296 days.
The Worldserpent sits unfurling the fierce curve of his acoustic sting opposite me. I'm slapping taps on the iPop device of the day, smacking a personality into these old bones. you are more than you will ever know.
There exists a level of the human mind where it seems like there's a really warm street light casually cast upon you. A centerstage sitting atop your mind. Breaking through the fucking id of your godforsaken ego. Spun tales round campfire eyes dancing in starry skies. This is my howl at the cosmos.
Just two roommates, archetypical mythological entities bound in lizard and canine cast down in heaven's spires but forged from Ragnarok's fires. True beasts of the apocalypse rocking the fuck out up on fertile fucking earth.
I'm the godforsaken son, goddamn son of a bitch.
***
Peter Pan Puck plucking the guitar across from my shimmering light inside muck and smoke bound earthly woes. I am a firing siren of counter-destiny. I'll be waiting for you.
Audiowaves warble sound rippling midnight murderskies beyond a dead dark heart in carved out eyes. We are stepped upon the very foothills of Hel, underworld saints of the Patriarchy's demise, we are here to sing and howl your cries.
This is prophecy. Pop songs stabbing heartbreak stretched thin over the frame of mindless automatons chanting chorus after chorus. Beauty smeared with alcoholic demeanors dancing in the dark so wanting to embrace the light so afraid to shine.
I've got a popgun for just such an emergency.
***
I've been experiencing temporal distortions from sped up dates gone sour to decompressed days wherein entire existences are played out as minutes take their time passing me by.
I'm elated upon ingesting the magic and traipsing about Brooklyn, mad to live with the masses on a Saturday night. John is at my side and we forge into the drunken midnight hour, as I slide between moments then crash whole heartedly into the owner of the bar. I remind him that he owns a bar, and another where I thought I fell in love once.
From that mention I fall back into times past where I was not who I am. A charade of mock love dancing across the stage and I was too frail a human being to know the difference. Her name was Jazz and in another reality we're soulmates.
Tripping into tomorrows and stumbling down to the present, tense with anxious telepathy, I root myself into now, Spring awakening in my loins sending along sensual excitations providing me with endless pleasantries. With a love lost to cosmic chum, the female of the species seethes at my sex, she needs satisfaction only I may bring her to the brink and then, we come.
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