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they_spun_him_like_a_top
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Thoth
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Every time he turned one way to address or react to the blindside hits he was taking, a new shot would come from the other side.
Soon enough, he was dizzy, both from the equilibrium-jarring motion of spinning to try and see where the next hit would come from, and from the eventual loss of blood. These were both figurative, of course, but no less lethal in their effect.
He felt cold and hollow. If you sent a camera into his lungs, he was sure the inhalation of warm air would have turned to mist inside him.
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030313
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ever dumbening
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Joey and I sit in front of The Frech Hotel, a little coffee shop on Shattuck. The sun briefly breaks through the swelling clouds to bounce off the polished metal table, warming my face as the chamomile warms internally. We're discussing, as has often been the case lately, art and creativity. He's a photographer and I mention my friend Mango who's attending Brooks Institute in Santa Barbara. Joey says it's geared towards creating very professional magazine-type work.
He starts, "It's sort of..."
"Sterile?" I interject. And as the words leave my mouth--CRUNCH. Two cars, a half block down, collide. Sound waves and nerve fibers lift my eyes in time to see a man's body in awkward ragdoll flight. Newton's Laws conspire in the weaving of instants.
We walk home, the mood has clearly changed.
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030313
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werewolf
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how does one reconcile trust with mystery, the peace and warmth of understanding with the ambivalence of uncertainty? standing against the unforseen, lovers always keep one foot on the ground, ready for full weight.
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030313
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