Created By
Rate this Story
Embed
|
+
2
|
Waiting |
|
0
|
Visions of Socky |
|
+
2
|
In This World, Witnessed Power |
|
0
|
When We Meet Again |
|
+
1
|
Love, Astral |
|
+
7
|
hbhgfh |
|
+
5
|
Taco Mik - Excerpt |
|
+
3
|
Excerpt from YOTS |
|
+
4
|
My Nutty Friend Meg |
|
+
5
|
In The Universal Mind (preview) |
|
+
3
|
Excerpt - Disc. w/ Mad Jamon |
|
+
3
|
Journal entrie's from 2006 |
|
+
3
|
The Cardboard Box (chapter two) |
|
+
5
|
The Cardboard Box |
|
+
4
|
Ode to An Angel |
|
+
3
|
March Foorth |
|
+
9
|
She said, "Yes! Yes! Yes!" |
|
+
6
|
March Theerd |
|
+
3
|
Changes'a Many |
|
+
1
|
The Dharma Bums |
|
The Cardboard Box (chapter two)
NonFiction
 Created on 3-7-08
 Views(121)
 Story Rating G
|
Growing tired of the typewriter and the ten or so pages full with ideas I couldn't quite put into action, I decided to head on out in the evenin' sun to watch the orange-purple glow of the formative clouds as they separate across the canvas for us little ants to watch. Collect some thoughts. Think about the minutes of the clock past far while idle on-line wanderers pass from hour to hour with or without makin' the best of it. On my walk I met an old childhood friend from way back when who's the now nextdoor neighbor I'd fantasized over yet never within 14 or so years had had the chance to converse or share an afternoon with.
"Hey!" She squealed excitedly, "how are you!?"
I've never - even now - known how to answer that question with anythin' but a paragraph no matter the feeling of emotion felt at that moment, for a question such as that asked out of genuine care for the parties involved is a sacred testament held in my highs, and I'd often felt cold when I received "Okay"'s, "Alright"'s, "Good"'s, and "Still alive"'s in their one-worded vague answers that did not fill my genuine care for the person I's askin' the question of.
"I am the minute hand of the clock that refuses to stop ticking."
That was my answer. Ever since became my answer no matter the feeling of emotion felt at that moment for its truth remained more depth, winding worry, happiness, joy, love, loss, sadness, and loneliness all within that short - yet definable answer summing up life itself.
She said her brain just exploded and I offered to clean it up from the street, to which she pouted and said I was mean. She walked past and I continued on my stroll beneath the orange-purple clouds remaining the idols of my imagination, teachers and wisest of the invisible clock dangling high above everyone's heads.
Sitting on the rails of rails blocking the entrance to the local school, I began staring out into the field-playground with a movie reel of my life flashing before my eyes, a hallucination I thought as it felt like everyone driving 'n passin' by could see. Audience! Gather forth now and watch this movie tooken eighteen years to shoot, edit, and produce.
[memories. Last year reading Kerouac. Sitting on the store steps and being approached by a girl I liked on the day my girlfriend broke up with me. Lighting a Pastor's back yard on fire with my cousin. Being slapped by mother for shouting "fuck you!" at her when I was a child. Playin' guitar along with a friend at his house. Sitting in the backseat of a car my brother drove at night through the city, listening to a thoughtful song that provoked contemplation of past. Trying to kill a puppy with a group of friends that had rabies. Putting it into a bag and trying to hold it underwater with a tree branch.]
Woke up from my nightdream about whom I was and where I was headed; this thought seemed to happen a lot in this dead-end town, the town, the town where houses are broke, the vehicles are dirty and the owners too lazy to wash 'em 'cept for the crack-smokin', weed-inhalin', drug-smuggling stoners sellin' their goods, killin' each other's hearts and heads with toxic chemicals makin' a good time. A good time is all we have left in this world. But them's turn you mad, mad as the bulldog ready to rip the shreds off that innocent wanderer. Hostile environment of the many children walkin' the streets, protectin' themselves against an unseen force must'abeen out to get them.
Woke up from my nightdream and decided to walk on home around the corner and up the hill to the rickety fifty-somethin' house with burnt electricity, and got the family car keys sitting on the table and decided to go for a ride at one in the morning, one in the morning and everyone's asleep, atleast the folk with lives are asleep or passed out on their comforted mattresses or worn-down mattresses of the small livingroom's or - if you're a honest drug dealer - suade-fitting leather couches and 12-piece stereo and fourty-inch television set. Turn the keys. Start the engine. Woke everyone up from their fantasies and worries and happiness and their daydreams about everything and nothing, wondering if they even wondered about who they were more than I did, or if they cared less about where they're going like I did. Whatever the case, within that car I found myself a brand new Kurt waiting to be born, claimed suffering inside the universal utero of the all Mother for the past eighteen years.
Comments
Please Login to post comments| On March 10th 2008 k15smith Said : | |
|
cool |
