versailles (gori_gori_bayan) wrote,

  • Music:

cocky bitch

:: one wild night :: the seconds pour out as a challenger, this the afterhour of tuesday, pursues, as thoughts clamber to assume priority, position. at the somber moses hours of the day, the deep, delving sojourner. I must bend my head to one side – cocked; and admit, 'it's tough.' The deep delving journey spits ahead of itself, walks into its permutations, spun in its own silk, frozen in its fresh-lain footsteps, mocking circus assumptions... spits ahead of itself, good questions. Here the armor is dented, the army ditched, diligence and passion are, for anger, twined. Inertia trips up in a ghoulish oasis, singing stasis, pastors anger. Whose fingering scabs peel back to linear answers discovered, swear – I, me, them, us – that what is exploitable is only shallow at its most solvable point. Here the dolphins weep, the blue whales harp their stomach songs smack against our jesus lizard feet. Oh Job, whose troubles are irreversible as birth; Xerxes as I, chrysalis: muses :: the romantic seed has poisoned the very romance of the endeavor. Submarines sun-side up. Termites eaten. Teeth and nails missing. We're deep for the discovery, whether self or more than. Some sheep have answers. This then, is Genesis Twinned.

When I was ten, my 5th grade teacher stared cheese-grater deep into me, spat words, and left. 'You think you know everything.' Eons later, the denouncement of my first mentor and role model bitterly kicks me closer than asunder. 'Cocky from conception,' may apt an epithet make, one day. Even now, as humility is seeking new depths in my gut, I smile a toothless smile, lick blood-thick lips, on hands and knees, stare up at the ceiling, at the ethers and anthelia... what bitch? what next. what else... no, that's mean. no, not nearly enough. Oh, Raistlin – but you wouldn't know what that means either. The hands, the life, the tongue; from writing, living, spitting sarcasm – stayed: for two reasons. One, things that, up 'til now, have impressed me, lack impression. And two, I am being pressed into a mold I am not fit to flesh out. I feel lost in this current thread of consciousness. Whatever this is, and what has been, are juxtaposed in such a blatant fashion... Still, nothing changes the fact that I have fallen from familiarity, unsetttled, it being 3am: listening to bon jovi with my soulmate eternally-breathed gently sleeping near.

Whosoever thrives in the privacy, whose words are careful, whose tongue is quick, may he continue in the balm of secrecy. For the strength of the empire stands on the ego of his morale: the quiet voice within, discerned... Thus have I been at my most formidable. The winds of change will swiftly overcome me, for I will allow it. For what is and has been essential lies heavy on my conscious. Time treks quickly in reflection, but the journey tarries long. Commit to change. I am as this. This S u r r e n d e r. This then, is Genesis Twinned.

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