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Open 24 Hours
7">The places we used to go were usually atmospheres only accompanied by the after hours of our lives, and by morning they would evaporate, as what the crowds around us coined ’the real world’ fell back into place. Our exterior desires contained themselves by day, until the empyrean nighttide would form its saturnalia around us. Various eccentricities would randomly present their opinions on the sleeves of inadvertent conformity, most of the lot not even realizing the production of their own contradictions; a very high percentage of my time spent in this nocturnal purgatory had been occupied in comical observation, just gaping quietly from an immeasurable prospect. Palatial daydreams would inoculate the soot smudged fragrance of bonfires by the lather of silver-tongued silences. Clandestine purification of my secret disappointment, leaving my expectations utterly ignored, either for the lives I’ve lived, or perhaps for the roots I have pulled to return to the fatal soils of recognition. I can almost remember the shock that an uncommon embrace once gave me, the soft and urgent look that always stared me down when I thought I was alone, and always ran away before I could ever get a second chance to understand just what it meant. By the end of a strange era we all came to an esoteric realization; as though a quiet hand had found the missing switch eloquently stashed in the back rooms of the soul, that ignited an ominous streetside sign to blare in our hearts, a revelation which shone throughout the murderous quietude with the simple statement, ‘Open 24 Hours’ to burn out any eyelids that refused to open otherwise. From that time onward I have constantly revealed any skeletons in my forgotten closet. We were banished to stay true strictly to ourselves, and now the return that we had never planned has already passed. If this may mean less to you than it has to me then I’ll s’pose that we can relate on one more thing. Being held in this vinyl cushioned scenario, I am being drawn further and further from the comfort of abandon. There are faces crossed with tactfully constructed fallacies, to conceal the reasons of shame behind translucent doors, to the over-spoken discussion- the abstract visions of the new world tribulation. Bars will slam to the clutch of electric solitude, whenever the hearts of high-priced children finally forget to bring their plastic plated bruises under the shield of a dollar bill. The coffeehouse invitation had been sent to the wrong address, and the loneliness of self-proclaimed has-beens wore itself out along the journey for certainty. We don’t feel bad about the misplacement of destiny, and by now I’ve refreshed my memory for sacrifice too many times over. And with this epilogue thrown over my left shoulder like the weary jacket along its side, the ceasing of these words for the inevitable shall be held in my breath until that unstoppable moment presents itself, and such words and such a breath is released.[/font][/font]
Published 8th Nov 2009
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Anonymous
8th Nov 2009 2:07pm
flowing as if in a reverie.so many beautiful expressions, particularly liked the last one"epilogue thrown over my left shoulder like the weary jacket" u do have a very unique way with words.beautiful!
9th Nov 2009 00:12am
i feel as if you make love with words... hope you understand, but i'm sure you do...
