i biked in torrential rain to see your face

myd meloflex

there was a loud crash. the suited man heads toward the corner of the wallpapered room to investigate what he thinks might be only the slight of those scheming beetles. he presses head to grimy wall and closes his eyes so as to better see what is playing inside. fingers move down, down and into inviting electrical receptacle..something's in there..legs?..thorax? the suited man leaves the site and retrieves a common metal instrument, also used for eating chops, noodles or other raw oddities, so that he can better inspect the product of those strange sounds he was somehow able to discern over the clad of thunder (a low and distant rumble) and the chatter of falling rain. jab, jab, device goes into electrical wall outlet. he feels the electrical currents bleating through him on the cellular level. these devices should be accounted for. these devices produce romanticized messy, bed-ridden hair-dos and dark-set eyes (bruised eye sockets). these devices should only exist as particles of cloud (vapor) or the scent of a distant storm that hits you upon your exit from a building, whose weather-beaten brickwork makes your heart beat out of your ancient chest-cavity at a molekular level.

parallel walls

Clicks. Sick and slick your wrist. A pain like that of a rubber band's repetitive snapping in a firm, monotonous, straining gesture into the epidermis of your thinning, fragile skin. You focus on a nearby screen or sounds, conversations, or the flourishing traffic rushing past outside, anything but the recurring sting of a hesitantly accepted needle. Your focus shifts to a distant door against the far right wall, what had been previously unnoticed, or else simply unheeded in the anticipation of your decision to self-induced pain. You see the door is slightly ajar and detect a pulsating, rhythmic light that is streaming through the crack. Alleviating a previous fear, you glance down at the needle dancing into your wrist and hastily remove it, attending to your trance.

Heading towards the door you timidly peer inside before entering through completely. All you see is a thick veil of light. A step inside reveals planes. Planes of the whitest snow surround you in infinite directions. Snow so perfectly white, so pure, so untainted, as though freshly fallen and never marred by the follies of human behavior or the devices of modern society. The sky is the same stark white, as though you have stepped into a tunnel of fresh linens, gathered in armfuls with much excitement from a modest home's hallway closet, a proud child's constructed fortress. The air is still, though slightly chill with the scent of a room that recalls a memory from a distant past. A buzzing, humming, click and drone. You feel as though you are not alone.  

You turn a bit and walk for some time before stumbling upon a set of large, wide-set footprints. Steady drone turns into a rhythmic, fluid melody as a shifting light seems to follow the footprints, disappearing into the horizon. Fluid melodic choir shifts into a static, mind-throbbing chorus, the volume of which is so excessive, it freezes your body into an aching, cowering wave. An overwhelming fear that your ears will bleed takes over your mind's eye, that your eardrums will quickly rupture and that your organs will implode within you, leaving you sprawled out in searing pain, alone, unnoticed on this vapid, remote plane. The sound travels to your heart, pounding pounding from both a burning fear and those dissonant, deathly notes. 

And right at the moment when your body was seized on the ground and shaken from an overwhelm of sound, from the fear of being splayed out in crimson patterns atop this pure and pallid snowscape, the blare begins to recede. The door frame from which you entered this terrain emerges into your frame of sight, a beacon of light in a sea of this mind-bending resonance. Your limbs shake as you struggle to approach the sleek black structure, a saviour set in beautiful distinction against the sallow, glistening earth. You touch the frame with shaking, frozen fingers. A flash of light and then, the rumble of internal organs ceases. Silence blankets your still, cool body, which in spite of fear and torment, is lying perfectly intact. 

magnetic fields

you roam across desert planes like 
white stallions through snow drifts
or
vapors caught in the overcast, sunset dusk,
into a hushed,
yet alluring 
p e a c e.

this 
p e a c e 
tastes like 
umami
&
shellac (burning),
the soulful, heavy riffs of blues.

the animals perk up. 
sniffing, they taste a cautious, predatory air
&
scamper into the dense shelter foliage
&
play it safe.

the animals always run away.

predacious waves

as i walk through the snow i think about...how i can feel like cicadas in the middle of the snow?


magnetic fields [ii]

we make strange sounds from the misty, earthen grounds

molekular devices