'Who we were'
Incandlessence;
It must have been the end of July. In full content we laid there, fingers entangled, staring up at the patches of plaster missing from his ceiling. Twenty coats of transparent paint on his wall, one for each phase of life, or perhaps one for each year of life. Thought that didn't matter to us; 'The People Who Don't Believe in Time.'
There was no glass in his windows, but he liked that. He enjoyed the dangers of that damned mother nature so readily able to come right on in and the all of the dreadful things she could do to him. As for I, I enjoyed the danger of becoming so incredibly close to him, and the the dangers that came with the opportunities I gave him, and what that might do to me.
_______________________
I knew of his condition, as did he know of my state of mind. The King of Flies could never fall in love with The Woman Wilder Then Lions. And although that is an entirely true statement of who we were that night, to each other, we were always someone who had intentions of becoming another, one who is much more worth getting to know. Intentions though, they are such a dirty thing.
That is when I turned to him, "Who are we?" I ask.
Now, if he was any man other them himself he would have either not given me an answer or given me one I would have hated. Luckily, I have always been lucky as has he, until this point, always been the man that is himself.
"You're... you're that really pale dame who cries during the happy parts of films and is always just about to change her mind. As for myself, I am that ghost-boy who should really start showing his face around your town more often."
I smiled, and as every child in his sixties knows, it is a very contagious thing. He leaned in to kiss me, I went in only to turn away. With a sighing sound I smiled. My hand tried to find his within the sheets, but there were no fingers there to meet. Now that is something that all mature young adults tend to forget - disappointment, that is far more contagious then smiling.
"The only difference between she and I, I am your 'love', she is your 'fly'."
In the past, I have said that to him, and he being The King, knew damn well of what I spoke of. Always, I have held the intentions of loving him to a deeper extent. However, I will never dig deeper while he digs someone else.
_________________________________________________
"Wanderlust" he whispered, which, to me, was the equilvant of simply bringing up my suitcase filled with 'devious secrets'. I sat up, intending to change the mood to something much more serious.
"You know, one day, I will really be gone... And as every good woman knows, she must have left long before anyone knows she holds intentions of even ever leaving."
This is when his characteristic sadness came into play, it was a lot like a 'Melancholy Monday'. That is, if everyday had to be Monday and there was never any hope for a 'tomorrow'. Sad Eyes, that is what I had always called them. He wore them well.
"Who are we?" he so curiously asked.
_______________________________________________
In those words we found, or rather formed, our story of Incandlessence.
Incandlessence: 'Who we were'
Telling him;
Tell him I hate him.
Tell him I am leaving.
Tell him I don't want to see him.
Tell him.. that he was always in best hands with you..
and that he should show his love for you more.
and that.. despite me telling him to watch 'say anything' it doesn't mean a damn thing if he would hold a boom box outside my window.
Tell him I could never love him while he loved someone else.
Tell him I am not his type.
and I never will be his type.
and I never would want to be his type.
Tell him.. all the things I wish I did in the first place.
Tell him.. goodbye.
I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.
I really really sincerely do.
To think I thought I was no longer naive,
That should have been my first sign.
Shallow is the man who labels himself as deep,
Ones with real depth need not claim themselves to be.
I am glad we only kissed.
You are not worth anything more to me.
"I love you."
"No you don't. Not yet, but you will. Don't worry."
*stands up and walks away*
...
"And when you do, I will be long gone."
Incandlessence;
The hair on the tops of our heads stuck to our foreheads, but you and I didn't mind that. Our hands kept running off to the places our minds told them not to go, but you and I didn't mind that.
Your mom came a'knocking on your bedroom door and wall. We both jumped up, though there was nothing to hide. Later, I pushed you off your bed spilling all of that homemade lemonade. Your leather pants really looked 'alright' especially in our own little light.
I tried not to touch all of your 60 little carvings. Though I really did think about it, and really wanted to, and really did against all best judgement.
I told you about our incandescent children and about the owl on my roof. And all of the 'what if's'; 'what if' we were married, and 'what if' we never existed? You always did keep up without running and answered with your most sincere sad eyes.
Thank you for holding my hand and not saying all the secrets I hide from myself. Thank you for taking time to wrap it around my neck and for not pointing out all the things that were wrong in the things that we believe are right.
Never mind - everything, it wasn't anything. It was all 'Something.' Something, he is my favorite type of person; he doesn't exist.
It's not love, it's Incandlessence.
That's our own little story.
(Home - Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros)
What must be murmurs;
I said to her, "You can tell me I am like my father - but then I have to tell you that there is a chance you are like yours."
I said to her, "One day you will find a man, who despite all odds, will do all the things we all thought un-doable."
I said to her, "Just because you never learned how to swim doesn't make it acceptable to just drown."
I said to her, "The phone is not going to ring silly gool, forget all the anticipation. Stop looking at it like it is going to."
I said to her, "Things are never the same when you come back from the place that you thought you would never miss."
I said to her, "Where did all the people go who swore to remember our names?"
I said to her, "Even with an incredible amount of determination, and incredible amount of passion and an incredible amount of good doing - everything in the end seems all the less incredible."
I said to her, "Lions aren't the only ones who hunt large pray."
I said to her, "This is a just another freaky place filled with a bunch of freaky people."
I said to her, "I hope you listen."
I still don't know if she will.
If I were you and you were less me,
If I were you and you were less me, we would be more like each other - who ever the hell that person is. Maybe then the world would spin in full circles, and maybe then the downstairs wouldn't be so damn colder then the up, and maybe then you could come up with words that complement mine. You, you are very uncomplimentary all together. All is fine, nor am I.
So sing me your songs and I will play you what little piano I know, and together we will make an orchestra that not even those with little families but big pocketbooks can forget about. I like your shoes and the way you wear your pants. So, you can reprogram my computer or just spend the night.
You say, "I will take a scoop of that with your smile." Little did we both know, I had no smile and you no eyes. Not to worry. All falls in to place when you are 'laying back to the sky' in a pool that the neighbors wished you had cleaned earlier in the week.
It is an eyesore.
You are an eyesore.
The world is an eyesore.
But it's still too early in the season to make a scene. The pavement to our drive way is still too wet. The mother ship came knocking last night, but nobody was home. Nobody is ever home at night.
-gool.
Tumblr.
I have discovered the amazingly addictive world of tumblr!
Is it a completely awful thing to know that you will be spending far too much of your spare time on a website and yet not do anything to stop it?
NOT WHEN THERE ARE HUNDREDS OF POSSIBLE INSPIRATION PIECES!
Take a look see for yourself!
http://a-creative-state-of-mind.tumblr.com/
10,000 Spankings with a Wooden Spoon.
(The perfect goodnight story. Creative credits go to Maxwell, Katie & Sam.)
Biography : "10,000 spankings with a wooden spoon."
A book about Spoon Reed.
Part one.
"He was a young kitchen utensil on the break of being sold when the most awful happening just so happened to happen to a spoon that just so happened to be Mr. Spoon himself. The story of what happened cannot be told for all that tell and all that are told get 10,000 spankings. To make a long story vague, he leaves Pier 1 and goes off with a wizard who lives in a hippie van. (not the good kind of hippie van.) We will pick up many moons and poorly directed motion pictures later when Spoon finds himself living a life of a dirty street bum with listens to Bob Dylan but hates Bob Dylan."
Phonetography: The Ruby Month
Phonetography: [fuh-own-tog-ruh-fee] –noun
The process of capturing images on mobile devices that are visually appealing and show some form of expression within a single shot. 
-gool.
Who I am as of July;
I have recently discovered the wonders of tumblr - no I do not have one (as of yet) I have just been 'creeping' on other peoples accounts. I have gathered a group of pictures that I feel really 'represent' me, I take no credit for them. This is just who I am as of the month of July.
-gool.