foxtongue | Seven days of respect for seven days of disrespect is better than trade, you're coming out on top.

At the airport
Originally uploaded by kickass karen.

Across the bridge I saw a plane landing in water traveling the same speed as the traffic we were caught in. I said nothing, uncertain as what there was to say. Slide. Water. It was all one movement, as if you could feel it as a weight on the tongue. Part of my mind curled up, another unfurled. The sky was a glyph, something I could concentrate with the sound of rain. Weight one into the other, like bodies trying to find pleasure in pressure, and I could be free for a moment of his name. Instead inside my hands lay the bitter slice of pylon into wave, the contact moment when what was weightless gains momentum. The back of my eyelids was crusted with salt, barnacle spit, the erosion of steel next to the beach. I didn't blink.

Where are you here? A box. Retrieve your history or I toss it into the ocean.

We were intending on going to Wreck to watch friends spin fire in their skins, but it was shut down by nine o'clock. A cell phone call warned us off those endless stairs in the dark. Isolated yet together now, modern world moments that make me happy like brief flashes of green velvet light behind a door I've lost the keys to. I'm going to have to force it soon, this walking asleep is getting to me. There's signs that say this is just another coping mechanism, one on the other side of black depression. This afternoon I cried mid-sentence. Suddenly I discovered my words were broken, my language seized up irreparably, caught on the edges of my teeth and mangled into sheds of dignity that quickly fell away, dissolved by the pressure inside my eyes. There was no thought, just shaking.