Thursday, October 30, 2008

Half Purple, Half Black & White

Next time we goin' east side. East side. I heard. I'm gettin' squeezed she said, I mean...he said...to her, and she didn't really get it. Well, that's what she gets - he said. Later on, when the candle ran out but the track had plenty left, I left - cuz I was gettin' squeezed from both sides. And each time, I turned to my side - tried to create a little friction, you feel me? I asked. She rubbed my side - tried to create a little friction. She asked, did you hear me? I heard. Next time, east side.

I really am gettin' squeezed though...it's tough to get up. Mornings are hard. Evenings ain't much better. Two sides meet, get the job done. In a manner of speech, of childish dreams obliterated, the side of my head - tryin' to create a little friction - is my heart made of stone? Hand me a saw, it'll get the job done.

So there I was hangin' tight on the handles beside the open sliding doors. A pill dropped from my mouth and fell 18,000 feet onto the desert floor. Against everything I knew, I thought about jumping. The thought, crossed my mind, it took a while. It came in from my left ear actually, and it juked for a while. And for a while, I stood there bracing myself with both arms outstretched - no intention of jumping.

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