Sometimes days come so fast
Tomorrow took palce yesterday
and Today never comes.
Sometimes Minutes go so slow
Yesterday won't come until tomorrow
And it still isn't today.
Seems we spend out lives living
in the future and the past...
Instead of the present.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Notes From The Underground #10
The Music sworls and whorls as the smoke filled room smells of sweet perfume. The spinning colors of various shapes now define the landscape; and two life forms meet in tentative embrace. Strange and yet strangely familiar, they begin the process of rediscovery again.
I am tired she says.
A pause.
ME too, he answers.
They walk to the low brown shape. A bed. Lying down they touch and their thougths drift apart.
It's good to see you again, she says as she studies the cheap painting on the wall. Her thoughts drift to images of roadside velvet paintings and middle-aged white haired salesmen with full-size poodles.
Yes it is, he answers, while his mind intently studies why he even agreed to meet her here. Wouldn't his apartment have been nicer? Of course, he knows his apartment is a mess: a bachelor's pad which he never cleans. "It's been a long time," her murmers to himself. I should clean soon
"Yes," she says, "but it's been worth it."
His thoughts are interrupted as he realizes she was talking to him. He searches for something meaningful to say, but realizes he hardly even knows her anymore.
They had met seven years ago. He was a factory worked turning out small plastic pieces for some machine that he didn't even know what it did. She was a journalist. Fresh our of college and trying to make her mark. They ran into each other on 44th street...literally. He knocked her down and her breifcase opened and all her papers flew in the wind. He had apologized profusely but she was a witch, she was sure he had meant it! After chasing thirty billion papers own the street, she finally burst out laughing and began to tell him how nothing that day was going right. Her boss had given her a research assignment about the miniskirt and its importance in history. She had spent the whole morning trying to come up with something but couldn't care less about the topic. The library had three bomb scares and every time she left she had to start again. Her dog had fleas and...could he ever forgive her for being such a bitch? Would he have time for a cup of coffee?
Her vibrance intrigued him at that time and he went with her. Partly our of curiousity, and partly because he felt compelled. They talked about thier past and they exchanged phone numbers. They both thought nothing would come of it.
I am tired she says.
A pause.
ME too, he answers.
They walk to the low brown shape. A bed. Lying down they touch and their thougths drift apart.
It's good to see you again, she says as she studies the cheap painting on the wall. Her thoughts drift to images of roadside velvet paintings and middle-aged white haired salesmen with full-size poodles.
Yes it is, he answers, while his mind intently studies why he even agreed to meet her here. Wouldn't his apartment have been nicer? Of course, he knows his apartment is a mess: a bachelor's pad which he never cleans. "It's been a long time," her murmers to himself. I should clean soon
"Yes," she says, "but it's been worth it."
His thoughts are interrupted as he realizes she was talking to him. He searches for something meaningful to say, but realizes he hardly even knows her anymore.
They had met seven years ago. He was a factory worked turning out small plastic pieces for some machine that he didn't even know what it did. She was a journalist. Fresh our of college and trying to make her mark. They ran into each other on 44th street...literally. He knocked her down and her breifcase opened and all her papers flew in the wind. He had apologized profusely but she was a witch, she was sure he had meant it! After chasing thirty billion papers own the street, she finally burst out laughing and began to tell him how nothing that day was going right. Her boss had given her a research assignment about the miniskirt and its importance in history. She had spent the whole morning trying to come up with something but couldn't care less about the topic. The library had three bomb scares and every time she left she had to start again. Her dog had fleas and...could he ever forgive her for being such a bitch? Would he have time for a cup of coffee?
Her vibrance intrigued him at that time and he went with her. Partly our of curiousity, and partly because he felt compelled. They talked about thier past and they exchanged phone numbers. They both thought nothing would come of it.
Notes From The Underground #9
Straight lines widning, turning, curving
waves into doors like solid walls
of cheesecloth, quicksand, rocks,
like steel eyes soft with dull grey fire
of love as hate burns coldly for
green meadows of blacktop,
forests of streetlights,
quiet buffalo of roaring metal,
moonlight obscured by ar lights,
Old men who never sleep but just
Live their deaths every day of every
night of every hour as the
clock ticks...slowly and yet ever so fast;
In straight line.
8/27/1989 BCB
"All who enter here must leave
Reality outside..."
8/27/1989 BCB
waves into doors like solid walls
of cheesecloth, quicksand, rocks,
like steel eyes soft with dull grey fire
of love as hate burns coldly for
green meadows of blacktop,
forests of streetlights,
quiet buffalo of roaring metal,
moonlight obscured by ar lights,
Old men who never sleep but just
Live their deaths every day of every
night of every hour as the
clock ticks...slowly and yet ever so fast;
In straight line.
8/27/1989 BCB
"All who enter here must leave
Reality outside..."
8/27/1989 BCB
Notes From The Underground #8
What's so different about humans and insects? Probably nothing except our size. If you wanted to wipe out all insect life on earth it would be almost impossible, because one couldn't find each and every single insect (or pairs of insects). The crevasses and air holes are too many.
But humans are larger, and live together in clusters. They are much easier to eradicate. And they are the only species with the means to eradicate themselves.
Someone can pluck me from the earth, but they can't take even a whole blade of grass. Trees grow from single seeds in the middle of cities but it takes millions of years to evolve a single man....
To work through winter is the greatest gift....
10/10/1989 BCB
But humans are larger, and live together in clusters. They are much easier to eradicate. And they are the only species with the means to eradicate themselves.
Someone can pluck me from the earth, but they can't take even a whole blade of grass. Trees grow from single seeds in the middle of cities but it takes millions of years to evolve a single man....
To work through winter is the greatest gift....
10/10/1989 BCB
Notes From The Underground #7
He steps out of the hall into the kitchen and sits at the seat facing the wall
She pours his coffee and he picks up the morning paper. A moment of silence, broken only by the rustle of the paper, passes.
"Are you coming home tonight?" She asks.
Another moment. A rustle.
"Yes." he answers as he picks up his cup and sifts his coffee. SHifting his weight and folding the paper he slips out of his slippers. He stands, walks across the floor, picks up his breifcase, and leaves.
She throws away the paper, pushes in the chair, runs water in the coffee cup and walks into the hall.
8/29/1989 BCB
She pours his coffee and he picks up the morning paper. A moment of silence, broken only by the rustle of the paper, passes.
"Are you coming home tonight?" She asks.
Another moment. A rustle.
"Yes." he answers as he picks up his cup and sifts his coffee. SHifting his weight and folding the paper he slips out of his slippers. He stands, walks across the floor, picks up his breifcase, and leaves.
She throws away the paper, pushes in the chair, runs water in the coffee cup and walks into the hall.
8/29/1989 BCB
Notes From The Underground #6
He was short and very thin. His skin was dark bronze and worn from what looked like years of hard travel over dusty roads. His long, brown hair was ties back in a pony tail and his beard hid most of the features of his face. A thin, aquiline nose jutted prominently above a moustache and tied together massive eyebrows with light flecks of grey. Cold blue eyes set deep in the sockets sparkled with life belied tiredness as the figure bent to pick a penny from the street.
With a peace sign and small satchel hanging from his neck almost to the ground, he stuck one dirty fingernail under the penny and tilted it ever so slightly. He closed his eyes and tilted his head slightly. Then with a shake of his head and a swift, smooth movement he let the penny fall flat to the pavement and straightened up. As he shuffled away barefoot he turned his gaze resolutely toward the writer and, with a gaze that showed both recognition and unfamiliarity, smiled.
8/29/1989 BCB
With a peace sign and small satchel hanging from his neck almost to the ground, he stuck one dirty fingernail under the penny and tilted it ever so slightly. He closed his eyes and tilted his head slightly. Then with a shake of his head and a swift, smooth movement he let the penny fall flat to the pavement and straightened up. As he shuffled away barefoot he turned his gaze resolutely toward the writer and, with a gaze that showed both recognition and unfamiliarity, smiled.
8/29/1989 BCB
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