There's a narrator in my head. He sounds brave and he sounds care free but he is stern. He's been with me all morning. Usually he feels either jealous or cramped when there's someone else bidding for my attention but on this afternoon he knows that the company is keeping him and myself from tearing out each others jugulars.
There are actually 5 others with me, or us; four small bodies tangled up in the back seat of a '98 Cherokee and two more up front due to size constraints. If he were real he would be sitting shotgun considering he has mastered the art of co-piloting long ago. Instead he sits coach in the backseat with the angels and myself but takes up no space.
The narrator up top mentions to me that the road reminds him of a brick building and we are the vegetation crawling up, meshed together in the cracks. We are every type of moss and ivy and vine all balled together.
The wind from the open windows controls every strand of hair and makes it hard to decipher whose growing each piece. They tangle like our bodies, like vines. The smoke from the 4th, 5th, 9th, 17th cigarette is the only scent and it climbs the road with us. For the time being we are all together and content with the height. He then motions down and tells me the fall from this point is painless and invigorating. I smile because I trust him more than anyone and I quietly agree. We wait for nothing but the elements to knock us loose.
I'll take credit for the reassurance I'll give everyone just before we're about to descend. They trust me and relax their bodies as we are about to fall together all wound together. The landing will be a smooth one, he promises me and keeps quiet. As the wind picks up and we start to sway. We're almost ready to voluntarily lose our grip, all of us.
The rain sends down thousands and millions of watermarked hints to try and tell us something but we ignore it and look towards the sun for a safe landing.
I can't see him but I know the narrator is happy with me and they are too. Life is a breeze at this height but the rain is usually right.
Monday, July 14, 2008
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13 comments:
alcohol and alter boys - bayside
"there's a voice in my head..."
ehh, i know the song, baysides one of my favorites...but you know that aleady.
but it's way different then what this one was about.
keep guessing, keep writing.
I just want inside your head. Simple.
-xo.
I also forgot to mention this is one of my new favourites now. Just because it's so intriguing.
You do so well.
thank you always, for the kind words. it makes it easier to post things. i have tons of stuff i dont even put up cause i get weirded out by em. ill show you some of em one day if you want.
what does that subject line mean?
chris
I'd actually really, really like that if you could show them to me someday. It means a lot that you even would. So thank you.
The subject line, by the way, means that it's hot. Which happens in 106+ degree weather. I hate marking the name as anonymous and instead would rather have to come up with a new Name/Subject type thing each and every time. So sometimes nonsense happens. More often than not, actually.
-xo.
that does mean that i would have to know who you are to send you the ones ill never post here though. doesnt it?
-chrisssssss
106+ degrees? where the hell are you?
You're correct, it would have to mean that. But how would we go about that now?
and I'm someplace where 111 degrees F is normal and/or expected. To semi-answer your question.
:)
-xo.
111 degrees? and normal? where the hell is that?
Hahah, oh boy. I'm still in the U.S. No worries.
-xo.
wat state?
IM me, unless you're scared of life.
SN: ChrisPaulOHanlon
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