The Color Of Hunger

Posts Tagged ‘memories

We never change our ways. Living in a water world of fake promise and faded future. Trapped here. And the people who can’t handle it are swimming in it. Searching for dry spots, but this pool has no steps or fancy rails. No shallow end. And no drain. So it fills up. And eventually seeps over the sides. Floods are constant. Damage is inevitable.

But the people are reaching out this time. They don’t want this. Stray water is uncomfortable.

Me?

I just get lost in it. With it. Above and below it. I sink and then I float. All the memories get tangled in filters. Spiderwebs of youth form inside them. Only a few remain. And I’m the outsider looking in. I grab for a piece dangling to my left. All I come back with is sticky. Drowning, but not from fear – curiosity is a tricky fellow.

I’m so tired of it now though.

I head for the ladder, right over left. Repeat. Right over left. Repeat. But these rungs are too slippery. And I am far too heavy.

Confused, my feet leave me at the ankles. I fall backwards, plunging below the surface yet again. Cold, wet, numb. I know this water all too well. But why is it so hard to get up? There’s got to be a reason for it all. But why can’t I find it?

Frustration sets in. Tears on fire. Slicing their way across sharp cheekbones, erasing hope as they greet the chin. A plastic surgeon with a butter knife. The flame is always cold once it reaches the lips. I’m left to taste the embers. Darkness falls, the people are crying out. And I’m right there with them.

(Originally written the night of my 19th birthday – January 24th, 2010.)

BEFORE

Feelings emerge now, that weren’t there before. A sense of calmness comes over me. My heart stops racing, I’m consumed by experience. I long to put you in this picture so badly, to put you in MY picture. I wanna savor this right here with the world. I feel like I’m in a tropical rainforest of floating trees and swinging monkeys. And they all connect through the branches. And they’re eating chicken nuggets. Jesus.

This music feels like the DJ’s got saw blades for fingers. Patterned saw blades though, so they align perfectly atop the record. He free lances the spinning black disk, shadows left lingering as the volume knob goes up. It keeps my head so far underwater. I’m drowning in FACE and eighth notes. These sounds are on fire, aflame, full of heat, burning on my eardrums. This beat is popping brain cells like bubble wrap. I can hear them explode in plasticity. Or whatever the hell they’re made of. I try to pull away, but this music twirks my mind. Twirkage of the mind.

Coloring in colors is so underrated. Why haven’t I come to this conclusion before? Drawings are so deceptive right now. Like, I’ll have my mind set on drawing a certain thing, and then just totally lose my concentration and move on to a segment of the paper that’s brighter or that has more leeway. I’ve noticed this a lot in the past two hours. I’ll leave myself lots of leeway, just in case my mind vacates halfway through my original drawing. I’ve noticed, also, that drawing things without looking down at what I’m drawing is surprisingly entertaining. It’s even better when I do look down and everything turns out okay. And then there’s all that leeway everywhere. That’s the best.

Streaming lines of fluctuating colors litter my inner eyelids. Shooting stars, and I’m sitting inside. I stretch triangles to form non-polygons. Detached at the vertex, my base serves no purpose. I poke out my angles and bend sideways at the fulcrum. As I try recapturing moments, I stutter. My mind’s not responding, my mouth begins to water. (This shit’s so good, it’s crooked.) I look down through the clear glass and Red Bull leftovers. It’s blocking my view, but I’ve still got my perspective. Ahhh, my perspective.

My eyes float in Capricorns, my ears rest on Saturn. The moon is so bright tonight, I can’t help but stare. My imagination visits angels, catching up on old times and past recollections. I’ve been up here before, too. But I’m always still amazed at how beautiful it is. God hand delivers Hawaiian blankets to my cloud and ESPN comes in clearly on the television. It’s awesome. It’s like vacation without the turbulence or sunburns.

Everything sort of all just blends together now. Like my hands. Oh man, my hands. I find them sculpting cartoons in blank pieces of wall. Whoa. I’m tingling at the fingertips in a sensation I never thought possible. You know that feeling, you know the one. Where you pop yer neck in just the right spot, so it numbs the entire upper portion of yer spinal cord. I’m feeling that feeling, but in a good tingly feeling instead of pain. (It hurts so good.)

Lava is oozing from his brain and her clouds melt together to create one big one. Coughing non-stop, their lungs are constantly flexing. They’re mouth washing air. They’re stuck at a standstill. Oh so high. So very very high. What a rush; exhilarating, exciting. I feel so pure, I can’t possibly feel guilty for doing this. My writing makes no sense, but it’s fun that way. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up, though. Creativity falters to lack of sleep. Residues of thoughts. Too bad the closest I’ll get to a brain storm tonight is a light drizzle. Dayum, dayum, dayum.

AFTER

Words can’t explain it, they just can’t. But by God, I’ll try.

I felt like I was a live wire, like I HAD to be doing something, whether it was talking or walking or ANYTHING. My mind and body were in super fast mode, but nothing I did made me satisfied. No matter what I was doing, I felt like I HAD to be doing something else. I wanted to be able to lie in my bed, to just stare at shit in my room and get lost in deep thoughts and crazy visuals (which I did get a decent amount of), but I kept finding myself unable to sit still and just think. God, it was so weird.

The closed eye visuals were absolutely incredible. They were always changing and complexifying, but most of the time I’d end up with a mix of rotating shapes and random strands of light surrounding those shapes. I remember looking at it and thinking how cool it would be to draw the thing, but I realized it was impossible because it was multi-dimensional and constantly changing its structure.

I think shrooms prove challenging to artists and writers in particular. Because as a writer, I’m always trying to grab hold of themes and always trying to provide basis on whatever it is I’m writing about. When I’m fryin’, there’s nothing to grab. And it messes with me. There’s no reality crutch – reality’s missing her crutches. EVERYTHING is swarming with life, and I just can’t grab EVERYTHING.

At one point, I couldn’t feel my body anymore. I knew I was lying on my back somewhere on the floor, but I couldn’t feel it. My consciousness was an independent person within me, which simultaneously had no start or end. It just WAS. I felt so connected to that floor, too. If I were to have gotten up while still feeling this, I’d have lost a part of me. That’s how connected I was.

I remember being on the phone with one of my good friends at the peak of my trip. Kaneeka I think it was. I don’t really recall the conversation, but I remember repeating things 3 or 4 times back to back because for some strange reason, I thought my vowels were stuck in the receiver. Like they were prohibited from entering the phone line or something. I would try talking louder, but my throat was too sore from laughing earlier. It was so unreal.

When my trip started slowing down, I started visiting different places in some sort of realm that I could only perceive through emotional feelings. (They radiated feels that had color.) The ceiling beams spoke to me in gorgeous forms of Italian and it was so frustrating because I wanted to understand them, but I wasn’t fluent in Italian. And so I stood there mesmerized by their accents for close to twenty minutes, hoping maybe, just maybe they’d switch to English. But they never did.

It’s funny how every high I’ve experienced has some sort of a thematic element wrapped inside of it. This time my theme was “Combining Worlds; Do You See What I See?”. Because every room had a unique vibe to it. Some were kinda scary, like the laundry room. (It was so small and cluttered; I felt trapped and claustrophobic there.) But others, like my room and the bathroom, were so incredible. It felt like I was discovering new territory every time I walked in. The rooms were the ‘worlds’ and by combining them, I was constantly absorbing new information.

And then I’d try explaining this to all my fellow shroomers (there were 6 of us). Like, do you see/feel/hear what I’m currently seeing/hearing/feeling. And most of the time it would be a lost cause, but every now and then, I’d be on the same wavelength as somebody else. And it was so exciting for me when this happened. I got that ‘I belong here’ feeling and it made me feel like less of a loony because I wasn’t the only one experiencing what I was experiencing. If that makes any sense at all.

I miss…

  • being considered an athlete.
  • being considered not just an athlete, but a damn good one at that.
  • the pre-game stretches.
  • popping my left hip in just the right spot during those stretches.
  • how flexible I used to be.
  • discovering that hey, I actually do have an arm.
  • zoning out to my music during all the long bus rides.
  • the pressures of being the only senior in my event.
  • the satisfaction I got beating my PR, even if it was only by a few inches.
  • slacking off during practice by finding new body parts to tape every other day.
  • the adrenaline I acquired warming up.
  • finding something to get pissed off at and taking it out on my throws.
  • cracking my knuckles before grabbing my stick.
  • the little indent my red javelin had between the grip and the metal part.
  • jogging from disc to jav to vault.
  • Stralser yelling at me to jog faster.
  • finding different excuses on why I shouldn’t high jump.
  • Drew not buying my lame-ass excuses.
  • the lean skinny build I used to have.
  • pre-analyzing the competition.
  • making fun of Medical Lake and how bad they sucked.
  • the patience Leah and Coach B. had when I first learned how to throw discus.
  • Crystal listing off all the reasons she shouldn’t be there and how much of a jerk Bob is.
  • improving on the plant boxes, even though I despised them and didn’t understand why we used them so much.
  • Gonzaga Prep’s weird but interesting turf.
  • seeing fans actually enjoy watching me throw.
  • having a purpose behind my day.
  • how awesome State was.
  • playing “Outburst” in the tent until my laptop ran out of battery.
  • searching for an outlet to keep it going.
  • falling asleep on the bus floor with Bruh and Sis on the trips back to Cheney.
  • laughing at the idea of sleeping in the aisle of a school bus in the first place.
  • how hungry I became after competing in a 10+ hour meet.
  • eating at Miner’s.
  • ditching Miner’s for the Starbucks and Wendy’s across the street and getting in trouble for it by almost every coach.
  • chugging Monsters and devouring Power Bars ten minutes before showtime.
  • how perfect my boots fit and how lightweight they were, even for my feet.
  • meeting new people who shared the same strengths and weaknesses as I did.
  • being told ‘good job today’ by a coach from another school I had never even seen before.
  • all the different colors of all the different ribbons.
  • laughing with Sis on how they should make a 9th place ribbon solely for Medical Lake.
  • having homefield advantage.
  • how involved Missel was.
  • the anticipation between the jav landing and the marker person telling me how far it went.
  • the muscle definition I used to have in my shoulders.
  • going to bed the night before and having nothing except the meet on my mind.
  • waking up to get ready and realizing it’s still dark out.
  • putting on my spirit bands and black spandex for good luck after a 45 minute shower.
  • the smell of rain mixed with Under Armour.
  • the sound my spikes made walking on the pavement.
  • Coach Hisaw’s amazing brownies.
  • being a part of the Junior Olympics in Wilamette, Oregon.
  • how the louder the locker room got, the closer it was to the start of the meet.
  • the bounce I had in my step.
  • beating West Valley by almost twice as many points as we had.
  • the thrower’s relays.
  • throwing on Eastern Washington University’s field.
  • movie nights after a good hard day of practice, every Thursday at Cody’s house.
  • everybody rushing to the bathrooms after arriving at the C-towns (Clarkston + Colville).
  • piggyback rides to and from the bus.
  • goofing off with Lex and turning our javelins into fishing poles with stray litter we’d find on the track.
  • Hisaw getting angry at us for it, trying his hardest to keep a straight face.
  • the pole vault crew.
  • the amount of encouragement I got from them.
  • being involved in the younger javelin throwers’ success.
  • doing homework at the meet with fellow athletes as an excellent source of help.
  • how good that medal felt around my neck.
  • all the pride that came with that medal.
  • getting distracted by all the amazingly attractive pole vaulters and their amazingly attractive bodies.
  • being able to bench two-thirds of my weight.
  • running that pre-game lap, sometimes in slippers, sometimes in flip-flops.
  • how huge Pasco’s meet was.
  • the sense of belonging I got when throwing there.
  • using Nike headbands to tie up my hair.
  • waking up early for Saturday morning practices.
  • learning from my mistakes, on and off the field.
  • washing away my nerves with poise and self confidence.
  • pretending to pole vault with my javelin.
  • how pumped up I got over Stralser’s mini motivational speeches.
  • the rush of excitement having my name read off the loudspeaker.
  • never understanding how the announcer always managed to butcher my name.
  • being the last one off the field at practices.
  • ringing the victory bell the day after the meet.
  • admitting proudly that yes, I do love track and field more than softball.

iplaytrack1224@hotmail.com

I am a student of life. 23 years young. I observe. I experience. I learn. I am driven by creativity. And music. Good music. Indie and electronic. I love sensory details. Life is crazy. But meant for living. I have no regrets in mine. Only lessons. =]
December 2014
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