Friday, April 27, 2007
Yesterdream came teary. Through snore and cry and rustle-turn of mine dormed sleepers I drifted, down-thru, out away and gone-to, o’er the smoked blacky trees of mine Albuquerque forest 24 hour love-candle. I AM THE SWOOPING ALBUQERQUE ALBATROSS, flying Matty beak snap, I SHUN THE LIP’S GOD A FIE YOU COME GET ME! Screamy Matty cry and swoop up up and away. From mine Icarus fly-point I saw left. Her. Mine deserted Mom discompanied of her bruised girl, alone and weeping, empty frame clutched chestward where the Matty me once gurned glowing outward. I saw right. Her. Mine lost Lou, bayed to and scorned paywise for her hairy countenance as the Guardian shadows back, grinning and hand panted for self glory. I saw down and mine wings gave way to the Matty weight of mine sorrow and there I woke breathy, sheet tented out, and sniffling for mine dispersed loves lost. I must leave. Mine journey has brought me here, but they are there. I am not finished.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Special Friends’ gardens loll sidewise of mine hanging head, ear shouldered and dribble down, wheelchair bound (poor imitation of mattmobile essensce, a retard trolley, rattling for the teary visitors, none for the Matty me) and limp-wrist arm point towards the Happy Way, bah-uh.
I was two months alone of the blacky cell, mine One and Two new guards sitting point and sliding food down and through for mine curled grip and gnashy bite, under the glowering love of the vag-handed man upstairs, forky beard and dripping exposed body-pump a spectacle to mine laughing innerds “I AM MATTY ONE LEG! I BASH AND THRONG AND YOU HANG ONLY CROOKED!” screaming inwards silent.
I am calloused of the finger-point forehead, a gnarly temple-spot where I found mine peace, a point of some return. There mine gnarly phalange gave comfort to the ping of mine electric cord and there the headaches ended and I could see. Darkness there and nothing more, said he. But mine finger remained pressed of the softened side-head, restraining the tricky brain-devils from their tormentuous pain-work inside and with the other I pronged the gap for all I lost, darkness in replace of the colors and boo hoo, Matty, boo hoo whisper, day in and out and nightward same, and no love, no contact, no Special Friends.
They point and jeer, the children of the alcoholic missing a leg, at mine rubber neck and mine wetted robe, slick of the mouthy meal. Words come nowhere and retreat from the outside wind and I am left to their merciless proddery, while their Mom gets jiggy with the one legged fruit. I am released to gen-pop from mine solitary confines, rid of the me-devils, they say, and prepped for a Godful remaining stay.
Evening begins at 6 here when I am taken from the breathy gardens to the dorms where they sleep and I poke the callous for comfort until sun rises again and I can return. And at six mine robe is wetter than ever with the leaking of mine stinging eye.
I was two months alone of the blacky cell, mine One and Two new guards sitting point and sliding food down and through for mine curled grip and gnashy bite, under the glowering love of the vag-handed man upstairs, forky beard and dripping exposed body-pump a spectacle to mine laughing innerds “I AM MATTY ONE LEG! I BASH AND THRONG AND YOU HANG ONLY CROOKED!” screaming inwards silent.
I am calloused of the finger-point forehead, a gnarly temple-spot where I found mine peace, a point of some return. There mine gnarly phalange gave comfort to the ping of mine electric cord and there the headaches ended and I could see. Darkness there and nothing more, said he. But mine finger remained pressed of the softened side-head, restraining the tricky brain-devils from their tormentuous pain-work inside and with the other I pronged the gap for all I lost, darkness in replace of the colors and boo hoo, Matty, boo hoo whisper, day in and out and nightward same, and no love, no contact, no Special Friends.
They point and jeer, the children of the alcoholic missing a leg, at mine rubber neck and mine wetted robe, slick of the mouthy meal. Words come nowhere and retreat from the outside wind and I am left to their merciless proddery, while their Mom gets jiggy with the one legged fruit. I am released to gen-pop from mine solitary confines, rid of the me-devils, they say, and prepped for a Godful remaining stay.
Evening begins at 6 here when I am taken from the breathy gardens to the dorms where they sleep and I poke the callous for comfort until sun rises again and I can return. And at six mine robe is wetter than ever with the leaking of mine stinging eye.
Between the headaches I can see. I am Matthew. I wish I was dead
