Japanse New-Girl Monkey Network
Nature is a Language-- Can't You Read?
Movement creates friction, creates heat. The world is slowing down. There's a bite in the air, goosebump bite marks on my arms. Sky fading to old denim, the sun's battery getting low.
Ask me. I love the autumn, but in my mind is clear blue water and oppressive heat. In my mind is soles singed by burning sands, refuge in a hammock in the shade. Or if not that, at least then a long walk across the Harbour Bridge, or a ferry ride, or a job, a flat, a life, a boy with blue eyes and a disarming smile. Spending warm summer days indoors. Writing frightening verse. Maybe a cat.
Another autumn here means another season spent waiting.
Ask me. The cycles of my brain are slowing down in tune with the cycles of the days. A mind stuck in a dream state, the mantra echo: "I want to be... I want to be there." The air and the sun and the leaves are becoming colder, dimmer, less real. The dreams are covering my eyes as I stare at the monitor and mindlessly tap the keyboard.
I want to be in the season, to love the colors and the smell. La Muerte is tugging at my sleeve. Instead I withdraw with the warmth and the long days. My mind is with them, or my mind is somewhere on the other side of the world where it's turning into spring and a boy with blue eyes and a disarming smile waits. I go to sleep, a deciduous tree. My leaves turn gold and drift off to the ground. Lack of heat, lack of friction, lack of light, lack of life. Fall.
Shyness can stop you from doing all the things in life you'd like to. So if there's something you'd like to try, ask me-- I won't say "no"-- how could I?
Nature is a language-- can't you read? Ask me.
Because, if it's not love, then it's the Bomb that will bring us together.
(Lyrics usurped from "Ask", The Smiths.)
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