2003-10-21 - 4:23 a.m.
I dreamt I found mushrooms in my dad's back yard. in a very specific place. armloads of them, morels, probably hundreds of dollars worth of those precious rare fungi. tomorrow I'll go check the exact place where they were in the dream.. it's pretty near to a spot where I found some once... but it's the wrong time of year. maybe I need to remember and look in spring "when the oak leaves are the size of a squirrels ear" as a mushroom hunting friend once said.
space opens around me. paths once closed are opening, and with the new territory to be explored there is a sense of possibility mixed with a renewed sense of the sheer largeness of the world, the constant and infinite options we are presented with. we usually navigate paths with some familiarity, or at least with rational reasons for choosing those paths. I have always been intrigued by the idea of the in between. of choosing neither of the choices we are presented with. I have always seen true freedom waiting a sliver of space away from one option, but not yet into the territory of the next. paper or plastic? fog.
mass delicate light. moke and smirrors
Im a silophoser. silly. don't like silos. unless they are abandoned and good for drinking forties and secret jam sessions. hopefully with a broken banjo or two and the kind of acoustics that make you think someone let the air out of elephants and left a couple of 50 foot high teacups out on the table.
leaves and hair part for the hand that pushes them aside. we've talked enough about skin. lets talk about warm earth, the steam that rises from that. the warmth and soft movement that happens there. I don't want to enclose myself in this pink envelope. I want a feeling that spans more than a linear yearning from skin to skin. although skin is my favorite flavor, tastier than god. toast and walnuts and light brown colors of taste remind me of that obsolete deity. but skin is more basic, chthonic issuing and a cry that makes him tremble with fear and desire. geometry of organic growth defines us. crystal energy, we are all grown from certain patterns. energy wants energy and life wants life. and I want to stop wanting but not till I have wanted you.
it's so like me to say such a simple thing in the most roundabout way possible. I would edit this normally but today I wont. my typing is getting better since this diary thing. I hardly look at the keys and make less typos.
ghost flavored sounds edge between my ears, blood is full of masks and amnesia, history is negligible in this sharp light that cuts through me and leaves me forgetful, dizzy, shocked with the power these unobservant ghosts have gained by jousting with leaning memories and dust, tipping me over. there are 9 pennies on my desk and some uneaten pudding. and some other things. every single one of them contains several smurf villages, a non functioning foosball table and enough saltines to build a 10 foot goldfish. and that's just for starters. if I had a big enough magnifying glass I could find the tooth I lost in a nerf basketball accident when I was 12 in the frayed edge of my mousepad. there it would sit with nothing around it except some universes or something, maybe breadcrumbs or languid mice. I look at the moon so long that a sideways mouth appears and lets out all the transparent warmth. then I smile, but quietly, waiting for the mail, cradled by the front porch and waving air.
