Those last few thoughts whisping in and then away before drifting to the land of sleep, attempted lucid dreaming nothing ventured nothing gained. Those ephemeral epistological embryonic thoughts, those are the ones most poetic. When you stop filtering, when its in the moment - beyond analysis and you're one self, not the dual selves you are throughout the day as perceived in other dimension, tweaking.
My room is bright in the dark, i can see the shapes protruding out, the open closet door, the rattie cage, my bookcase. Everything is real, and does not take on any other feel that what it is through out the day. Organic shapes remain thus, and the geometric ones follow their rules of thumb. My lower arm bears stripes as shadowed on to me from my venetian blinds, as reflected from the orange street lamp hovering 20 feet above in the labryinthainal in the concrete one way street outside. Its only gray and orange now and will be for the next few hours to come. The garbabe pile outside my window has still remains, some men rustle through it, i can hear their grunts.
" Whats that?"
"Its a mattress"
"... minimum $150 "
Lets take it..."
I hear the base of the matresss as the two men carefully drag it down the orange gray asphaltine abysss. They are headed toard the beach. I imagine them walking it over to the soft sands, not to far from where I lay, parallel in fact 400 meters from me. They will float away , let the waves carry them... they will not selll the matress for its professed value. $!50. They exit the gray orangness, while i fall asleep in an eddy of tangerines and layered of grey, each textured so it the crannies of each layer puzzle-fit eachother just right. Now i can dream away, dreams that will not be recalled in the morning. Dreams thats will be intangible, and only color will be recalled.
on that note i fall asleep
New Orleans
16 years ago
