Jan 28, 2009
Lovestrained and Piano Sickened
We aren’t going to be here anymore. Deadlines of fictional fractured moments! Her voice shouting across the room from another scene
“Listen! Listen! We’re here again. We’re back in it, shit! Did you see that?”
Piano blasting away in the background that someone’s tried to plug speakers into it. They sit massive on the floor, cables snaking under the lid and bouncing around as the keys get pounded. Long time since melodic. Singularities of notes beaten fifty times into the white stained imperfections and followed by another seven, another thirteen. Like how she does, in denial of every plan. The score covered in red and purple crayon. The world going on like this for hours.
“Look at that! You don’t hear me, do you? Words and words, what about all this noise! Haaaahahhh. Noise! I have the ocean in my ears, full of music. Anything to say? You’re better at saying than I am.”
Blue on the walls in dripping waves. Others splattered red. Nevermind while watching it all drip together. Someone painted without finishing, or paints without diminishing the running delight of flaws. Frustration exhibited in the violent bursts as if a whole bucket had been used. Our remainders thrown all over everywhere. Faster notes out of the piano, still maintaining all discordance. She notices the light which has started pulsing in time, first from the corner of the room and now taking over a better part of the ceiling. It beats in time. She throws in an Am to see what would happen and the world manifests itself now in green. Up to a C and we’re purple while orange chords the shape of a globe float around our feet.
“That’s not the point.”
I thought shouting would be necessary but this is a whisper. Glistening of a iced slope or fingers through summer woven hair. Nothing is ever the selfsame, and myself? Of the fate that was here before, fated in this here before. We weren’t, and she wasn’t, but Shit Not That Again. Getting lost in it. Whether to be out of it or in it, here with a dull rusty blade of indecision sticking out of my back.
Three chords in a row. Descending and without coherence. Random notes chosen with perfect precision in denial of all attempts at reconciling order with chance. Watch the fingers fall into place. See! Anything but an accident. Everything thrown back into the sea again, imaginary unity a sexless tyrant. Previously melodies carved into our faces with a pencil and now just easily forgotten. Says, who? Nothingmissed again. A lamp in the far corner is slowly turning something between yellow and goldenrod. Hard to tell, with the ceiling lights in continual mad conversation with the microwave in the kitchen.
“Don’t you want to solve anything? This can’t go on. It can’t. Last time we were here for two days. Not again. You’ll get up, same as always. Same...just like before. You’ll do all this, I’ll do all this, and we’ll end up there again. Always there again. I don’t want to. You’ll have to say something, you’ll have to tell us.”
Her eyes stay closed while fingers slide down into something like a waltz.
“There is fine. Why not? It’s cozy. We’ll be safe. Startled and safe again. Not even worth the effort? Not easy to get there. Haven’t you noticed. No...just all work? Two days to find the right keys. You try it sometime. Rather than just words. I can’t transmit anything with words, without context, there’s nothing and I want more”.
Mystery and blackest corners of heaven shining phantoms of light through her dark eyes. If I opened my own for long enough to witness the world we’d see the same as there is now, altered only by the gorgeous rupture of perception. Electric star-light and constellations of the mental-image that we’ve burned there night after night. The notes continually explode in new bursts along the tangential radius of our thoughts. A lamp rises up, flings itself down upon the table. I wonder if we’ll be done soon, if any of this ends ever and then if this is what I want at all.
“I really want to get out of here. Can’t we get out of here? What’s outside, do you remember? I’m not so sure. Can’t we...out of there?” Sequins and sequences, the lights flashing against windowpanes that we’ve never looked out of. Something stained on the carpet under the table. No reason to be seeing all this now. She’ll neverstop, that’s it, what has to give way.
“You’re caught in it again. Relax.” One note after another. There is terror through the door. Caught in it? Reflective; I have mirrors in front of and behind my eyes. One can only see forward and backward, not down. Not now, I can’t see Now. Hear it? Try.
Endless noise and static we’re dancing and sliding inside of, that moves through us potent and bloody. The television isn’t on but the universe is on too many wavelengths. Thousands of channels mixed together and overflowing with what can’t be picked out. Screamblastsorrycrybombmagichurricane, AHHHHH! Torrential rain, the globe spinning backwards right into our future. Sirens down streets at...time? No, no, there can’t be any of that here.
“Where’s the clock? I need it. We should know. Isn’t it late enough now?”
“We agreed not to.”
“I know. But we need to know. I can’t manage. This isn’t going. Not at all. We’re not it. Not yet. We won’t be. I need time. We won’t get out. We’ll die here.”
“We agreed not to. It’s gone. Forget about it. We won’t bring it back now.”
I don’t even know if it’s dark outside. Out of the way, way out down the way and the stairs. How long? I don’t know. The sun never went down. It didn’t come up. Soon I can look out the window and it will come. Across the street red brick and windows illuminated. Palette changes in the scenery and the mock walls of night collapsing. An F# throws the room into vermillion shades, forested endless space. Maybe I can crawl. Maybe the door isn’t that far away. No! Is it time? Where was the end again? I’ll open the door, we’ll tumble out straight onto a wheat field and grab at hopping crows.
“Will it work?”
“You know it won’t. It’s not yet. We’re here now. Stay.”
Inside, entering the mind through the portal of the body. My hand rests on my thigh. She has one in her hair. Did we have clothes? When we began? Sea washing, washing and over enveloped and sinking into sand. Harder to rise. I’ve put too many lies in the way. Limp cock between my legs that’s useless here.
“Stop looking for a way out. There isn’t an end. We won’t get anywhere. Not better or worse than here. Neither happens. The next isn’t better or worse. Who told you it would get resolved anyway? As if we’ll arrive. Have you, ever?”
Revolving doors and we’re stuck in them again! Worse places to be, without glass, and through it the world in blurs never quite catching the moment clear. I’ll be back soon. I’ll be there soon. Something is going to happen and never does. Just more notes on the piano. Scene. Again. Scene. Already happened. We’ve already. That door isn’t the exit! Not anymore, not anytime. Overdue. Looked so hard. Kept staring at it. She’s right? Resolved won’t solve won’t salve won’t...again against the sideways sea! Sand in the mouth and tumbling. Water retching up from the stomach. Her naked back to me.
“We’ll get there. Get not anywhere. You really should stay. You really should choose to stay. Say it. Choose to have went not anywhere. No one can do much more for you.”
“No one. You’re already at the only in. The only end.”
There! Off in future distances. Headlights rush on past as we speed longingly. Lost, lost in all the waves of fragrance and stuffing the etherized rags of loss into out mouths. Kids, look out the window at the kids out the window! The end is close and tying my eyes to the upper part of my soul. Where the fuck did the lower part go? She doesn’t have it. Thought she did. Maybe in the chords and waves of tension. Never found yet. Just listening. Just walking. Stroking the infinity of noise and hoping more gets found.
“Is it light outside?”
“Does it matter? What would we do if it was?”
“Look at it! Open a window! Walk! Doesn’t anything move anymore?”
“Any doesn’t move anymore. My fingers move anymore. Our mouths making this. What do you find in the noise, the noiiiseee.”
She sings it against all harmonies, against the grain of reason and love.
“I don’t know what this is about anymore. I don’t know why we’re here. I want to. I’ll even go to know it. Straight into the streets I don’t remember. Why are we here?”
“We decided / to stay here / until we didn’t know why / we’d come or gone.”
“No. No. No. How are we going to get back? How do we fucking get back? What did we do about that? Didn’t we think. Wasn’t that part. It’s nogood, haaaaaaa nogod, no good without god’s grateful globs!”
“Don’t do that. You really should not do that. I’ll stop playing if you do that. This isn’t madness. Into dissolving isn’t the way. There isn’t back. Looking the wrong way. Listen goes forward. We never arrive. No derivations from our arrivals or departures. Do you get that?”
“I’m worried. All the sea is coming back up! Too much. Did you see how much I swallowed? God in my stomach, saltwater and the cells exploding! Get it out!”
“You got it out a long time ago. None of that here. Take my hand.”
One still banging on the keys. When was the last time a moment ended? Softest touch and warm clenching. The notes are transmitted straight through now as tensing and relaxing muscles. Each one of them palpable. Not words. Sensory delight and rapture of touch! I have nothing to say about everything. I have something to say about nothing. If I could transmit my desire through all sensations at once I would expect you to explode. There is not enough in this mode. Her hand clenching mine and the notes roll over us together, knock us over and fill us together. Bodily musicality. Scent of my sweat, smoke of the room, on my other hand that was between her thighs.
“Taste! Give me a taste! I need to taste!”
Back between. Away from the exits.
“We’re right in the middle of good and evil and neither owns us. DId you even notice? The fucked up horror and beauty of it?”
Scentualized sensations while raising my head up, warmth and wet on my face under my eyes. Close enough to feel the room dissolve, before and then erasing the errant paths of memory and desire. Close enough now to feel Present, to her body for it to have never been before at all. Kneeling, both of us right in the doorway. At the far extremity of in-between. All the way past in-between. Far as is needed to for once be in-between.
“I don’t remember. I know.”
“No. I don’t know that.”
“I wouldn’t ask that.”
No word, camera, voice, sight, sense, seen, been, comprehended nothing, dropped into unknown and without direction all sitting here lovesickened and perfected between her legs while the piano plays.