Golden Boy
Walking home today, I overshot my street by a block. There was a time when every person's defects or abilities could be attributed to a surplus or defecit in any combination of four humors. The compass rose, has risen. North, South, East, West. Up, Down, Left, Right. The Don would have a field day. To think that so many carrry within a potential unrefined. A tool without intent creates nothing. Hammers don't swing themselves. Direction, decision, focus. If you don't build the aqueduct before opening the floodgates, you'll only end up trudging through the mud. If only we had the sense of precision to bring to bear the power behind our eyes. There is an untamed strength in so many. Restrained in a way that is unhealthy. To be docile is far different than to be diffident. Under control opposite having control. Wild beasts behind the eyes. Mortal shells to misunderstood purpose. Focus. Concentrate. Pull your shit together, man.
posted by Javan at 12:16 PM
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Sitting in a dark corner and everything is grey, all these faces pervading your boundaries. How do I begin something that is? Eternity, please stay a while. The sun is going down and saltwater falls when for 5 minutes soft orange sunlight illuminates a wall and a desk.
She has that ruddy blonde hair dye color in her slightly frizzy dry hair. Tall and powerful, her eyes have creases and a loose leather jacket. She is round in the middle, legs as triangular extensions. I see her, not in a nice or bad sense, but in what so many women become; a mother and wife, her duty determined, I wonder what she dreams. She spoke to another woman, who reached in height only to her waist. Their children went to school together, that was their link, the only connection as of yet in their fates. She was small and her eyes were an undeterminable color of green brown and blue. Short dark hair, and the cheeks of a newborn baby, I wondered what she would look like when she would be older, I imagined how she looked at her husband, such loving looks, he holds her, leads her. The blonde woman led her as well. She told her what trainstop to get off at, and when its coming, the tall woman felt responsibility for her getting there on time, counting on her fingers the amount of train stops, and when the train announcer made a mistake, the small woman looked up with confused, slightly accusatory and worried eyes, and her friend feeling slightly huffed, knowing she didn’t make a mistake but feeling the assurance slip away. She was correct, the stop was next, and only after the little woman left with her round face and feet that dangled when she sat did the other woman sit down.
A man on the subway was playing the bass. His hands held the metal pole, his hair was white. the right held a long striped umbrella, supported like a cane, his left fourth finger wore a golden ring and the rest were fingering the metal banister, striped elongated reflections as his strings, lips forming the melody, train wheels as his rhythm, each persons breath as his audience. No, no audience. Except for my eyes, that stood adoring his fingers, their movement. Boombommbomm his lips, fingers eyes, the train track, he vanishes and the base becomes my support, I lean, I feel my hip joint against. Wet footprints on the ground. At union square the world is frozen momentarily while a black man yells curses at the white man who scurries away. Situation deceasing, the frozen groups become active once again, he is still yelling but the world is now spinning. Behind the back of two men below on the platform is a couple kissing, in the distance, under yellow lights, and suddenly the saxophone comes in, the yelling just as suddenly stopping. This inertia and flow, unstoppable, a sense in the air even if, but, its there, isn’t it? Don’t fall away, please, stay a while with me, don’t let fear take hold, don’t freeze, don’t make that sunlight into blues. But the edge of the desk is now empty and cold.
beautiful
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