Imaginary

Coming into awakening – sleep in the enemy of the people.

People who don’t exist – calling beyond context into distraction.  These are the Imaginary.

As much restraint – I initiated contact with fangurlness, but the situation is about to change.

The sweetest man 4000 km away from me at the time. Every question i took way too seriously, to enthused until no reply came. It was weeks of dreaming false futures.

A Dominique Francon “I want you’ only in Alex’s voice.

His name ringing stolen in my mind. Cherries and vodka and 10 000 things that couldn’t distract me from Sterne. Every scrumble kalashnicozy in the world could stop me from staring at that stupid green dot. No competition with your heart shaped face.

I knew the voice but not really. The man whose sonic power turned my organs slippered falling floored, exactly where I needed them to be. No life experience in the world could have prepared me witnessing pedestalled convulsions. Keep me here – in the harbour. All these years on his knee, mister and missed.

Acknowledgment mattered only.

I was the girl frightening months into permanence, effortless. No one likes happy endings but here’s one. When we were together we never slept, erasing everything I know. Sometimes. Only Sterne could find me and shake me, a new distance never achieved. I’m too predictable.

Never the artist always the art. How many others he did this with I never knew or cared to find out. Every moment was the selfish centre of all possible worlds.

Sacred things could not even be trusted with my selves.

Spacefucker held me closer.  Night shark sugar sharp, spun opportunity.  Sterne-y put the kettle on.

Frightened, months ago, months since we existed together – secretive secretions of e-motions.  I would sit there, glancing eyes slicing new conversions.  Never once smiling at me, too milk and honey.  Like his skin, surprisingly light and sticky.  Our summers were hot and humid, absorbing the haze like landslides.  We stayed hours in the thyme ridden mountain, laying amongst the rotting bodies.

Is other is already circu square serious angle is is is 1 om/ho.

Power switching to remaining in the port, inheriting the position of prawn-world_leader. left to hart break under the most productive times of our lives.

Under a mandelbrot set of simmered tea constellation pining foreign limbs.  Surprises never worked, the times in between were too unbearable no matter how appropriate.

Drawing blood before school, staving off expulsion letters for breakfast when we realized just how hostage we were to heartskipped invitations.  The question answered in a gushing yes, begged for since the very first day.  And the rest would suffocate him to the heights of his career.  Remaining the jill of all trades declaring martial claw hammer.

He never looked the same.

Papers in order, he grew sand in his hair.  His body the mess of my fingers, trembling a child before the incoming tide.  The clouds rolled by and we found ourselves eating berries and prawns.  Distanced and watching him coast for driftwood, a stranger entered the scene, threatening and familiar.  Scatter the fire and grabbing my wrists to deny a man of his only expressed pleasure – to force a man unwilling into his greatest opus.

You can’t drown a body in an incoming tide.

One rock, more barnacle than anything else, contacted his face and freedom.  Busted up and quickly infecting the blood, Sterne made holes where there were no holes before.  But there was no past and no future.

The territory was too stark, littered with modulators, pedals, microphones, and ceramic cats.

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