for you partake of that last offered cup
"and i heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts, and i looked and behold: a pale horse. and his name, that sat on him, was death. and Hell followed with him."
"when the man comes around," by johnny cash
i woke, my head feeling like the whirlwind in the thorn tree. my body horizontal, sort of, almost, yes, vertical. i walked to the kitchen and poured a large glass of water. guzzled it, feeling the bigweight of last night bearing down on me. i put the kettle on the burner to boil tea. it was cold now. it was november.
the windows were cracked, my flannels felt nice, and i began walking back to the living room, when i noticed a raven on the veranda, insipid and wild. i stood staring at the raven, and it stared back. the pale air swirled in the distance past the slightly open window. the raven spoke thus, '"my poor child,' quoth the Fairy Blackstick in thackeray's 'the rose and the ring,' 'the best thing i can send you is a little MISFORTUNE,'" as it flew off into the paledream day.
"fuck."
i went back to the kitchen and drew the tea, back to the living room, flipped on the television, and laid down.
it must have been late afternoon when i woke to the buzz of the phone. a text message: "we're going to play ball. should i swing by?"
"fuck." again.
"yeah," i wrote back.
not too long after, dan arrived. the nap had done me good, and i figured i'd get some exercise. or punishment. or something. i hopped in the car with my gym back. we drove to the gym to meet ryan and daisuke.
"you do anything last night, man," dan asked.
"yeah, i met a girl. and man, she just, I saw her, she just, like, emerged, as if from the woods, with the upshot of the moonlight illuminating her for the first time, no home but the night, a compendium of swirling dreams and dark magic, and she stirred such a paroxysm of emotion in my soul, man, just from the first sight, um."
(i didn't say that.)
"i caught a show."
"how was it?"
"it was fine. whadjyall do?"
"we went out. i ended up cooking brunch for twelve."
"nice..."
"yeah."
we arrived at the gym, chose teams, and went at it. there were some of the usual players there, you know the ones, the players playing basketball regularly, running by and out-hustling the occasional players. i played well at first but ran out of gas shortly, but i built up a sweat, everyone did. we played for a couple hours, then ryan, dais, dan, and i shot around by ourselves shooting the shit.
we said goodbye and left.
i hopped in dan's car, and we drove back. the cowboy bebop sunset looked like papier mache splashed against the lovesicksuicidesky, and it reminded me of rian johnson's neo-noir film, where a caped man with a top hat and walking stick sat on the beach in front of a bespectacled thinner man, as they both stared at the sunset and crashing breakers,when the caped man burst out, "things can get, you know, it's tough sometimes. twisted, complicated, watching all the, i don't know. everyone's got their thing.
[silence]
you read tolkien?"
"what?"
"tolkien, the hobbit books?"
"yeah."
"his descriptions of things are really good."
"yeah?"
"he makes you want to be there."
i walked into the house.
"when the man comes around," by johnny cash
i woke, my head feeling like the whirlwind in the thorn tree. my body horizontal, sort of, almost, yes, vertical. i walked to the kitchen and poured a large glass of water. guzzled it, feeling the bigweight of last night bearing down on me. i put the kettle on the burner to boil tea. it was cold now. it was november.
the windows were cracked, my flannels felt nice, and i began walking back to the living room, when i noticed a raven on the veranda, insipid and wild. i stood staring at the raven, and it stared back. the pale air swirled in the distance past the slightly open window. the raven spoke thus, '"my poor child,' quoth the Fairy Blackstick in thackeray's 'the rose and the ring,' 'the best thing i can send you is a little MISFORTUNE,'" as it flew off into the paledream day.
"fuck."
i went back to the kitchen and drew the tea, back to the living room, flipped on the television, and laid down.
it must have been late afternoon when i woke to the buzz of the phone. a text message: "we're going to play ball. should i swing by?"
"fuck." again.
"yeah," i wrote back.
not too long after, dan arrived. the nap had done me good, and i figured i'd get some exercise. or punishment. or something. i hopped in the car with my gym back. we drove to the gym to meet ryan and daisuke.
"you do anything last night, man," dan asked.
"yeah, i met a girl. and man, she just, I saw her, she just, like, emerged, as if from the woods, with the upshot of the moonlight illuminating her for the first time, no home but the night, a compendium of swirling dreams and dark magic, and she stirred such a paroxysm of emotion in my soul, man, just from the first sight, um."
(i didn't say that.)
"i caught a show."
"how was it?"
"it was fine. whadjyall do?"
"we went out. i ended up cooking brunch for twelve."
"nice..."
"yeah."
we arrived at the gym, chose teams, and went at it. there were some of the usual players there, you know the ones, the players playing basketball regularly, running by and out-hustling the occasional players. i played well at first but ran out of gas shortly, but i built up a sweat, everyone did. we played for a couple hours, then ryan, dais, dan, and i shot around by ourselves shooting the shit.
we said goodbye and left.
i hopped in dan's car, and we drove back. the cowboy bebop sunset looked like papier mache splashed against the lovesicksuicidesky, and it reminded me of rian johnson's neo-noir film, where a caped man with a top hat and walking stick sat on the beach in front of a bespectacled thinner man, as they both stared at the sunset and crashing breakers,when the caped man burst out, "things can get, you know, it's tough sometimes. twisted, complicated, watching all the, i don't know. everyone's got their thing.
[silence]
you read tolkien?"
"what?"
"tolkien, the hobbit books?"
"yeah."
"his descriptions of things are really good."
"yeah?"
"he makes you want to be there."
i walked into the house.
posted by liam at
11:36 PM
7 Comments:
When I read this, I feel like a whole day is being panned through different scenes played in the mind and then some in reality. Like the delicate touches on D minor, I see pain lurking somewhere there. But you know, maybe I have taught myself to see pain in most words. As you finish, this post makes me want to be there, to see it unfold, if it does at all. There is raw grace to be seen here, to be touched before it melts away as you walk inside.
that was lovely, sir. many days are panned in our heads, some, like tyler durden's, more than others.
Oh, I think a real romantic was bricking shots at that lovesicksuicidesky.
There's something sad about pretty soft spots. It's the hard things, like bones and shells, that fossilize and end up in academic hands to be studied in the far off future.
Just curious, but what sort of man-infraction would be given for quoting Thackeray on a ball court?
someone somewhere is bricking shots, but that sucka wouldn't be me.
and with a ridiculously confident delivery, one can get away with all sorts of quotes on a court. it's probably best to compartmentalize, though.
Any story starting with some Johnny is gonna be ok with me, fella. Sparrows and all!
Rock on!
hahaha. word, rex. word.
edit: the shit's getting changed to a raven. *sigh*. heh.
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