August 8th, 2008


(no subject)

There is a rhythm to it, clip-clop, clip-clop, like a million penguins in tap shoes all marching together, so close to a perfect beat that every little flaw just makes it more crisp, chickity-chick chickity-chick, just like that.

And the the fires start, and everyone just forgets everything and tears ats their clothes, and smears their faces and chests with mud, and runs down, and just starts just screaming, hands in the air or fingers in the ground, all thump-a thump-a hoo-a, thump-a thump-a hoo-a!

And we're all connected to it and there's a rhytm to it, ancient and animal, hungry for expression, mad and wailing, intense enough that the heartbeat is right there and the mind is far far away, eyes red and too wide, black suns in a sea of deep purple blue, clip-clop clip-clop, chickity-chick, chickity-chick, and with every beat we forget something and we remember something with every step, and we wonder how we ever lived without it.

At least, that's what my dentist's office is like.