the light never stopped flashing even after she threw the phone across the bed, ripping the wires from the machine from the phone that kept repeating,
we’re sorry, you must hang up and dial that number again…
the voice trailed off with her scream that seemed to hold the air hostage. everything was going blue, even the curtains had paled eggshell to twilight, infused within a glimmer train of midnight mixed metaphor.
there were two different car crashes tonight; i heard one: the metal: the headlight: the horn that then kept time of the breaking and entering of our gaze as we tried to circle around the heaps and smoke. no one wants to be in an accident. he was shaking his head. she was in her bent, white car, shaking. there was too much visual damage to witness while navigating the glass. a horn kept blowing. my mind, kept going, it’s a warning of destruction. superstition bleeds into scenes you paint with a well-rounded brush.
one rolls along the moon. we should be going; we should be walking to the sound of silence, this autumn-like night toying with our dry eyes, our parched mounds. tonight has conjured christmas past & christmas present; the future seems like eternity. we fear what we cannot see. i fear what i have seen, but don’t care to remember. a locked door doesn’t keep out a stranger who has found your hidden key.
secrets are often loud in a room of saints.
saint maybe; well, not me, but there was an interesting lecture tonight that made me think of intentional hypocrisy. where is it more rampant, in sermons of the pulpit, or the politico lectern. who was is that i just read regarding saints… Jean Genet, who believed that there was no great division between a saint and a criminal for both bothered society. what are we, really, but teetering on a game derived from a board composed of tectonic plates that continue to shift as each century mourns, never more.
did he ever imagine we’d last this long.
i had a game of monopoly go on for three days until boredom, not bankruptcy called its end. destruction was our silver lining. it never felt so good to close the board with the game pieces sliding off their prize facades, bright green and red buildings falling swiftly on blue shag floor. even the dice rolling snake eyes into the cardboard lid told us we were finished. we never played again that year, or ever, for the next summer we died as friends.
when kids bury their imagination, be wary, the land of impossibility was just stomped down. no one takes a leap of faith when they’ve figured out how to play with the devil.
next time you hear: would you like to play a game?
take care, for even with hackers, there is a spoiler
(nobody wins)
Carl D'Agostino
/ 2012/08/05“…secrets are often loud in a room of saints.”So true but because since each of us are saints(alleged) we think no one hears.
sonofwalt
/ 2012/08/08This hit me like a boxing glove made of velvet. It hit hard, but I liked it. “no one takes a leap of faith when they’ve figured out how to play with the devil.”