The Color Of Hunger

Posts Tagged ‘creative writing

Indulgence, that look in your eye. A tone spoken with a guilty iris. Here’s to that contagious little half-smile making it’s way between your lips.

You stand up, try to. I’m here to help you, shaky legs. Balance. Steady. Outside is not far from us. Take me with you please, I cannot bear me alone with me. Combining fingerprints, we are the children of euphoric stimulation.  Tenderness of molecules, each blossom of skin alive. Witness to mini-rainbows forming in the sprinkler mist of neighboring lawns. Making me giddy. I begin to dance across foreign grass. Soft, wet, green kissing my toes. I feel good, as do you. You tell me this and I laugh at you because you’re laughing at yourself. Squeezing me tighter via palms, I am wearing nothing but you.

You look at me with brand new eyes and I don’t know whether to run or stand rigidly in the light of vulnerability. I have spent months ignoring your gaze in fear that I will never know what it means. Don’t look at me. My face tells nothing of the world inside my head. Our pupils meet and I try to cross the ocean between our two bodies, but I drown long before I reach the shore. These words are tired and as my mouth forms the syllables, they taste stale on my tongue.

I want my legs draped over your shoulders. My voice breath-filled and coy. My hands pulling you in closer. My body writhing with joy. Your face buried deep between my thighs. Holding you in place. Your nose filled with my sweet scent. Your tongue dancing with my taste.

Your hair. Your smile. Your voice. Your words. Your kisses. Your hands. Your heart. Your laugh. Your body. Your clothes. Your scent. Your jokes. Your hugs. You.

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{I will miss this so very much.}
.
Smiles glisten in distorted reflections of table silverware.
Wavy faces trapped under reddish diner lights.
Curvy at the base. Spiraled at the ends.
Getting lost in casual till conversations; savoring them as they unfold.
Kissing ass, but keeping pride.
These lips have standards.
.
Concocting milkshakes, decaf on that coffee, green light – GO.
Lipstick remains on empty Coke glasses.
Pouring water just because.
No rebound this time, better luck next.
Feet cast beneath spells of increasing tempo and movement.
Toes loaded with wave after wave of momentum.
The flow of….energy.
Quick….moving….then quick again.
.
Looking forward to work.
Grease stains mark accomplishment.
Dirty aprons not to be frowned upon.
Feeding off invisible heat from the fryer.
And the grill.
And….the people.
You get what you give.
So give good.
.
Good morning, Mr. Sunday, how lovely you are today.
The door now becomes the alarm clock.
Stuck at a constant – in, out, out, in.
The good kind though, the purest form.
The sound of….happy.
The feeling of….alive.
.
{I am was content here.}

THEY’RE
 
Creating an attachment, they can’t rush this.
Attachments can’t be rushed.
Links of destruction, sex fueled by Saturday night tendencies.
 
Too rough, slower please.
Ignorance is a frightening form of inner bliss.
She fights, but he prevails.
Too far gone; trying proves pointless tonight.
 
Thinking with feet, her strides become clumsy, unbalanced.
He echoes his behind hers, hungry echoes – not to be taken lightly.
 
RUNNING
 
The purple sky watches as she stumbles between curiosity and fear,
A valid contestant – this chase a game of lust and rapid heartbeat.
Masking tears in raindrops, she grows impatient.
Where did he go and where am I?
 
CLUELESS
 
An engine backfires in the distance,
Mechanical noises pierce the evening air.
‘Let’s go!’
A demand, an order, a perpendicular expression of horizontal desire?
 
Undoing hostility, the poison of persuasion is left pumping through her conscience.
Is he the question or the answer?
Or neither?
Weak at the knees, she forces forward motion despite it all.
 
IN
 
He lights his cigarette; dry shaky fingers strike the cold metal wheel.
Challenging her, he penetrates with restless pupils and foaming irises.
The waiting game’s just too easy to cheat,
The rules, too hard to follow.
 
Bodies move, hands venture,
The most fun she could ever have without laughing.
Foggy windows began to cry as warmth is born.
 
NAKED
 
Reality begins to fade back in,
Awake, senses heightening, introducing Normality The Antagonist.
She’s aware of surroundings now, but before was way better.
Maybe he’ll return, jog backwards, and come get her.
 
DREAMS.
(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’m not sure why I called in the first place. You never pick up anyways.

I wish I could have x-ray vision. But for feelings. Then I wouldn’t hafta guess anymore. I’d actually fall asleep within ten minutes of hitting the pillow. I’d actually know what to expect in return when my mind gets to those clingy and obsessed stages. Fuck I hate those stages. I never had those stages before you came into my life. I actually hafta make myself not want you, or else yer all I think about.

I feel like I’m following Hansel and Gretel. But you’ve got all the clocks in the world on pause and an unlimited supply of bread crumbs. I’ll get to a curve in the path sometimes and loose track of the trail. He’ll come back for me, I tell myself, emotions shaky, confidence shakier. (The broken is the beautiful, right love?) But you never do. I’m left to find my bearings all alone in these creepy woods. The trees are always laced with unfulfilled needs and wants. The forest constantly reeks. Strong whiffs of could-have-been’s and I-wishes get trapped in the linings of my nostrils, even when I come across the crumbs again.

My need’s dominating my want tonight. That’s never good. Potential danger is no stranger when the need overrides the want. Shit gets ugly, attachments grow stale, and most of all, desire becomes a deceiving enemy. I find myself in an epic battle with that word. Not a bloody one, just a simple scuffle. A Looney Tunes chase, per say, where nobody gets hurt and everybody goes back to normal at the end. Me versus Desire. But not vice versa.

Just give me a compass of yer sensitive side. Please? I know you have one, I’ve seen it. I crave the man I used to spend endless hours on the phone with. Not just for a quick fuck either. There was meaning behind the words we exchanged. At least I thought there was. Or am I just lost in those woods again?

When I search for yer bread crumbs, I search everywhere. Sometimes for days. Being lost is no fun, especially in those woods. I’ll get to that breaking point where nothing seems to matter much anymore and giving up is inevitable. The wildlife are protagonists, I’ve learned. They wipe my tears away with gentle paws and tilt my head up so I have no choice but to connect watery blue pupils with them. Lacking the ability to speak with their mouths, they use their eyes.

It’s amazing how silent love can be. An infinite language that the deaf can hear and the blind can see. So powerful, so distinct. I sit there for what seems like forever, locking irises with these creatures of inspiration. Until finally, they’ll bat an eyelash and force me to break my gaze. Slowly, without missing a beat, they point in unison at a tiny piece of bread underneath a fresh pile of leaves. I must have overlooked this spot before, must have walked right past it. Then they disappear among the masses of trees before I can even thank them.

I dust my knees off quickly with both hands and recover from where I left off. I suppose you’ve forgotten about me by now though. It’s been too long, I don’t blame you. And I’m sure you don’t either. But yet I continue following this twisted path. I can’t help it. I’m stuck on this endless journey of undeniable lust and blind reactions. Why won’t you come back for me? I’m so sick of following. Be by my side this time, I need a hand. A man’s hand. My man’s hand.

When people laugh and ask me what I see in you, I simply tell them “everything you don’t.” I never lack courage here, and why would I? By loving me, yer teaching me how to love myself. Love is life, and if you miss love, you miss life. And I guess it’s so incredible to me because I’ve never felt it this strongly before. I’m high without smoke, without pills. Everything I do is so enhanced and brighter with you on my mind. It sounds so fucking cliche, too. But it’s….true? Yea, true.

So this is my life. And I just want you to know that I am both happy and sad, but I’m still trying to figure out how that can be.

Paper casualties, bent furs on my straight jacket,

Dipping the lady you savor this moment,

Eye contact is young, you have em’ you own em’.

Laugh at what’s faltered cuz it’s so fucking worth it,

Lincoln’s crossed at the knees, buckled by humor,

Cripple my emotions, big man with power,

Extinguish my foot fires; a sudden leap to satisfaction.

Stretched syllables prove overrated, simple is sweet,

Take me deeper, I long to go further,

Along for the obstacles, happiness be my bride.

Husband I suppose.

Confusion opens doors that aren’t even there yet,

Cautioning frequent stops, I’m stressing over nothing.

Pavement under pressure, concrete pays the ultimate price,

Leave behind a winding trail of kerosene snowflakes,

Gripping this pattern from the outside-in.

I need to relax, need to expand my casual grin,

Just disappear from the world and take a bath in loose skin.


Spokane, WA. 26 years young. Aquarius, of course. I am a very optimistic individual driven by passion and creativity. Music is my inspiration to everything. I dig the nightlife. I enjoy discovering new craft beers and breweries. I like animals more than humans. The ocean is amazing. I have no idea what I wanna do with my life and prolly never will. But I'm going to succeed because I'm crazy enough to think I can.
December 2017
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