Dani's set went up today and it was definitely a hot one. I really like her tattoos more than anything. Women in tattoos could stop the world with a stare. Her set though was a beauty to look at.
Been binging, not drinking, but writing. I have moments where I just leave this earth with a pen and paper and people have to grab my cord to pull me back into this reality. It's unhealthy and eventually I'll start checking into motels to work uninterrupted. I need to find someone who'll stop me from doing that, because it's only one step from kicking into other past habits involving needles and vials.
But for the fun of it, I continued the Snow White piece a bit. Enjoy and provide feedback if you would be so kind.
Prelude: Snow White
He shot the moon.
Newscasters called him Killer of Light, the townspeople dubbed him the Prophet. No one knows his real name.
It fell from the sky and into the Earth's surface, the locals called it God's Rock, tourist bureaus call it Moon Mountain, when really it's a hill. No one questioned the bureau, because it brought people into the town throughout the year and kept it alive. The moon's collapse was a blessing for the townspeople, they no longer had to pack up their homes and move into the city, a place they dreaded. Twenty years pass and people don't flood the town like in the golden days.
I never got a chance to see the moon in the black blanket of night, only its hole punched brethern, because I was in utero at its collapse. It appeared in the text books as I grew up in school, but next to it would be a picture of the hill that laid in my backyard. When the sun melts into the reds and purples that patch a sex-crime victims skin, the God Rock reflects the color like an early Monet painting. Beautiful swatches of color crafted with grace from a novice hand.
A few years ago, not long after I had a license, they closed the mall that was constructed after the moon fell. I would drive out to sit in the parking lot, pointed away the moon, under a light, so I could lay in the bed of the truck and watch the stars. I would create stories and tell my girlfriends as they laid by my side. My own Phineas and Jude. A cigarette hanging from my lip, ash falling onto my throat, I never wanted to wake up from the dream. They never lasted and I moved away, went to college in Boulder, met Snow White. She told me my first story under a parking light, I kissed her before she finished. I still don't know how it ends.
ONE
The walls flex and groan under the weight of the rain-soaked roof as water runs down the peeling paper. The mattress sits in the middle of the room to avoid absorbing all moisture, traffic lights outside the window light up the room like a Christmas tree. Red and green. The dog sleeps at the foot of the mattress, with his snout hanging over the edge into the water, his tail resting against my leg. Snow refused to dock it when she found him laying in the ditch, next to the sewer drain. The dog couldn't even whimper, because he was nearly dead from a scuffle with other dogs. I got a call at the bar that evening telling me I had to come quick someone was going to die. I ran, no car, until my throat cracked like dried leather and the air burnt in my lungs. Block after block passed under foot until I got to where she was crouched next to the dog, watching over him like and angel. She had already dressed most of his wounds, but couldn't carry him to the apartment. She told wild stories of how Bullet [the dog] had defeated four fantastic beasts of dogs that were attacking her in their starved condition. You would have sworn this dog wore a cape the way she told the story, but she tended to him like a mother would and now he's all I have to remind me of her. A rottweiler with a tail.
Bullet jumps up on the mattress and starts barking wildly at the door, then comes a fierce pounding on the wood. I fumble around trying to find the door in the darkness. No matter how bright the light is, it's always dark. I crawl along the border till I feel the hinges.
Bullet is that you? Travis are you there? Open up it's Snow.
I stop at the lock, my heart trying to rip through the skin and bones to turn it and embrace her.
Snow?
A note to Snow
dye love letters black,
i fall apart like yours in the rain.
tomorrow's chances blown today,
but you are always worth the wait.
captured in a display box,
a pig's heart for the Snow.
hidden from the world, by the woods,
as the moon breask and falls to earth,
the morning wakes to a melting sun.
laying in a truck bed under a parking light,
I want a vending machine with shooting stars,
so I can purchase every wish, waste them on you.
--travis.
Been binging, not drinking, but writing. I have moments where I just leave this earth with a pen and paper and people have to grab my cord to pull me back into this reality. It's unhealthy and eventually I'll start checking into motels to work uninterrupted. I need to find someone who'll stop me from doing that, because it's only one step from kicking into other past habits involving needles and vials.
But for the fun of it, I continued the Snow White piece a bit. Enjoy and provide feedback if you would be so kind.
Prelude: Snow White
He shot the moon.
Newscasters called him Killer of Light, the townspeople dubbed him the Prophet. No one knows his real name.
It fell from the sky and into the Earth's surface, the locals called it God's Rock, tourist bureaus call it Moon Mountain, when really it's a hill. No one questioned the bureau, because it brought people into the town throughout the year and kept it alive. The moon's collapse was a blessing for the townspeople, they no longer had to pack up their homes and move into the city, a place they dreaded. Twenty years pass and people don't flood the town like in the golden days.
I never got a chance to see the moon in the black blanket of night, only its hole punched brethern, because I was in utero at its collapse. It appeared in the text books as I grew up in school, but next to it would be a picture of the hill that laid in my backyard. When the sun melts into the reds and purples that patch a sex-crime victims skin, the God Rock reflects the color like an early Monet painting. Beautiful swatches of color crafted with grace from a novice hand.
A few years ago, not long after I had a license, they closed the mall that was constructed after the moon fell. I would drive out to sit in the parking lot, pointed away the moon, under a light, so I could lay in the bed of the truck and watch the stars. I would create stories and tell my girlfriends as they laid by my side. My own Phineas and Jude. A cigarette hanging from my lip, ash falling onto my throat, I never wanted to wake up from the dream. They never lasted and I moved away, went to college in Boulder, met Snow White. She told me my first story under a parking light, I kissed her before she finished. I still don't know how it ends.
ONE
The walls flex and groan under the weight of the rain-soaked roof as water runs down the peeling paper. The mattress sits in the middle of the room to avoid absorbing all moisture, traffic lights outside the window light up the room like a Christmas tree. Red and green. The dog sleeps at the foot of the mattress, with his snout hanging over the edge into the water, his tail resting against my leg. Snow refused to dock it when she found him laying in the ditch, next to the sewer drain. The dog couldn't even whimper, because he was nearly dead from a scuffle with other dogs. I got a call at the bar that evening telling me I had to come quick someone was going to die. I ran, no car, until my throat cracked like dried leather and the air burnt in my lungs. Block after block passed under foot until I got to where she was crouched next to the dog, watching over him like and angel. She had already dressed most of his wounds, but couldn't carry him to the apartment. She told wild stories of how Bullet [the dog] had defeated four fantastic beasts of dogs that were attacking her in their starved condition. You would have sworn this dog wore a cape the way she told the story, but she tended to him like a mother would and now he's all I have to remind me of her. A rottweiler with a tail.
Bullet jumps up on the mattress and starts barking wildly at the door, then comes a fierce pounding on the wood. I fumble around trying to find the door in the darkness. No matter how bright the light is, it's always dark. I crawl along the border till I feel the hinges.
Bullet is that you? Travis are you there? Open up it's Snow.
I stop at the lock, my heart trying to rip through the skin and bones to turn it and embrace her.
Snow?
A note to Snow
dye love letters black,
i fall apart like yours in the rain.
tomorrow's chances blown today,
but you are always worth the wait.
captured in a display box,
a pig's heart for the Snow.
hidden from the world, by the woods,
as the moon breask and falls to earth,
the morning wakes to a melting sun.
laying in a truck bed under a parking light,
I want a vending machine with shooting stars,
so I can purchase every wish, waste them on you.
--travis.