Description: I just thought, and wrote and let my subconcious take over, and I re read it and was actually really surprised that I had forgotten most of what I was thinking. It was like when you have a dream at night and wake up completely ignorant of that dream and then later in the day BAM it hits you and you remember it all. I wonder sometimes what triggers our subconcious. I really like this simply because it came from a place in me that I usually only see in my paintings and my dreams.
The winner stood on the open frame of the dirty morning.
The loser walked a road of dusty desolate dawn inside a tremoring failure.
Those that stood in between were unhappy with the view.
It was hard to see from where they stood.
The picture was blurry and no great fool would puncture the thin plastic fortress that blocked the path of the audience.
The day passed on withoue anymore whispers. Those that chose to live in the middle were crying with regretful woes. He was a woe, and he felt that his woefulness made him superior to the rest. A final note was sang in the valley. And her voice echoes of the walls of her uterus. Many thought that she was not a virgin but no man had passed through her country land. All that came here ran away. Foul smells erupted from the waters of her lake. Fish swam in angry currents. The wind blew with hopeful skies. The children in the village knew not that she was the only mother to them. That she was their only source of light. The sun died on Tuesday. We all came in a crowd to watch it burn away. When it was time we were all surprised that the only thing to see was the silence that consumed the clouds. A silence, that to this day the people would endure. It was calm and sometimes safer than the lighting that sprinkled green and gold speckles of midle age flowers that were unaquainted with a razor. Their beards have grown over time and now they look like great fields of coarse grass. But they never dance in the wind. The only thing now that dances are the creatures that come out in the night to wash their face in the bloody guilt that came from the boys own smile. It was a precious smile that glittered with a discontented yawn.
The winner sat up high on the branch of a tree that was threatening to rot and dry up in the scorching sun. Her automatic timer was broken and she could not tell how long she slept that day. It was no surprise that she was getting lost in her thoughts. Maybe they would know when the time came to take the bread from the over. Or maybe they would let it burn. Whither away or freeze solid into a block of ashes.
The loser swam in a sea of tropical berry coolaide and sometimes they drank vodka so they could remember what it was like to smile. Sometimes they were able to take themselves seriously and being in love with the same girl would someday make them bitter, and the would sit atop thier thrones in the country house, rocking and rocking until eventually the light would flicker and go out.
Hmm, this makes me feel sort of happy. This has a lot of comic value. The things that you allude to are, well very amusing. I had to read it after the first few lines, they caught my interest. It's a very interesting write Jaz. I might have to add this to my favorites...actually I think I will.