She woke up in a room full of people she somewhat knew. She’d be alive before then but then the lights and music actually set in. She looked around and it was the eve of 2017. There were streamers and balloons galore littered all about the floor and from shiny strings on the ceiling. Surrounded by a group of strangers in the middle of a popular but forgettable often regrettable place.
-weeks later-
You know what happened last night? I stretched. I stretched myself long and tall. Let the blood rush upside down back through my veins. My vision was blurry for twenty of thirty while I stopped the flow upwards into my my brain. Instead I lowered it down to the ground. Or at least what this laminate hardwood floor suffices as. It’s the middle of Winter in Alaska and I haven’t felt the Earth between my feet or the wind on my heels since autumn came. Only the rigid long nail of weather moving about. There’s been furred and covered, at least ankle high boots, since end of October.
Apparently there is a man down south, a man so vile the history books foretold of in its repeated rhymes and lore. But nobody reads much of anything anymore. He breathes everything I’ve held my breathe in hope for. He is the breath against mine. Against every fake-told lore of freedom, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness I once was told how the world was. Those wacky sci-fi books and shows aren’t so far off base anymore. Everything feels upside down. There’s monsters about. Monsters we created from our own fascination. This all feels apart of a world I thought was old told fiction or over whispered histories.
Apparently there is a man down south, a man so vile the history books foretold of in its repeated rhymes and lore. But nobody reads much of anything anymore. He breathes everything I’ve held my breathe in hope for. He is the breath against mine. Against every fake-told lore of freedom, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness I once was told how the world was. Those wacky sci-fi books and shows aren’t so far off base anymore. Everything feels upside down. There’s monsters about. Monsters we created from our own fascination. This all feels apart of a world I thought was old told fiction or over whispered histories.
I don’t want to be poetic. I don’t want to write my fancy fuck feelings and thoughts about what is going on. I have nothing to say. Any words just feed into the divisive slicing machine drenched in oil that sits in a ‘cost effective’ factory that is fed with lead streaked water. Good thing there is bottled water for sale. A man only makes so much when he spends all his time working through the grind.
I just want to sing, dance, and drink under the moonlight day light until the sunlit nightlight.
This is not the world I was sang into it. She always sings me to sleep. We’re all just a phone call away in this day and age.
“Hush little baby, don’t you cry.
One of these mornings you’re going to rise up singing.
Then you’ll spread your wings and you’ll take the sky.
But till the morning, there is a nothing that can harm you.”
Feels like she’s spelling out my name.
Driving down the Alaskan highway half past 5pm, hour and a half past twilight, nightlight. Snow and ice covered trees and swamps rest easy. It’s not so dark with the radio up high and our bad singing voices to light the star lit skies. If we’re lucky we’ll see the sky cry colors of red, blue and green tonight. We’re not the only ones looking up to the skies thinking, ‘what the fuck is going on?’
Have spine. Stand up. No matter how far away you feel. No matter how small you know you are. Reach for the tops of mountains. ‘The only man who doesn’t make it to the top of the mountains is the man who stands in another paths telling him which was to go.’ We can do better. Listen to the words in what your favorite Sunday alone with wine song says. ‘Rock out like the mangoes are in season,’ Anis Mojgani directs me to.
It’s been too cold even for fires. Today the sun hit my face for just a few seconds and it made all the difference in the world. Just two days ago it felt like the new year was beginning. Just yesterday it was the Chinese New Year. Today is a day from the late night of yesterday. Don’t let tomorrow be just another night. Goodnight.
This is not the world I was sang into it. She always sings me to sleep. We’re all just a phone call away in this day and age.
“Hush little baby, don’t you cry.
One of these mornings you’re going to rise up singing.
Then you’ll spread your wings and you’ll take the sky.
But till the morning, there is a nothing that can harm you.”
Feels like she’s spelling out my name.
Driving down the Alaskan highway half past 5pm, hour and a half past twilight, nightlight. Snow and ice covered trees and swamps rest easy. It’s not so dark with the radio up high and our bad singing voices to light the star lit skies. If we’re lucky we’ll see the sky cry colors of red, blue and green tonight. We’re not the only ones looking up to the skies thinking, ‘what the fuck is going on?’
Have spine. Stand up. No matter how far away you feel. No matter how small you know you are. Reach for the tops of mountains. ‘The only man who doesn’t make it to the top of the mountains is the man who stands in another paths telling him which was to go.’ We can do better. Listen to the words in what your favorite Sunday alone with wine song says. ‘Rock out like the mangoes are in season,’ Anis Mojgani directs me to.
It’s been too cold even for fires. Today the sun hit my face for just a few seconds and it made all the difference in the world. Just two days ago it felt like the new year was beginning. Just yesterday it was the Chinese New Year. Today is a day from the late night of yesterday. Don’t let tomorrow be just another night. Goodnight.
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