Sossusvlei

Rotolo, 285

"Transitions are scary; there are dangers of slipping or tripping or crashing and breaking something when moving on with the rest of your life."

December 8, 1980

John Lennon, Mick Jagger, Eric Clapton, Mitch Mitchell, Keith Richards - "Yer Blues" - kewego
John Lennon, Mick Jagger, Eric Clapton, Mitch Mitchell, Keith Richards ; "Yer Blues"

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The Snake

The Snake slithers thru the tall grass.

I see it's tail

Slip thru straight green leaves

And wonder where it's

Slithereing off to.

Where are you snaking to

Snake?

Off to strangle another victim?

Do you

Slowly twist your body around her neck?

Listen to those whispers of

Sinking breathes.

Do you

Sink your sharp fangs into her skin?

Deliver a dose of sweet venom

A poison which

Stings her veins and

Swells her tongue with a sour taste.

You have slipped away again.

Into the darkness

of other creature's bad memories.

The ones that make ears twitch

at the sound of faintly rustling leaves.

You love to lurk in that quiet place.

Those calm meadows where we are all unsure

If it is you

Or the wind

Making the grass bend.

Then suddenly

We feel your teeth

Sink into our ankle and we try to recall

With our last softening breathes

A time when the wind was ever known to bite.

What to write about?

I have been away from this for some time now, but only because I have nothing to write about. This banana has no thoughts besides "job" and "how do I get one". I know I am one of thousands reciting these words in their head everyday. These words rush to the surface before my eyes are even fully open each morning (or afternoon) and they continue to swim around my brain like goldfish in a tiny round fishbowl. I wonder if those bubble-eyed fish are as aware as I am to how trapped the two of us are. Can they understand that their is a world beyond there tank, despite how distorted it must look through bent glass? Because sometimes I forget there is a world beyond this and maybe that is what angers me the most. I am so consumed with my fishbowl life that I often forget how wondrous and big the world I live in actually is. I feel I have no options when only months ago I thought I could do anything, go anywhere and become anyone. I find myself in an economy that is in an ongoing recession of choice and I am feeling the walls closing in around me.

I've always thought of a fish as such a useless pet and now I find myself in the fish's predicament, but my feelings about them haven't changed. As long as they are behind a glass wall, I will always see them as unnecessary and sad. So where does that leave me? 

Rapunzel

She sits by an open window. The rusty screen doesn't stop a winter chilled wind from slipping through. The trees below are holding a golden brown - the color of marshmellows in the campfire right before they burst into flames and turn a charcoal black. This moment is peaceful and delicious. It smells like sweet honey and antiquity, echoing with the sounds of waves as tires speed across wet cement. 

And then the front door slams shut, it's caste iron decoration resonating like the bars of a prison cell. There is only one grey cloud in the clear, cold blue sky, and it bleeds disaster. She is clawing the walls for a way out, but it only succeeds in creating a scratchy throat. As her heart sinks lower into her stomach, she brushes her hair, ripping knots in half with her comb's teeth, and makes her way down the creaking stairs. 

It is a practice she commands with composure and an adolescent grace. Waiting for the day her hair will be long enough to tickle the heads of people passing down below. Her responsibilities are conquered by fairytale dreams., but one day she will be strong enough to hold her burdens like a braid of hair. They will trail behind her and they will be dead useless weight until she decides to cut them loose, but starry eyed wishes of Princes and kisses keep them affectionately attached to her. 

Of Missing

What am I missing when I wake up missing you? My eyes open to a world I don't always recognize and so often I am disoriented, disappointed. The rhythm my life runs to becomes erratic and sloppy. It is distracting. I miss what is happening around me when life's tempo misses a beat and you are my percussionist.

When I say I miss you, I feel it in my throat. It is a cold stone that slides from the back of my tongue and clunks into my chest. I am choking on what I have lost. Isn't that what missing is? Loss? Like when the TV remote has gone missing and you squeeze your hands in between couch cushions in a desperate search for it. You have lost it, even though you always put it in the same place - on top of the pile of books that teeters atop a narrow coffee table. Missing is the unexplainable lose of something. And although you will find another way to turn on your television, you will still wonder where the remote is as you watch bad reality shows and continue to search for it.

I do not know how I lost you and so I go on missing you. And its mornings like these - when a cold draft seeps in through my old windows, but it is the sun's bright rays that wake me - when I miss you most. I dig in between my cushions, hoping I'll find you in my misplaced memories, but it is all loose change. Something useful, but not what I was looking for, and not what I need.