Sometimes the voices are so loud, but words won't flow, can't even goddamn sleep because of it...... a bit of fiction, written a while back, guess reading old words can sometimes quell the pain, soften the urge, keep them under control.... 'course *chuckles* this gives me away to those that have read it under another name..... and those that know him.....

the human form, when crouched, brings to meaning a whole new level of cooperation between bone muscle and the surrounding space, a different meaning entirely from when the body has the ability to weave through the air caught in the beauty (or sometimes chaos) of the dance floor... in one form there is freedom, expression, inspiration flowing from the subdepths of the human soul brought forth along wirey arms poised at just the right angle.... and, in the other, the body is trapped, aching to break free, stuck within the confines of ill begotten requiem in the absence of motion.... so then one must ask, ponder, pontificate or vaguely mutter which is the preferred state of being? Is it the constant flux of desire for perfection? Is it the granite poised moment in time which stills the heart?

he crouches there, watching the sunset, the inevitability of gravity seeming to suck even the sun to its dark depths, captured and held for another night's journey as the moon tries to escape as well, only to be traded off once more come the dawn, the exchange of prisoners, the cock tease that becomes a cycle of day and night, as soon as one falls into the cradled regulation that is one we find it's life merely an expulsion of breath as hope is cast away for the inevitability of gravity.

much like the ticking of the clock, the passing of time, would it truly happen if we were not fool enough to name the phenomenon in the essence of scientific exploration? we've only sentenced ourselves to the width and breadth of word's limitations, pity the poor weary fools....

lean arms wrap around knees, haunches hovering mere inches above the ground, barely a move made except the clockwork cycle of breath drawn in and out of tired lungs, dark lids covering tan irises in the occasional blink, not wanting to miss a single dying breath of the setting sun, listening to the night begin to awaken around him, the subtle changes that envelope the city as a trusted blanket. his tongue caresses blackened lips, shallow breath cooling the moisture from his skin as eyes finally close, searing the final vestiges of the day's light into the backs of his lids, his own private canvas to repaint the picture time and time again, even through the oblivious night.....

his head falls, sliding his cheek against a knee, eyes roving over the ground in soft gentle mourning, exquisite suffering that saddens the heart yet means nothing as the cycle rounds the bend once more, he knows the sun shall soon return, forcing away the freedom that comes with darkness, tricking us once more that he's here to stay, 'til evening strikes its blow, forcing the bitter retreat to night's repasse

chin angles to rest on knees, gentle sigh skimming from his lungs, not wanting to disturb just yet the smooth transition between seamless counterparts, the yin and yang, the top and bottom, the garish day and velvety night, even the people are different now, the meek coming from the corners as shadows expand and stretch forth down the street, the bold becoming bolder, knowing that not all has been lost in the absence of the light, from the daily rat race stress leaks a new kind of tension, a new kind of evil, the things that haunt the very depths of a man's soul, hidden during the day it leaves only the darkness to let nightmares roam free

devil's lock arches down before his eyes, splitting his field of vision perfectly in two, once more the balance between left and right, right and wrong, the cycle of pairs that happens even when we aren't looking, when we least expect it

but it matters not, to him, he crouches here merely to watch, to observe, to experience what goes by, not saying a word except the occasional needed phrase, preferring the absence of verbal guidance to allow the true answers to pull forth from the blinding muddle of has beens and what if's, wanting nothing and needing less, simply to watch, to breath, to live..... that is all he asks....