To dance again

[Sepia]

We'll meet in hell for the last time so be still,
my beating heart. Here is the dance we've been led to for so many years, here is the hardwood floor, recently polished and here are the sacred vessels, their eyes filled with sparkles and when they sell their souls for beads and drugs they won't think for this is their night, it is theirs by the right of possession, obsession has brought these young men and women to this place, where their fathers danced and their grandfathers built it and their fathers cleared it of indians and one could say it all happened because once upon a time someone took religion too seriously and separated from the old world. Yet, religion matters less when greed can be good to those that sought to conquer america

This is where our dance came from, its traditions are rooted in history and etched in blood, the becoming of men and women have always had rituals attached to them, some serious and some lighthearted but they are always there and here we see where the gods are the least significant as a young nervous boy steps onto the hardwood with someone he dreams will be his wife and they'll have the most beautiful wedding and he'll work hard so she has everything she could want and when he realizes the harsh truth, that a necklace isn't an automatic fuck but he is a man without time and in a way out of time but he has cash and he gets a room at a nice hotel downtown and there he begins to live his life with a new woman or man every night

The magic of that first touch, that awkward grabbing the hips and trying to keep a posture but the insane giggling just shines through and we'll know that this is the one, the one for us. We'll be separated by archaic notions of time and space but we'll meet at the important parts of life and we'll meet once at some weird theatric festival and get the feeling of fate or impending doom and we'll meet again and we'll go away together, somewhere, share and revel in who we became and we'll become something more together and we'll still be separated by careers and professional wants but we'll meet and we'll drink and we'll do and it will. Then we meet casually in our hometown, completely out of season and your mother is dead and my mother is dead and as we move in one way back in time, we turn it off and move outside of it and we see it there and it looks like one of the fishes your mother had on her car and that's the one we drive away with tin in our back and fire up front and it feels so nice because you're so happy and for you, she is there, with you

The songs go slower as the evening fades and a teacher leaning up against the wall, watching, sees his own past living in front of him and he is thankful, both to be able to see it but also to be able to say no to reliving them again for fear is one of his housegods. The fear was concieved on the hardwood and it was birthed two years later and it spoke its first words five years into the future: control. Here the teacher sees, the scholar, the pundit, the sage sees it through the wisdom of his years, the blue sullen truth, this dark decaying monster rearing its head through time through the years and he hears an old mentor say nothing for nothing and he sees that his wisdom holds no meaning save for himself and as men and women are becoming, a man stands weeping for the future

It will not help for this earth is sated with salt and it crunches delightfully as the young men and young women venture out into the night and for some it will change things for others it will affirm things for others it will be another day, one more tick off the calender until we can die or move out of here. We haven't spoke but we've been watching each other all night, you're the third prettiest on the whole damn school and I'm the one with a sock in my pants and some bourbon I stole from my dad in my pocket and we'll go to the fields and we'll kiss the stars as we kiss eachother with firewater burning in us, enhancing the experience as we nervously howl at the moon and there are no words, just eyes and hands and noses and lips and skin and tongues in the meadows by the glade

[Thurnez Isa]

DO WE STILL GIVE OUT MITTENS?


NO?!?


DAMN YOU















too bad

[Eve Hill]

Beautiful!

[Jasper]

It reminds me of Kerouac, but I like it more.

[Sepia]

Thanks for the kind words, you make my days darlings.