A Bloody Perception on Calendars

Again with subconcious description..

 

 

Today is a Tuesday, this I know.

And it was a Friday, I believe, the 15^th of August when the buttons on the computer monitor glowed with the light of Beanswax, Field of Dreams scented eco-candle. Falling was apt to occur in such states and when your eyes weighed ninety-nine pounds, you know you’re not on earth from then on.

 

It was a day when the late-night people trudged past their opposite sex companions in too-tight shorts that stretch that dreadful pattern in ways you cannot know. It had to have been some other era when the clouds looked like porcelain specimens in the hazy sphere of blue. It simply had to have been a Friday, but maybe not here. I think it was remotely sunny, and the wheat grass shone flaxen in that giant cup of mist, the one with a crusted beetle corpse at the bottom. It’s been there for days, the ginseng-orange tea remnants that are dried onto the petty tea cup, the cadaver’s juices far from claiming their place.

 

There was a time, I recall, in late July, when the trees grew so high off of the mountain that the stretch of green made your eyes water. I recall a time, one time in my life when the highness of oxygen painted fuzzy pictures in my eye, at every setting of the sun and each pulsing vein that throbs with your absence, ripping at my connection  to the world.

 

I had an interesting conversation so very recently. Two people adorned the threadbare, drawn carpet whilst they spoke of lard in fingertips. I quote a very situation beneath some artificial sky that glowed with iridescent electric-dusted sky.

 

It was a Friday, I have confirmed. When the cameo head turned to the delicate sound of a lullaby, I remembered the sound of my dad’s radio, some seven summers ago. And now that I consider the timely vacation a hefty attempt at reconciliation. I know that it was Friday when I heard the chirps of squishy brown critters of nighttime salvation. I know that they savor the silhouettes of trees in the shadow of the moon. I’ll lick my lips in effect to the dryness. I savor the air vent. I savor the intensifying intent that is Friday. I desire your flesh on all days. For I know that today is in fact a Friday.       

Reviews

[Just Manoosh]

A fabulous write honey, I have to say I was a little lost on the content apart from the calendar reference .... but thats not a bad things, it allowed me to enjoy the ebb and flow of the full piece.

Excellent descriptions eloquently said.

Mx

[J.P.O.et]

I think I'm becoming more and more a fan of your unique writing style.
Before I shower you with praise I will give you some honest crit, the 4th paragraph totally threw me for a loop
with the 'lard in fingertips' and it was not congruent at all with the tone of the rest. As for the rest, once again the
1st paragraph sucked me in and if we're 'not on earth from then on', where are we.
Some great lines and language here that I love, some of my faves:

'the clouds looked like porcelain specimens in the hazy sphere of blue.'
The whole 3rd Par. is phenom
'I know that they savor the silhouettes of trees in the shadow of the moon.'

Nice write, very descriptive and intense language


J.P.O.et

[Broken.]

It was a thursday...

Lmao.

I love you and this piece like the five minutes you said for us to lie down ;]

[Anima Inspired]

An interesting piece to say the least...

What I liked most was the beauty of the language. Honestly, I'm a sucker for beautiful language that is on the edge of possibly not making sense, but sounds like melting chocolate rolling off of my tongue. Normally I'm quite perceptive when it comes to deciphering the subconcious ramblings of wonderful writers...and I do consider this well written...but this time I have to admitt that I'm slightly lost as to the content. None the less...I like the way that you keep bringing things around to the concrete "days of the week"...sort of grounding yourself, and the reader, in something that is completely unchangeable. Overall...I did enjoy reading this.

I recall a time, one time in my life when the highness of oxygen painted fuzzy pictures in my eye, at every setting of the sun and each pulsing vein that throbs with your absence, ripping at my connection to the world.
--love this line!