but that might be the portal to another world, or might just be the lightest and most preternaturally earth bound place that there really is, considering that it’s the closest to the bowels of the earth and to her own utuerus of core
The fields that switch their own identity, the show one face today and then flash another tomorrow, the guy that one day has one face but the next is unrecognizable even though we know he’s the same person, his face altered by how much he did or didn’t drink the night before or whether he had any sleep or gave up smoking, point being that his face a malleable clay mask has turned pink and strange in the morning light at the bustop where we bum a smoke from him one day our friend next day a total stranger
And the stranger that strangers do, can you trust them or hate them, and which should your feeling be at the outset, especially men if you’re a girl, how do you see into their black hearts to know if they were the kind of guy to tie you up in the trunk and dump you off in the woods or were the type to ask you to their hotel room to ask you questions that were certainly intended to make you feel as if they’re going to dump[ you in the woods but then don’t do it which is more evil which is the monster walking around in the world and some of them have childrens’ faces those children who were never allowed to be children chained to their own walls never allowed to leave their rooms and suddenly thrust out into a world of people who all look like that original mother the screaming banshee of darkness
But the field is a field of poppies too a field of relief and a field of soft welcoming rest it’s just why is it that some people are dealt such terrible hands and some aren’t, why are some of us so lucky and some so tragically doomed, where does doom come from it certainly isn’t god what kind of god would doom a little three year old boy what reason is there for that I can never believe in something that says there is a reason behind that I refuse to ever think any good can come of that
And so the darkness descends but the darkness isn’t evil outside only inside people’s brains and consciousness and their destitute need to belong to something to someone and to love and to be heard and to play and run and be free like a child once more once more taking the wonderful droplets of light from the sky and making them their making each golden teardrop a universe, a terrarium a star
