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FlamencosFingEasy
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Name: Justin
Country: United States
State: Arkansas
Birthday: 1/15/1983
Gender: Male
Interests: 17:09
Armstrong, Matthew
Balliet, Sarah
Buckley, Jeff
Buckley, Keith
Depp, J.C.
Edwards, Vincent
Gallo, Vincent
Ginny
Grammar
Haircuts
Kasher, Tim
Morrissey
Pants
Postmodernism
Rickly, Geoffrey
Rollins, Henry
Schrodt, Alexander
Semantics
tucker
Turla, Adam
Expertise: Advice Columnist
Devil's Advocate
Ghost
Neurotic Creep
Occupation: Student
Message: message me
Website: visit my website
AIM:  FlamencosFinEasy
MSN: glassjawdaryl@hotmail.com
Member Since:
8/10/2004
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| "An Open Letter"
Coats on. Doors open, doors close. Chair is a coat rack. Back. Side to side to long to back. A cue. Snake, snaking, snook around the room. As music. No one impressed. "Can you?" he said. Come in. Coats off. For God's sake, sit down. Dim triangles of lights; digits;...batteries so I took it in its wire mouth but he wasn't there and come back when call tomorrow...; flip, flip; shutter; ghuoo...klwrr! Just ask, he said and might not no it may be. Nothing he said is unavoidable. No one to over the echo of the blood of the room the noise here of the cockle in your ear but of course no he said no. And put on his coat and moved to sit down to ride the snake unmoved at the conveyor belt's end and put the question to rest when what light from yonder window no he said but the light shone and he sat down and could not look up to face the darkness adjacent and peer past the 13575310488 to the glass case and say it not no but then he opened his mouth coat off sat down lights low flame surging up where the air was thinner to slink down and it said not yet but not no and so maybe he would say it and ask and not put on another coat when the doors opened and poured out into the world cold and still darker the streets and the road that leads home either way atop the ground and in the ground and of course there he was and oh he had began to speak and what to say and it was not time to go but before long it would e or someone would say do you remember and he would not say although he did and would not say no but would leave not speechless but wordless through the door and leave them there as he walked not through the night but across it until someone might not understand why he had said nothing and not said no and again no and then why and still no and all you know and he no and again he would ask why and hear no until one day it was finally and forever and always no and every day another no until nothing at all was ever again said and the hush of the night and music and warm air empty spaces shadows of ghosts streetlights benches asleep two lights a voice now four and questions shaking in the cold night and something about numbers or closed off or clothes or the forever interrogation whoo who who receiving no answer and off so you the imperial colors the indistinguishable voice trees scattered covered path soft light of morning wet grass and could or would they no since you are not they and we have said she said to him he heard them not with us and again and again no and streetlights say yellow and mean maybe and red and mean no and green and mean and again she said I cannot take this and he did not say he would keep it he did not say and then she did also not say no all the faces no more and gone from that cold night when the violin case later in the shelf seen through the window barred still in its opened case was closed on a table with no note attached and only a name now and then unspeakable the infinite no the forever everlasting no with nothing left save what was thrown into the roof picked clean portrait destroyed mortal coil but that night before where windows were made to keep the world out but it had been said again possibly indeterminably mean if only to keep the world out with windows down in the night and the soft light of morning and now distinguishable voices con safo humming and buzzing in the night staring into the dark precipice of event horizon the same as before outside in the streetlights now shaking in the warm night whispered what no answer before the return weeks and papers stream stationary half replies sunset sunrise before three days the squall had taken the news to sea he showed up onceand they answered the door with and do come in noise and questions and St. Peter fishing nets outstretched hands and dial tones walking in the snow to the doorway past the hill down to the house across the grass to the window smoke from the rooftop and the flame on the table and he asked "Would you? Would you?" And I said it. I said I would, indeed. "Yes," I said. "Yes."
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| "CMDY"
We go back. We span time. Here we are, spanning time. Still spanning. I'm not as much as you thought I said you thought I said I was. Promise. Sort of.
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| "Happy Leap Year!"
Five-year Plan:
2007 - Don't die.
2008 - Don't die.
2009 - Don't die.
2010 - Don't die
2011 - Die.
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| "Nolita, I'm Coming Home."
It'll be March before you see me again. It may be longer than that. You get philosophical sometimes, and you say things that you don't mean, really. You know you do. Well, okay. Fair enough. Just turn the record over, and let's remember how it used to be. It can rain all afternoon and clear through the weekend. I never want to look out this window again.
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| "Ship to Shore (My Bonnie Lies...)"
I used to be decent looking and respectable. Yes, I realize that was a long time ago, and this has been a long time coming. I used to love to wait with you when the sun came through the hotel windows sparkling into the room, past the chair and the loveseat toward the desk and the banister. You might comment on how exhausted I looked, and he might say something about the room or the sound the door made or something else, but the room still smelled like it always did, and the sun would beam in there, too. Before, hearts weren't twisted heaps of metal, bent angle upon angle, wrapped into one another and creased and distorted, glass strewn in the street and along the sidewalk. Once, there were streets to walk, warm air, grass knee high around wrought iron fences and steps leading down to the water, which was never standing and almost always still. Occasionally, someone would call on the phone or yell something which could seldom be heard over the humming of the machinery of slow progress and reclamation. A shadow fell upon the dock, the sound of approaching wheels upon the gravel and dust, the lapping of the water against the railing and the concrete and the bottoms of the boats. Yes, I understand what you meant now, but I still can't believe that any of it could ever last.
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