Writers Are Dead

Spontaneity is the love we make while hatred is somewhere we rather not look; all I see is the face of passion which wears the woman I hold.

A lion is crowned in the jungle of mankind as he runs the stride of indivisible invisibleness; petals of lace cannot be seen by the hunters chasing him as they disguise the trail. There sits his lioness on the hill of determination if only he can expose himself for a while he might make it to the vision lest he be deceived by a machine the kingdom is somewhat dreaming; as he begins the journey without her the season of change begins.

I forget where I am; looks to be a garnet wedding. Must be my companion the long haired man Samson; his mane now belongs to the hind of his legs.

"Where are we?"

"Somewhere amongst vines..."

"I didn't even see those..."

"I didn't see them either..."

Our audience is a pair of chipmunks with gatherings of pine and acorn in a neat pile next to their crossed sitting position; they watch the lesson of human intimacy for a fast of intellectual sanctuary.

I speak to them softly as she searches in between the berries.

"Watch carefully...watch what she does to me...one moment if I can catch it I will get her back..."

The monks of chipper acknowledge one another with a perk of a brow; this man must be madder than a nut gatherer is their mutable thought.

"Tiger........does a wild cat purr?"

"Not yet..."

"Will he ever?"

"When I come again..."

"Will you always come back for me?"

"Butta you are focking crazy!"

Must of been twisting inside the dimensional realm of mental captivity again as I am eating the nuts Pickle gave me; this is the name of one of the nutty rode ants with tufts of afro puff fur who comes to visit me after work.

"Butta!"

"Sista..."

"Give him back his focking nuts! He worked all focking day for those focking nuts!"

"I worked all day too!"

"Yes well I got you these instead..."

Martha Stewart inspired a clear bag decorated outwardly in vines tied with a gold metallic rope hosting an array of sun dried prunes, apricots, raisins, and a curious golden cocoa spherical sticky sweetness.

"What's the date?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

"You don't know how long you been here?"

"No..."

"How do you know what day it is..."

"Everyday passes into night; what is the difference?"

"There is none I guess..."

"Then why do you ask about the time?"

"I asked about the date..."

"What about it?"

"Do you want to go out on one?"

"What do you mean?"

"I will take you out. I want to show you something..."

Snow is a differing argument of geometrical equations which falls from clouds floating in the sky; this I witnessed as I thought of myself to be a child. My companion of mysterious formation is dancing to a hop over the ledge where a frozen shallow lake we on occasion take a duo of boards connected with a metal ramp to slide down the mountainside. We will meet in the center of flat soft plush piles of frost for the big jump, I need to see what is on the other side of this drop.

"Do you see what she does to me?"

The chipmunks unanimously agree; this woman drives me wild.

"You are the craziest driver I ever rode with!"

"I never drove a car before!"

"You serious....?"

"Yeah..."

"You learned from somebody; who was she?"

Not sure the name for this vehicle but it looks like a stingray with a top that opens on both sides with a skeletal sternum in the middle; the color is black. The man who gave it to us said the engine belonged to a Supra; his only interest was the body.

"Yeah American sports cars from those numbers they call the seven zero are very aerodynamic and sufficient slope for Japanese sport engines; fits really well in there too. I got one for you boys since that job you did for me meant a lot. There's a nasty black beauty I been keeping in a warehouse on the island; I'm taking the bitch out for a fuck."

Blue sparkling gems enchant me through the purity of fallen frozen hydroponics; I am walking towards treasure hidden by the pirates of winter.

"Diavolo? What is wrong..."

"I don't think he likes me..."

Chester is leaning backwards into a subway posted fence which abruptly drops in front of an underground step passage entrance; my pit of viper canine is exposing every single fang a bat gave his mouth for trade, they must enjoy his tail, maybe he does not need an antennae after all.

"Devil Boy...what do you sense?"

A strange string to strap of white embroidery is distant from the back pocket on his right side as a muse of mine purposely bumps him with the eagerness of a soft elbow. Diavolo is hesitant to move forwards as we all stop to witness a checkerboard without pieces fall into the dungeon of screeching aluminum; he desperately grabs the air for a dramatic catch.

"You are beautiful; what is your name?"

I am unaware small fluffy people with big ears choose not to speak English.

"I will name you Romeo; my brother read to me a play about two of destiny which pretended to be dead to thwart thine enemy. Do you think they were really?"

"Damn girl you look like a fucking ghost to me."

"What is a ghost?"

"A person who comes back for somebody."

"Who am I coming back for?"

"If you don't find them you will haunt this earth forever."

"Damn I can't say I like it here too much either..."

This man must find humor in such oddities; his laughter is deafening amongst a crowd of onlookers. Maybe I should not come out for the light of day; this cannot be avoided I suppose only the few with nature as him will notice. This I can live with or die; whichever matters little to me anymore. I came back for somebody.

"This is what you wanted to show me?"

"This is for you."

Waterfalls of mysterious origin chime with trip hop electronic symphony as constellations emitted from the Smithsonian's trusted conservatory illuminate through the liquid appearance. Reaching my fingers into the lucid shades of blue one particular topaz particle deeper than Atlantis is solid to my touch; this shocks my date into a trance which causes the illusion to fade into a seismic style graph.

"How did you do that?"

"Do what..."

I wonder what kind of creature this must be; he is gorgeous and adorable. I wish he was taller with creme of brulee skin tender to my tips; if the color of his eyes were this I would stay inside of his vision for eternity. The fluff of this child is so gentle with hypnosis; if the dream I dream could be a tuft of sunshine ray for strands I will dream of him forever.

"He must belong to you..."

She is resting upon a shade of grass under a tree which blooms only for grey; her look upon me is an understatement of knowledge.

"He belongs with you..."

"You belong to someone..."

"What makes you say that?"

"It's what doesn't make everybody else say that is why you should be careful."

Some humans appear from nothingness to enlighten me with sustenance. I watch him clad in a white trench coat to white dress trousers into a set of white square tip boots slide his NY cap backwards for the driver of a stretch limousine.

"Quasi you think we ever going to get Uncle Moe to understand what we mean?"

"You talking to that bike again!"

"He has ears instead of brakes."

"One of these days you are going to run into the lobes of this city if you don't listen to your self!"

"Bianca! Those are wolves you play with!"

"I do not know what about wolves makes you a worry."

"They devour babies!"

"Tis a fallacy, I am a baby to you; I am a whole piece."

"This I see..."

"He is beautiful....I miss him......"

"Who?"

Mighty is playing drums with a set of empty bowls left over from the soup kitchen while Zoomy is spitting the tension of an underworld above ground; people are listening outside shifting there heads to left and right as I watch.

"The clock stopped ticking..."

"I wonder why that happened..."

"Happened right when you walked in......!!"

"What does that mean to you?"

"It means I'm dead and you brought me back to see my self."

"What am I to you?"

"The woman with a cloak and a sickle."

"Ophelia I understand that business changes with the people but I cannot change for people."

"People never change, just what they desire..."

"People are their desires!"

"Maybe desire moves them but people are what we will always be."

"What is that?"

"Adaptive for the environment; this is always changing."

"What if it stays still?"

"Then we will be the environment."

"As of now we destroy it. Change for adaptation must be wisdom. How do we find it?"

"Find what..."

"Wisdom..."

"From Crimson..."

Mighty is the maddest drummer a head for talking could ever lyric for a dream I am writing; Zoomy is off the red bricks with this one as I sit watching a long white Lincoln pull into the empty parking lot outside the door window.

"Who?"

"You sound like an owl..."

"I asked you so many times I beat the other owls for a night call."

"I am not even sure why I said that."

"You need to find out!"

"Damn Shorty that guy is flier than Supa Dupa with black diamonds!"

"He's got somebody with him."

Zoomy zooms a trim for the leaves of Romaine somebody donated; actually came from Italy how strange while Mouse checks the refrigerator, seems as though we all just keep going no matter who walks in...

"There you are..."

"I never did catch your name Sir..."

"You can call me Ice..."

"You can call me Leo; that's what the lady inside the hookah room calls me when I bring her tea."

"You know her well.....?"

"I know she is well."

"I used to stay with her sometimes..."

"Hhhmmm.....who do you come with?"

"His name is Brad."

"He looks interesting..."

"He's got some bad news..."

"I do not interest in news."

"Mauve if you catch him will you please give him a message for me..."

"Herald I will chase until I am dead."

"More than you will ever know..."

"What is the message?"

"Black and white is not a marriage. Pictures never tell a soul. On the front page he will find her whenever he needs to know."

"What does he need to know?"

"Why you feel the way you do."

"The way I feel for him is outside the news."

"Yes but the reason you chase is inside of it."

I am here indefinitely it seems; peripheral paraphrase of possession informs me of dreams. My memory is a cognitive response mechanism as I am sensing the situation with odds against me; I am deaf and blind in a place I cannot find. If I leave this mapped area will it leave me? I am without my own self to determine; this is a continuing disease of misery. Several contribute to the outline of nightmares which bids me. They read as I am aware; I wonder their intention as they stare. I wonder if they are there at all as I am here. They must surely know I am the illicit numbness which they fear; this must be the origin of instigation as I analyze depth of a game I do not play. If I am not playing who is the opposition? The board is a set of checkered spaces fallen down a subway terminal. Maybe they go down looking for it; I am on the train. I only play with wolves. If you are not one why do you run away? I am here for keeps while the player plays to win. I am not a prize; what is the purpose of hiding shame? I wonder what I would of done if I was in their position as we often do when we are in a position we do not choose. At least I am dead. Maybe I am paranoid; the peculiar nature of paranoia is logic of chasing the dream or nightmare...