Path: not-for-mail
From: frank_fowlkes@yahoo.com
Newsgroups: alt.stories.urban-harvest
Subject: Re: green, yellow, orange, purple, red, blue, and black
Date: Thu, 29 Jul 2004 08:32:10 -0700
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green, yellow, orange, purple, red, blue, and black
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The snow was falling around him, and some black trees creaked slowly
in the wind. He lifted his hands away from the snow. The black
mountain and the day after the seventy seventh hour were being to
creep closer to his thoughts now but, always and soon after, he would
feel another black lapse coming. He started counting where he left
off. The black lapses he could never stop; they stopped thought,
stopped ideas. They were coming more and more frequent now.
# # #
* ## # # #
when you start to feel tired rub #
imaginary ice over your arms, face, # *
neck, chest
*
"Harder to stay awake," he thought, same time counting down from five
hundred. The first night, staring up at the stars, he counted the
waves crashing on the beach, one, two, three, four-hundred and
thirty-one, on and on. The black lapses came soon after, lasting only
a couple of seconds, and always erasing the last thought. The lapses
weren't sleep; people choose to sleep; they were different; they were
like an undertow, and after breaking the surface to breathe again, not
sure about the last count, never sure about the extent of the lapse,
another black lapse wound come, and another, and another, halting the
day after the seventy seventh hour. He lifted his fingers off his
wrist, not fast enough, the lapse was starting to peak.
* *
bend your left arm, tap right
phalanges against your elbow *
*
He started to rub sand up and down his arms and up to his neck. He
began counting his tapping finger, one, two, three, faster and faster.
"Don't stand up," he cursed. At the same time, the black lapses
weren't to be avoided. In a way, the lapses would be the path to the
black mountain, the day after the
seventy seventh hour, a last thought. After a black lapse, he would
never remember the last number, only that he was counting, that he
only counted to stay awake.
*
hold your breath, count the seventy seven
knots on the string, round and round. *
*
He sat up. The sky was still black but he could see a faint glow
somewhere on the horizon. "Another piece cut out somewhere; only at
night, only supine and alone; the path through the black mountain, the
day after the seventy seventh hour," he repeated several times before
resting back to the earth. He wanted another black lapses to come
before the sun climbed into the sky. "The black lapses have to be
crossed, counting, prayers; and only then, will the mountain creep
closer, a day rise, and the last thought come at last."
## #
anything! just don't choose to #
fall asleep before the seventy *
seventh hour # #
## #
And one came, lasted only a second, and he was right, or just a little
off, the black lapses were getting stronger, the early ones toys, and
threatening to drown him to sleep. He stopped tapping and began to
repeat a sentence over and over again, this lapse unlike anyone of
them before.
## #
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* * # * * *
# * * She was hanging clothes outside,
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* and the wind started to come down the mountain.
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Followed the bum from the interstate; watched him from a distance; and
waited until he slept before crawling closer. The bridge rumbled, and
the air smelt like piss. Knelt down and stared at him,*there, ashes
and trash, sleeping, dreaming. Wondered about his thoughts right
before he drifted off to sleep. He might not wake up tomorrow; might
wake up to a pain radiating out from the center of his chest, down his
arms, down his legs, no light, eyes closing around a black sky.
Nearer, watched*his breathe sprinkle the air with snow flakes. Brushed
his cheek with the back of my hand; stepped back, crouched below the
horizon, and remained still. The bum was motionless, silent, but I
knew he was awake,*skin and eyes, ears and nose, a mind not knowing
which way the wind was blowing. Wanted*to climb, my black silhouette
rushing forward, and soon, my cold hands around his throat, drowning
him in his own spit. He soon fell back to sleep, not ever knowing the
reason why he woke up to a quiet black sky. She would always do the
same, even if it was to only stir, after a*strange noise, after a
draft of wind, only that she sometimes remained awake a little longer,
imaginary shadows crossing a black framed window, and felt her heart
race. Myself, sometimes I would wake up in the middle of night, and,
strange, find my mind empty, frantic almost, no place, no purpose, no
name, and after, my name is, I'm right here, I'm doing this tomorrow,
fall back to*sleep just the same. Stay awake past the seventy seventh
hour; what if you went to sleep and you never woke up, she teased once
you know, and tell me then, your last thoughts right before you fall
to sleep. I crept closer, didn't care if she, the bum, or if anyone
heard me, soon, real soon, after the seventy seventh hour. Left the
bum there, fucker's gonna wake up to another day,*new purposes, new
places, new names; left the cunt a long time ago, or maybe she left
me, doesn't matter anymore, she has her prayers I have mine, the
prayer after*the seventy seventh hour.
*
Don't fucking drive a car, idiot; walk, take the bus; and position the
body
to sleep; that's right, no coffee, no mindless stunts, only position:
supine, tittering on the edge of the black lapses!
*
1: water purifier, 2: instant live eggs, 3: growth food; guaranteed to
live two years; 95 cents postage and handling
Most normal nights, not any thoughts, stop prayers long time ago, only
wake
up to another morning, an intermission, plenty food and plenty of
women, some snapping at bling bling, others a couple of nods when they
speak of stuff, then, eventually, curtains closing, opening, mangas
colored rojo, the cream rising to the top, crap sinking.
Possible state of mind after the 77th hour: fucking really tired, and
like any other night, not caring to ever waking up again; at the
steppe of the black mountain; or, wondering what 38402 93845 02038 938
9 84 9 is up to. State of body: p 100, bp 150/90, r 25, t 36.0
Possible states of the body and mind after love: some bodily fluids
over a white sheet, maybe some moaning if she really loves you; or
someone in a trashcan, let someone build on a lie, someday a house of
cards crashing down.
Stone hammers
Blue toaster waved at little Red saucer.
"Hi!"
Little Red saucer started to cry.
"Super glue has put me together again."
Blue toaster nodded.
"A day smashed and put together again later."
Copper tea pot appeared.
"Day and night; morning, noon, afternoon, evening, and night; twenty
four hours?"
Little red saucer stopped crying.
"some pieces missing, missing parts filled in with super glue. I'm
supposed to be stronger now."
Copper tea pot left so did blue toaster.
"Bye."
Little Red saucer started to spin, around and around.
Stuff to do during the day so as to stay awake passed the 77th hour:
don't walk around, from one end of the city to the other; don't walk
down some
railroad tracks, walk back; don't read; don't watch TV; don't work, no
fun; don't panhandle for loose change; don't protest something; don't
do anything, just rest, lay down, use only thoughts, to repel the
black lapses
*
* ##
Stuff to do during the night: write, from memory, from the past day,
then position self supine, feel the b. lapses creep. *
* ##
And put this thought in your pretty little head, maybe after another
and another black lapse, up until sometime after the 77th hour, more
and more parts of the whole world slowly disappearing, or something
weird like that, she will help me to lift the black mountain on this
place.
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He sat up, brushing some of the snow and sand off his legs. The wind
was starting to flow the opposite direction; she is near.
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