But on with the flashlight and his twisted head screws on like a lightbulb where the wiring got all wrong and impulses and wildfires short circuit emptiness rattles around and around and around. Red orange yellow yellow yellow red red yellow red red red red.
Where have you gone, precious being, and why? Blue green blue green blue. What emptiness has filled you dry? Green light green light green.
it is like you say, I say, humorless, blank and afraid. He makes me wait, blank stare vacancy vacancy vacancy while he loses things and pretends to us both he is only human when I know better. Mama tries to pull that shit on me all the time and I set fire to the kitchen, thats right, fire fire fire. I know bullshit and I know nobody grows old and dies unless they let in the sneaky fish that are lies lies lies, of time, of denial of wind and waves and leaf veins and rainbow fire fire fire.
I don't want to be mountainous but here I am, holding his hand and trying not to strangle him while he tries to teach me about dumbing and dulling and nulling and the lullaby of conformism.
Don't try to explain away my visions with your science. So you talked politics with some veterans at Starbucks? So you tell me One might need to spend more time in meditation? So you think that is not obvious and pointed and why do you take drugs, you ask, when its been a year at the least and you have no answer to my question whose answer would devour whats devouring you? Fire fire fire!
So, are you quite adult now? So, are your loafers the same size and style as the ones your father wore? Fire fire fire!
From my fridge he helped himself to some of papas pickled peppers without asking and my jaw dropped, head spun, inconceivable! If papa'd seen that he'd be red red red and get large large large and chest-thump thump thumping as an ape.
You say you fell derailed from a path you knew and can't recall. You think you can't retrace your steps, or maybe you don't want to. Blame your fathers thin voice. Blame your mothers thin milk. Blame the white hot heat of a little pill you took last summer.
How many mirrors can you hold up to my face at once? I only have three eyes. I knew it long ago, that white hot fire that smiles everywhere and makes blood shimmer and boil and lightning fly from my crown and from my fingertips and from between my thighs. And as venomous as the rabbit hole I fell into which fell into me was, it is what I want back what I was and what I know now as real and now know everything is dull and plastic unless I breathe light into it with my good lungs. But I have my good lungs and that makes me the wind and questions and only certain about rocks I cannot lift of which there are very few.
I am grateful that you have seen my anger and annoyed that you have not felt it. I am grateful that I can see the wisdom in my family's special brand of insanity. I am grateful that you will be out of my hair eventually. I am sad to see you resize your world to fit inside a shoebox, and I am grateful it cannot hold me.
Please, take your 5-HTP and trust trust trust great spirit to replenish your happy stores. Please friend, find your good lungs.