hubris as oakey vine
in search of juice, stumbling through the inroads, spiraling downwards towards my blackwatering hole
... passing the mumbling, crumbling edifices of Pacific - the bums, the beggars, mad scribblers, and fading lights ...
it dawned upon me, slowly ... a tin-shiney sunrise of realization ~
- - -
Into the cafe, the ever-present Manson-tattoed madman cornered and absorbed in frantic, pantic strokes of color, clenches of hands, twists of beard ... an object of usual study on my part was ... instead,
studying me.
- - -
and then i
became flooded with images, looks, spaces made for when walking past ...
the sounds of self-talk,
the bursts of laughter to no one but imagined,
the long stops to watch another being watched,
the dishelved clothes,
the ridiculous hair,
the nods, grimaces, cackles of delight.
all packaged and normal-like.
6 comments:
there's that fine line again.
and who's the keeper of the line anyway? Who's to say which side is what and where exactly the line is.
and your hair is wonderfully ridiculous.
the madman is probably blogging about you right now
The line is more an imaginary one than most people care to acknowledge.
i got caught talking to myself the other day....
that scarf looks good on you.
you must of been at Lu Lu's.
Tell me "Manson-tattooed" doesn't mean what I think it means.
As for "normal-like," well the proof is in the "like," in't it? As in "normal-esque."
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