a film,
it's bad, in your mind it's bad, that film
but then you watch it, the whole thing, and you think,
"they succeeded in making this one good."
and you end up dreaming of films which you never made
and then you think of all the stories which you never wrote
and then you think of these ideas which sit on you --
the ones that looked good in the beginning
but then you thought some more about them,
and they held nothing good
well, they sit on you. Those ideas
ok ok ok ok ok
my eyes, they look like eggs, sunny-side down
and my hair is gone, how quickly that happened
and I am skinny
and I don't know anything
but I am here, right now
and this is me, writing this (oh! the comforting thought)
if you were here, with me
we'd be talking
or just kissing
or playing cards
or watching a movie
or we'd go to sleep
and catch a dream (one each)
in seven days from now, I will be leaving for the Congo
and I was told that I can choose
one of two different drugs to keep me safe
from malaria
one, you take it once a week,
and it gives you nightmares in the beginning
and other side effects include, can include depression
dark thoughts -- as if I needed them
the other one, you take it once a day
it's an antibiotic -- no side-effect, theoretically speaking
well, I'm going to go for the later
because I don't want any molecule to touch
my nervous system
my beautiful nervous system
so precious (I should give my pills to a Congolese)
ok ok ok ok ok
I don't usually write like this
I don't think I should publish this
but I don't think I should trash it either
therefore I’ll just put it here
and perhaps one day, I'll read it again
and think,
"this started well,
but it ended badly,"
or maybe I'll think just the opposite
or nothing --
perhaps I'll think nothing of it
ok ok ok ok ok
earlier today I wrote something which I later deleted
that was about the pepper ants and the spiders
and how they come into our houses
to find a place with food and warmth
a place where to make love
::: ::: :::
[Picture: Leave them doors open, and the windows too by reading_is_dangerous]
Posts
a place to offer the hands of love
ReplyDeleteis not so hard to find
a place to share the body of true love
that is the real mystery
cause even in hunger, cold and dark
should be built the house of love's heart
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ReplyDeletethere is not such a thing as a same dream...
ReplyDeleteso you must catch it and then try if you choose so, to melt it with others
and then again, only if they let you do it so !
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ReplyDeleteThere are no films that you never made. You made them, and they play in your mind. There is just no hard copy, so you can't share them. Except in words, like to a blind person. Here is my film. ok ok ok ok ok
ReplyDeleteMy eyes are framed by the feet of crows. My hair is dry, not cosmic like it was in my youth. I am fat, and I don't know anything, but I am here and this is me. I like your comforting thought!
If I were there, we would take a walk and look at windows and doors. Windows and doors. Amazing and beautiful windows and doors. You would take pictures of them, and we'd make a collage. Or a film.
Take the antibiotics. Good plan.
Thanks for publishing this. It's a good film. I think it will end well. The audience is hoping for it.
Windows and doors, spiders and ants. Love. Do take care.
deB
I can feel the noise of small bubbles as they fight to emerge from the water at the bottom of a big pot sitting on a hot stove. I can feel the noise of the bubbles. I look forward boiling water.
ReplyDelete'Who Lives Here' - the photograph feels and looks like the buildings belong to a hospital. Nobody actually lives there, they stay, only to give or receive drugs, care, attention, (maybe even love) and then they leave again. A series of short film clips.
ReplyDeleteFour more days now? Then the Congo. Travel safe with your anti-biotics friend.
Cheery, LoisH