The rhythm, corner

Publicerad 12.12.2015 kl. 23:14
Rhythm In Red

Listen, i said. Can you hear it?

Hear what?

This.

No, where are you? Here, inside.

Where?

Nevermind. Just listen, ok?

Ok.

So anyway, as I was saying, there I was. Surrounded by the feeling, you know, of the smell of smoke, and the memory of summer.

Yes I know that feeling. It is longing. Silent crying. Touching a tree, just to feel.

Exactly. Say, how did you know?

Shhhh. Don’t. Just. Sit. There. It is beginning. Yes, that’s it. It is the beginning.

*

Is it true? It must be. Tell me it is. I don’t want to look again. I want to know. There is a place, not far from here, yet few know of it. The buildings are low, the light is dim, there is a brown shimmer over everything. You can see people, but hear very little. Like someone almost muted the sounds you know must be there. That porch door opening, surely it is creaking? That couple passing by, their shoes must make some sort of noise?

This feeling of displacement only accentuates the supernatural qualities about this place. Like a painting by Edward Hopper. This can only serve to make you feel lucid. So swim on, flash that grin, let the waves rock you away, and remember. Remember this. Beating heart. Beating hard. Pushing. Demanding. Hungry. Be still, my hungry heart. Be still, and watch the leaves. Autumn comes. People are strange.

*

See that man in the corner? Notice his face, elaborate on his clothes, read his palm. He comes here often. He comes for coffee. But maybe he also comes to be seen? Why would he otherwise sit there, in the light of the lamp? Is he not aware? Is it coincidence? No, it is not.

*

The night is cool. Soft. Not claiming. Not easily offended. Yes, there is a moon. And somewhere the smell of river water. And the rhythm. There is rhythm.

*

So much is expressed in silence. Trying to make it say more. The train is approaching the next station. The speed is slowing down. And the colours are beautiful. Now more details are visible. It is the moment. There is sleep, waiting. It can afford to. After all, time is on her side. All resistance is ultimately useless, and the longer the fight the deeper the unconsciousness.

This rocking movement, will it stop? The chorus sits over in the bar section, humming along. They have seen it before, and are slightly bored. Almost banal.

Oh no, sober is not good.

*

Walk with me for a bit. Don’t touch that baguette, it is poisoned. They stop at nothing nowadays. Around the corner, it is not far. Always moving. Walking.    

Listen, i said. Can you hear it?

Hear what?

This.

No, where are you? Here, inside.

Where?

Nevermind. Just listen, ok?

Ok.

So anyway, as I was saying, there I was. Surrounded by the feeling, you know, of the smell of smoke, and the memory of summer.

Yes I know that feeling. It is longing. Silent crying. Touching a tree, just to feel.

Exactly. Say, how did you know?

Shhhh. Don’t. Just. Sit. There. It is beginning. Yes, that’s it. It is the beginning.

*

Is it true? It must be. Tell me it is. I don’t want to look again. I want to know. There is a place, not far from here, yet few know of it. The buildings are low, the light is dim, there is a brown shimmer over everything. You can see people, but hear very little. Like someone almost muted the sounds you know must be there. That porch door opening, surely it is creaking? That couple passing by, their shoes must make some sort of noise?

This feeling of displacement only accentuates the supernatural qualities about this place. Like a painting by Edward Hopper. This can only serve to make you feel lucid. So swim on, flash that grin, let the waves rock you away, and remember. Remember this. Beating heart. Beating hard. Pushing. Demanding. Hungry. Be still, my hungry heart. Be still, and watch the leaves. Autumn comes. People are strange.

*

See that man in the corner? Notice his face, elaborate on his clothes, read his palm. He comes here often. He comes for coffee. But maybe he also comes to be seen? Why would he otherwise sit there, in the light of the lamp? Is he not aware? Is it coincidence? No, it is not.

*

The night is cool. Soft. Not claiming. Not easily offended. Yes, there is a moon. And somewhere the smell of river water. And the rhythm. There is rhythm.

*

 

So much is expressed in silence. Trying to make it say more. The train is approaching the next station. The speed is slowing down. And the colours are beautiful. Now more details are visible. It is the moment. There is sleep, waiting. It can afford to. After all, time is on her side. All resistance is ultimately useless, and the longer the fight the deeper the unconsciousness.

This rocking movement, will it stop? The chorus sits over in the bar section, humming along. They have seen it before, and are slightly bored. Almost banal.

Oh no, sober is not good.

*

Walk with me for a bit. Don’t touch that baguette, it is poisoned. They stop at nothing nowadays. Around the corner, it is not far. Always moving. Walking.    

Kommentarer (0)
Spamfilter
Skriv siffran 5 med bokstäver?