mendacious conversation’s over lunch…

From every possible angle confusion descends. There’s nothing wrong with that; I can hear the acceptance in my voice and it feels like a diamond tipped back-scratcher. The scars are going to be beautiful. Even with the confidence of flowing water, a certain fear of mistaken identity pervades the conversation. Maybe such cool-water confidence is the easy part of the game; even the memories that go back far enough to be of some use are just partial pictures from a time before I knew enough to be of any use to anyone, myself included.

It would be savage fiction if I tried to imply that any of the controls made any kind of sense. The labels are all in some language I’ve never seen, and without reference points or landmarks, even the map is useless. Whispered advice and long discussions lean on the phrase “remember when” as if it could be any possible help to remember what it was like to fumble around for words because an answer to a special smile had to be found. Everything in that smile is easy to remember except my reply. That smile said yes to things I’d never seen before. An entire world of pleasurable struggle, of things I’d heard about but never seen, and a few things I’d never even heard of. Such a smile comes along a few times in life, and even though my retort has since vanished, what matters is seeing the smile and walking on down.

With that in mind, this night requires a heavy mixture simply to organize the complex of reactions and tangents knotted together. Peeling footsteps off the sidewalk one after another and staggering towards a wet tongue and hoping it’s warm too. It’s the preferred way to travel if you’ve got any style at all. Laughter and morphine, concentration and skeptical faith keep the discussion at eye level. Internal dissension builds as we tear apart the plan of attack, but it’ll be rebuilt with a stronger foundation eventually. Just feeling the approach of hips and legs sliding past fingertips is enough to arouse an impassioned sense of self-worth. She says she doesn’t know what I think she knows by heart. Endearing.

One thing I do remember is that the buildup is in and of itself more than the soft-sheeted embrace still to come. A few thousand miles from here there is still a white-walled room that was the only witness to a similar scene played out for similar reasons. Being so continuously destroyed and rebuilt in the convex irrationalism of stately sinecure means serving and being served as the natural order of things. Even if it comes down to expressionism symbolized by a glass of water on a hot night, the opportunity arrives only to the extent that defenses remain relaxed. It takes a long time to find your way back to what it was like before thirty tons of responsibilities and bullshit were dumped down to be given out to people in the wrong place at the wrong time. Not so beautiful, at least not in the classical sense.

Perched under the eaves and listening to crickets talk about summertime while thinking back to the original comment. Warm air moves slowly, circulating through the room and in between lips and throats and into lungs. Coming right out and speaking clearly diminishes the romance by removing the mystery. The sweet dependence on keeping you coming back for more while also making sure (or as sure as can be anyway) to protect the image from the light of day is a tough game to play. There is an intrinsic value to finding some small amount of hope in the reflections of light from reversed eyes that see me every time I look out to see. My assumptions would be weighted towards belief, if only because without signs of hope and faith, there is nothing else to go on. Every third word means something other than what it seems to mean; pointless rules to get in the way of finding out if you kiss with your eyes open or closed. I’ve seen both, which is my way of saying I leave them open. Except when they’re closed. Confusing business.

All the same, seemingly insoluble disagreements can find resolution with the passage of time. Hardened dogmatists will simply have to become brittle and crumble rather than remain convinced of the superiority of ideology. They must never think about warmth. Where would they find the time? Quite a theory to stick to rather than revise it based on new evidence. Here I am trying to get a better read on the amount of light reflecting from a pair of really friendly eyes and out in the street they’re reformulating evidence based on theory instead of the other way ’round. At least we won’t have to worry about figuring out why nothing is happening. I’d rather slice my eyelids off; still it remains to be determined where we stand in relation to the summer sun, and how we are gonna get there from here. Evinced confusion is just another layer to peel back before the last answer is given to a purely physical question. Trowell would be proud… he always says I’m too easy on the little bits of the world that don’t fit the spot they’re supposed to occupy. Could be that he’s wrong about that; besides I would never relinquish my addiction to rooting for underdogs. Better to keep plugging along and waiting for a certain smile in a certain light. Patience is a virtue, just not always one of my virtues.

Amidst the fog of confusion there is still a good amount of fun in testing wide ranging theories against what evidence we have. Yeah, you can play the part of a Rubik’s cube. You can double back on yourself, configure the numbers and colors into all kinds of patterns and configurations and hope my arms and hands work better than my legs. That being true, you’ll also get to turn a few times and find out if I look the same from the front, the back, or off to the side of a dimly lit room while music covers the sounds of breathing and smiles cover the confusion of early evening.

2 Responses to “mendacious conversation’s over lunch…”

  1. this is sexy. I hope thats what you were going for but either way thats what I got out of it =D

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