Profane Tuna

Tags

, ,

Ill in irate.

7.18.18 – Ichthy

Swedish was readily available to curse in, but I was a bit of a fish out of water. At a loss for all the swearing in I’d have done if I could have swam over that dam of hard volume. The words we could, we consumed but their partitions stuck in like missed hooks looking for finer lips, sinking with leading lures for the lurkers’ quirks and quibbles, jeers struck like scribbles with only scratch to squabble over. No notes to show for it, just crammed vocab with no habit of practicing for far use. We’d have to chose the breathless, a fresh list with less heft for our gills to grok on. Slowly it’d grow on us, slinging slang with the same regional twang as those other swimmers. The tics we’d pick up with the same deftness of a starving pigeon seeking one last missing morsel; hopefully not hung up on our scales, blinding and bearing a silver weight but still calm to state with lasting tongue what propriety couldn’t quite equate with undone language. We’d slip through, slick though, fins flashing in passing and air pressing us back to vexing with storming schools of swarming thought. We’d rather not have had such arguments, unruly and over spent on standing sense, which we with lacked feet couldn’t keep. Drowning was a dare for other fair creatures, ones we could speak to, meet with teeth, greet with Greek. It was lost then that our names be in that deep Latin, grasped and clad in ancient tradition for some same-sake as the profanity we expanded in these wasted waters.

-VGB-

Advertisements

Regime Change in the Scrap Heap

Tags

, ,

The touch of ever-aging.

7.17.18 – Over-airing

I was jealous of the rust, resisting that metal’s grasp and making its way through link after link like they all were the weakest version that could be crafted. It was busted just from breathing too hard and left its marks like oval teeth on the skin about its reign. The earth was eating it up as well, seeds weeding between the gaps and finding a familiar browning as it sank further into the crust. There would be a divot left as the only marker for making a new set of dust in this place, its evidence cleared by a patient hunger for change.

There were other artifacts threatening extinction, most reddening like it was this season’s fine fashion, but those clasps were a binding force for the lot. I had always expected rain to be the precursor to such a monochromatic display, but we’d only seen the sun swelling like an autocrat ascending the throne for these past months, beaming and eager to display that power in full view. It had been putting the wear on this iron rubbish and stripping it of a silver luster long enough for us to have forgotten what a shine was. What remained was quickly returning to a poor array of burdensome and depreciating rare earth.

The crowd was gathering and causing a riot to the coffers. Maybe degradation wasn’t the right way to tear this pile down, but it was the easiest means that time could provide without further divine intervention. I wasn’t sure these things could still call down the lightning and if they could that it wouldn’t do more than burn them into a bit of crimson glass, still just as shattered as before. Reclamation here was a concerted effort, one where chains weren’t cut but instead left to erode off of wrists and leave only the barest bit of scars. Deserving wasn’t a defined determination.

-VGB-

When Fatigue Finds Me

Tags

, ,

The sound of a buoy’s bounce.

7.16.18 – Float-ating

The surf is dragging me back out, a broad curtain that’s been tangled about my feet and is slowly rolling its business discretely beneath the light’s cast. I’m already tasting the heavy salt and trying my best to not let the sand ablate the soft shell I’ve been cultivating. Blood in the water never did flesh any good and we’ve already spotted the white flashers of a starving saw slinking about further off land; another worry for a wiggler. I would have thought the ebb was too weak to steal me back but even the drag against earth is doing little to deter the extended effort. Every wash is only another tug towards a deep, persistent blue.

There’s even less grip on this loose silt than I would have thought. I can stick my hand through its crust but the interior is swimming like quicksand and only wants to join me in a retreat. I’m not leaving a smooth track but one of a drunk meandering its way towards a neon sign and hoping salvation is found under the danger of another drink. I’m just as sluggish and probably lured in by similar demons, but there’s a conscious clawing still happening at the edges of that awful entry, one that might suggest I’ve still got a harp at my shoulder and some breath left to give it.

I always figured the murk would call me in of my own will and I’d simply stand at the ends of its tendrils and dive head first into the shallows. There’d be no crack, just a quick dark and the bubbling of dreams expiring as they scurried upward to surface and disappeared from our trace. I was already a body in the ocean but I was unsure if I was still truly struggling or if I’d been swimming like a puppet, limbs moving from a steady current but no real reach from my own hands. I remember the gasping coming on, but some days that felt like it happened so long ago.

-VGB-

Tuning 33

Tags

, ,

Dust without a backing.

7.15.18 – Pre-amped

You didn’t let me skip, settled me down slow and let the world spin around me as melody came piping in. I’d have been 33 on any other day but we ran fast enough to be played out at separate speeds. I thought the afternoon might have enough heat on it to warp our transit, to make mountains where molehills might have been more prolific, but somehow we were cruising through without even the usual hops to our beat. It would have been questioned if our tape wasn’t scratching at all, a sound signal to tell me that movement was as normal, running in both directions.

Static was still an overlay, pressed firmly enough against the glass, we wouldn’t notice the screen as more than a slight smudging of vision, but when we backed away it was clearly there catching our senses. I put the needle in the valley and figured there might be benefit from checking on the river’s course. The grooves were already etched in by those smooth fingers and all we had to do was follow them to a calmer end. Maybe if we’d gone backwards to the source we might have found a finer shred of silence, but I preferred all the mumbles and stumbles made by a babbling bit of nature.

I pinned those sides at the ends, making a map we’d forget to refer to anytime we needed to return back this way. I saw you folding the thing over trying to make sense like you weren’t sure which side of the coin represented heads and which was tails. I suppose it didn’t have to matter as we would have been content to lay down either and move for the first as is. Familiarity would find us fast as these weren’t routes we hadn’t struck before, but sometimes it was far more simple to begin at the track you wanted.

-VGB-

Elected Lexicons

Tags

, ,

Trial by orator.

7.14.18 – Semi-semantic

The dictionary was done with, left tattered and in the trash to maybe find recycling as a papier-mâché project. I hadn’t really read it much at all and still it was suffering from a life of too much turning and had often been subject to sear by open windows where sun and wind might reach in to take a bite. Pages had been fleeing its binding since before I inherited it, shuffling off and scattering themselves to some other necessary corner of the library. I thought it was no better than a hygienist’s nightmare, yellowish entries, many cracked and battered, others wholly missing from that large mouth. Perhaps I’d peered in once or twice but found all those remaining rows scary and the depth behind it all was daunting.

I hoped we had enough to carry on without it, some strict lessons made from improvisation and bumping into others. We had concurrent projects both in building and destruction with vocabulary not taking front and center when it might have made sense. I had lists of question that only grew when we crashed into exemplary usage but placed in poor content. I heard the sounds well before I caught their meaning wondering even if they were meant to be sourced in that way. You and I might have tried; we struggled through it, em-dashing our way around like we were making too many turns in a maze and trying to keep track of our starting point. It made the problem compound, like we were stringing together a desperate run-on and thinking that it could have some sensibility once we made it back to a period.

Commands weren’t adequate and we’d been using that tome as a booster seat without cracking the cover; somehow it always became taller when opened. I liked the thought of slinking in between its lines, but wondered if I’d grown too old to bend back between those rows. The dog ears were enticing, and soon I’d find a scratch wherever I could reach.

-VGB-

Looking for Whale Wins

Tags

, ,

Tragic strategies.

7.13.18 – Beat-boxed

We kept looking for the whale wins, imagining they were just outside our strategic defeats. I had toggled to enduring long before, questioning even if I still knew how to have steady hands. You called me a calm surgeon, but I was certain I committed treason to that Hippocratic Oath every time I opened my mouth. We could protest the whereabouts of our losses without needing to lance the grey in advance of overheating, entropy from envy would have been enough to cool us down despite the dissonance of being misdirected on our achievements from such vistas.

I was off hustling wheelbarrows with suspicious loads. I had a bowlful of compliments to deliver for the inventor of that sturdy circle and it might have outpaced the avarice for which I was currently aiming; finding respect for the forbearers might have just barely overridden bad business practices. I’d used my words like a seven-year salesman, inking vows just so victory could come calmly over the threshold, no carrying needed. But it made for a poor partner to the long war unwinding between bitter allies and fierce frenemies. Competitors were crashing about the fete and acting like all were invited to entrench.

Maybe we were meant to hang between, finding slack and slouch when other fronts were set upon outside our own. Bullet dodging didn’t seem to be an approachable skill but often we acted like it was a necessary plan. I might have caught more metal than I knew what to do with but at least most of those scars didn’t stick around too long. We had the memories, but there were scores to settle alongside that past that wouldn’t make all feel welcome. You would have called it a tragedy, and maybe most would as well, but the hard heart of it was that it was simply just another tricky spot we stepped over while hoping to avoid the next.

-VGB-

Complications of Chambers

Tags

, ,

Wrong side of the ribs.

7.12.18 – Gris

I kept following your name like it was a portent for a brilliant future, one I could hardly imagine with the clutter piled against those windows and all the telescopes shuttered behind dust and cardboard traps. I’d have set my compass to it if there was some way to make magnets bend around to a new north, though I’d wager there was a gravity shifting us slightly in that direction anyhow; you could almost make out a subtle turning of the sky that kept you squarely beneath its blue eyes. I tried not to conjure you with whispers of that title, but you heard my heart say it anyway.

We didn’t have to be seers to make forecasts and we believed them with our blood because it felt like it was coursing towards a river with greater truth. There was danger in that sweep, like white water churning beautifully but still retaining all the malice of its chaotic movement. Our flight forward was destined to be the same, some tricky channel we needed to navigate without dashing ourselves against the rocks or plunging into the endless grip of an errant eddy. I was fortunate to have the siren standing on my boat already and not worrying about pitching myself overboard for a foolish end.

Someone said we’d found a fine heaven, but I thought we stood right above it, a place similar that didn’t have the tidiness and rounded corners that I pictured framing Eden. The risk wasn’t removed from this and maybe that made it worth dancing in; not without care, or without concern, but with an understanding that the knocks were pattern shifts to bring us closer in.

You told me that nowhere was as fine a destination as any as long as we still had breath there. I didn’t dare share that you stole mine, always with an ease that made me timid, blush, and wholly yours.

-VGB-

Summer Lovers

Tags

, ,

Has a ring to it.

7.11.18 – Safety’d

It was hot out; a horrible call for a sweater in weather that would have made summer jealous. They were used to blushing from Autumn and already they were halfway to leather when this fool thought to travel out with a shell set to act as an oven. And yet hairs still stood up, along with a chill running its fingers over the stippling appearing across skin that should’ve been too hot to feel such a sensation. He put it down to the wetness pressed between these two lovers, soft enough to lose oneself in and staggering for a person looking to keep knees from buckling.

There were corners to cross where eyes couldn’t quite penetrate and watch this private spectacle of whispers and spent wishes. They kept pausing to find their way out of the entrancement of meeting the other’s gaze and trying to hide subtle smiles. He had the kind of expression that suggested he was too anxious to not sweat even if it were snowing out, some strong rib was mumbling a prayer to keep that secret shame from being pinned to his sleeve. Probably she saw it, and swelled for it, eager to steal his palm and trace it with her own print for the sake of curling his toes and lowering his lashes.

They’d wait it out, till the fires skirted the curves and they could lie on cool ground and in endless shadows looking out at futures made of bright spots. Their faces might become only outlines, silver edges making clear paths for tenderness to linger until rest could wait no longer. Maybe he’d catch a shiver in the middle of that sinking, find himself shuttled awake in a gasp of movement and turn to find his own bed empty and some well-tread dream still sticking its spoon in the grey for a fine swirl. It wasn’t all evaporating, but the heat of the day was rising and making mirages of masterful interpretation.

-VGB-

The Sets

Tags

, ,

Places named as they are.

7.10.18 – Corona’d

The pauses were coming on, stutters and shakes that ended with an uncomfortable cough to act like things were still moving. The silence made it sound mournful as if we’d let thoughts die out and were hoping there’d be another start to all of this. I hadn’t taken a hand to help drag me along, I’d done so because the warmth would crawl its way along my forearm and up over my shoulder until it settled softly in a heart that was acting nervous in anticipation of any moment that went awry. The squeeze was a reminder that I didn’t need to have those fears and could let them be exhausted with any old sigh.

I couldn’t count the colors streaming before us and besides they were wanting to change with whims; we sat and stared like the sky was electric and sending us a secret signal despite the crowd that gathered alongside for the same. To me, it was simply us, and I just wanted to understand your smile without having to ask you what all the expressions were set to be. I’d bury myself with a familiar enemy thinking I was making a fool out of the small details, siding stupidly with that gut who sought to always be overturned and bubbling with butterflies. Maybe it was an attraction with the unsteady that kept me holding onto the imbalance and trying my best to stand at an angle.

I wasn’t afraid of being there, only the opposite. We’d find a spot in the night for moons to observe our kind behavior to each other but those hours were months away and in this instant I couldn’t even make a syllable approach the calmness I wanted to portray. We had questions milling about like those clouds, outlined in fire and sometimes shimmering, but wholly intangible and subject to sudden disappearance. It mattered little to say the right thing, or really anything. I just wanted to have that setting halo give me another second of its light so that I might catch that upturned corner, quiet and sated, once more.

-VGB-

Prone to Being Prone

Tags

, , ,

Bone cracks.

7.9.18 – Marrowing

The painkiller is wearing off and already I’m suffering from past injuries like they were only lying dormant until infliction would be a worse consequence. Healing hasn’t been leading for an aging man, the rocks on my joints are grating with an audible scrape and I can tell the dust is piling up to be delivered blindly into the shrinking halls of my lungs. There’s mounds made there by that dross stealing every bit of room from a cramped space but still I hurl myself towards the decay with little concern for anything over a week away.

These parts are rusting out of order. I might have thought things would find wear in decent rotation but I’ve been compensating for the kinks by leaning side to side in hopes that balance would come about. Those orbiting hearts are voicing kind concerns, and rightly so, but I’m all but deaf now and trying to iron out the issues by committing assaults on the functional cogs. There’s a sick strain between the body and brain as one is running the other in the ground and causing both to find suffering in the outcome. Fatigue hangs about like a yoke put on backwards on the neck, burdensome and choking, but I’m not seeking reasons to remove it.

The pace is quickening and breath is already broken; I’ve split those feet and let my back fold on the stress of the imagined. Somewhere there’s a chime and candle waiting for an impatient man who can sink his feet like rods upon the earth, but I’m running without the benefit being able to bend anywhere along the chain. It’s an effort I’m used to, even if I feel its toll being paid out in real time. I might not have the bell and quiet, but I’m more than willing to light the candle and let it burn on both sides in case I need a light in this dark.

-VGB-