Monday, 11 March 2013

On making words out of the ends of your dreams

Before anything else, before you think, before coffee and emails and reality drip like coffee percolators into your slow breakfast brain. Before you've had a chance to let the world infiltrate with its petty demands and puppy dog eyes and wouldn't you just respond to me? Before the night has wholly left you and the dreams have sunk into murky lakes and reality, that many headed beast, has got its teeth into the scruff of your neck and started to laugh. That's the ticket and the time, that's the thing, here's the place, just sit for a moment, say something, sit for a while.

I slept the whole night long in fits and fevers, I dreamt of airplanes I was picked to fly. Let's spend this winter storm in a car out on the parked place, said Jane's brain, and it was a peculiar place to be, the boot was filled with snow. Never mind. I sat there besides and picked my beside manner like a wicked nurse full of the demons that rise up like barbaric children, that come up in the mouth like bile. There's a reason why your throat is constricted and it's not because of too much fun, I'm sure, who could ever blame the decadence and debauch when all those roosters come home to cluck?

I like to talk about ambulance sirens and also the siren song on either side of rocks. I like to tramp on spring board pine needles and bounce my way to the hole in the tree. I'll take this hole and fill it with my own kind of nuts, that is tiny wrapped parcels with ribbons and string. That is the way of things in the deep dark wood: I push them in far and wait out this feeling and later in the year when the truth comes full circle I'll put my hand in the hole in the trunk, and I will take them out again.

I may have said this before but like those Indian mystics who see no need to move on from the om, I'd like to tell it to you again: all we got is the decision we make to feel this or that, like things are two parts of a card and it's switching in the sky. I want to feel nice, please. I'd like this body of mine to be good beneath the emperor brain penguin who takes all the choices and fans them out like so. I dreamt of fans last night too, of waving, they were pretty paper promises making deals about the shifting of the wind.

So I tell you that the morning is the time to place the world in a direction for the day, and if you do this right you'll be aimed like a dagger for the jugular and my god it will feel so damn good. I am trying to do this right the way the sun is striving to make itself over the distant buildings, and though so much of it is just the earth, we've a part to play in the motion. Straighten your back and stand up and say let's go, straighten your mouth, now curve it. Let your cheeks take the strain and let a fast car take you through.

How many vases would it take to make you remember the world is full of flowers? How many cut stems? I'll bring you a bouquet if you bring me a dime, or just a grin from the other side of the tracks, or just a hi. It gets lonely being the princess in the garden of bougainvillaea so I'd like to give you a key to my wrought iron gate, I'd like to ask you hello if you would like to come inside. Tip tap tick tack give the girl her heart back, give the boys a place in the podium, give the world a chance at the sun. I'd like it better if we were holding hands beneath the green fleece blanket and I'd like it more if the sky wasn't so upside down.

Approach the day like the day is a nervous horse and you are afraid of big teeth, you do not want to get bit. By this I mean, be kind to your heart there, be nice to your soul, be good. Be calm and wary of too many wrong choices at the outset because so long as you are up you may as well make the most of it. Right? Well, no. I think the best for you now is to just yoke yourself to this beast and throw your feet up and tense your knees and not even question the wisdom. I think bucking is fine, the trick is to just get started, to ride.

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