the Duet

Here's something that 'was' - the piece of me I'm done with anyway. Part of 'the Patricide' (draft One) and probably better than what I subsequently came up with, but incoherent. And I guessed it's better to make sense than to try desperately to not.

the sky is white,

its spaces blue,

its diamonds bleak

and purple too

with leaves in grey

when leaving brown,

with orange lights

to smile a frown

and with you around

your jaded gold,

what can I say?

it’s a racial world.

now the sky is red

and yellow too,

with all the shit

that’s falling through

and I do my best

to keep it clean,

and not wait for yellow

to turn to green

yet I find my name

stuck in the flow,

what can I say?

it’s a preposterous world…

the sky is crying

the sky is crying

the sky is crying

go make it stop

no bucket enough

to hold the drops

but one like you,

you’d soak it up;

like shit in water,

a face in the mud

you pulled my chains,

you cleared my line;

but… (emotionally) I’m not gay

Rozario: Neither am I.

the scene ends with both of them (there's two people, unless you haven't figured that already) looking into each other's eyes, pretty much at kissing distance. And both are men, yes. Probably think Marlon Brando with Dustin Hoffman (or someone equally tiny, and as intense) except that he'd play guitar - enough to walk on Clapton, King and Stevie Ray.

I know. I'm from Mars, or a parallel equivalent.

first love

It’s curious how I need a worse load of bullshit to actually get me to do this, you know – I find that I simply cannot get myself to write unless I’m decidedly screwing myself up in a major way that this seems less intolerable. It’s a sickness to sit with words and arrange them on a document, but its torture to approach an examination without digression. Hence, here goes.

Not that this is going to be anything new to anyone who knows the remotest part of me (or those who like to think they do) but I’ve suddenly taken too much to this song. Okay, well… It’s ‘Half of my heart’, there I said it.

“half of my heart

has a real good imagination,

half of my heart’s got you;

half of my heart’s

got a right mind to tell you

that half of my heart won’t do…”

no one would take my word for this as is immensely obvious, but no one other than Mayer could possibly spring this up and mean it too. I mean, I see him board a taxi in that absurdly underdone music video and it’s so… relatable?

Consider this, and do so seriously: Do you think you actually believe in love? I can’t probably thrust expertise into this after Woody Allen, after all that’s subsequently happened, or maybe I’m ahead of the bend and I look behind and see nothing. It scares me to think that I don’t really even think about someone I used to think about all the time, how frightening can emotions get, really. We’re so excessively reminding ourselves to do things that we forget that we wouldn’t do them at all if there weren’t that unnecessary bit of driving force. And why do you have to do that?

Heck, I’m exhausting myself again. It’s sick, seriously sick to having to read myself write what I know already… I mean, how productive is all this, what am I writing this for, am I actually going to change anything by putting this thought out? It sucks to think that every little burst of thought, every possible inspiration to make something is nothing but masturbation, that you only want to get it out but you don’t care where it goes – even if it means ‘down the drain’.

But take this back, though – I never even think about a lot of people that I thought fascinated me at a point of time, maybe they do even now but I just see their Xs and Ys, I place them and now that I know, it’s not as intriguing at all. Nothing is, nothing can ever be. Everything has this expiry date, everything is this milk product where you’ve got to eat it and not save it for later or hold it out for a half a lifetime. And when you eat it, you’re done. It’s done. And I don’t think I need to tell you about what it becomes, then – you’re bound to think that I’m some sort of weird-freak if I did say that.

I think this, I think ‘Bicentennial Man’ – 200 years, hell. Thank the force that that was a robot.

lydia(?)

Maybe I’m getting to speak so straight these days that I’m not getting to ride the bend at all? I don’t know, but it’s a hell lot of fun to be coming from around the bend because people don’t see what’s coming until it hits them, or even after it hits them, and that makes the bend the only tangible way for the world to be dealing with things it already has.

I’ve been having these thoughts lately, and these aren’t cosmological thoughts, they’re just plain depressing ones, perhaps, or just… thoughts. I’ve always questioned the idea of a lot of things coming from a less-constituted something that was actually pretty substantial to be making the whole of it, and then I figured the earth was just a mass of an oddly shaped solid ‘balled’ by chemicals – and that that’s about all of it. It’s not a round anymore, it’s just some weird spiked ball, it’s chemicals and it’s gravitation – just like some bunch of laws, observations and interpretations stringing it to be what it is, and boy isn’t that depressing!

Kind of made me remember the ‘Dreamers’ quote again – “Everything shrinks.” Everything does shrink when it starts to make sense, and then I wonder if it would be better left alone than explored. That way footballs would stay footballs and not projections of ultramicroscopic dots in space.

Let me head out of that track with that picture. I’ve had this ‘Annie Hall’ idea inside my head… okay, wrong way to begin it. I’ve been having this idea inside my head to make something out of what I’ve come across about ‘two people’. Wonder if I could make it into a term, you know ‘two-people’ and kind of brand them as an entity that can simply not exist in fragments. Like, if you’re taken once, then you’re just half the man and you’d always be so. And this isn’t some cushion for the ‘singles’ to lean on. It’s just a special kind of ‘singles’ who are allowed to empathize, and that’s ‘single’ and not ‘awaiting response’ or ‘taking a break’ or ‘bachelor party’. I hope you get what I’m saying.

It’s going to be a huge challenge to write this without actually resembling anything in the varying degrees of history – ‘Annie Hall’, ‘(500) days of Summer’, et al. And it’s not admitting defeat to actually base things upon those movies and go ahead and embrace them, instead of trying to stick out. A Woody Allen type of humour is entirely tangible, as is Marc Webb’s (I forgot the writers’ name, not looking up) idea of making sense and steering clear of bullshit. So, I don’t know where I’m heading with this from here, although I see some patches of road blurred by sun – sometimes things are too bright that you can’t make out what they’re structuring themselves to be. It’s not always darkness that blinds, or it’s never the darkness that blinds. Someone quote me on that.

I know one thing for sure – I’m not going to name it ‘Lydia’ and that’s just because I know a Lydia and it’s no offence. Not ‘miss B’, either (not that I’m beyond ‘her’), I’m just looking for something that would cut me off of the threads that hold me down so I can at least float around and make some sense? ‘Lydia’ (as made famous inside my head by John Mayer, twice) would mean flesh and blood; a quantization, and I wouldn’t want that. I’m not looking for entities – I’m looking to create one.

Let me end this thing with a line I conceived for this play or film or whatever it would come out to be.

(pompous-looking ‘showgirl’ with coy smile) “you're imagining me naked, aren't you?”

(Woody Allen sarcasm) "trust me, there's not much for the mind to do."

goes with how she’s ‘dressed’. And that’s definitely not the ‘Lydia’ replacement.