Siren Popcorn

I reached a place, high-rise buildings, crowded roads, and the clanking of beer bottles in a bar for the footloose, neo-maturity that clicks tongues at the prick of a metallic bottle cap, bleed a little drip of body, suck it in like red-velvet smoothies, and dream the mystery of their next hour, and the following one.

A watchman wears last night’s tiredness on his face, and probably thinks of salvaging broken bulbs, or a château made out of memorial concrete and high hopes iced on bricks. The bartender is pinky humming in his old reflection on the chiselled glasses, suspicious of tomorrow. Amidst the young groups, one is brooding whether what surrounds him is in reality his reality. Girl in crazy denim shorts, long hair, eyeliner, Guns N Roses top, singing and dancing in her head, searching for ways to manifest that as truth, nails painting the counter during their jangling of contemplative uniqueness, shifting, crashing with heavy-metal flowers dangling on her ornamented ear lobe. Then someone gleams with tears in a distance, head bowed, surrounded by smiling people, my stare fixates to check the resolution of this intrigue. People are laughing, person is tearing up. Until he tilts his head, bobs left ten degrees, shakes his head, and uncontrollably hits the table to sound something because his laughs don’t have enough chord closure to resonate, it does only in wheezes, and exasperated coughs.

So, maybe they’re all just tired, because sometimes sadness just isn’t meant to be thought about, and it doesn’t occur, not simply because of the absence of happiness, but because they aren’t primary emotions, aren’t directive of humanity, and life, or dreams, it’s like they show in posters, and on Netflix- entertainment is layered in colors, silence, and endless swims in the divides of water between continental borders, travelling and drowning simultaneously because of floating/sinking on a trailer park- an insane, but imaginable vehicle on liquid packets of existence.

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It's all a matter of rust and shine, to serve a distinction between to have and to have not.

24 thoughts on “Siren Popcorn”

  1. “nails painting the counter during their jangling of contemplative uniqueness” – love. Also love this zoom-lens focus from old-soul perspective in land of mournful shining youth.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Let this picnic have the view of an abyss filled by aqua marine, and tiny fishes clowning and jumping inward and above in the water, sunbird flying above the dropping looks of freed will, and breathing breaths in shades of cool.

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Flowing as long as we wish to thunder along. I never really know, how to be someplace, without being somewhere else too. But sometimes nothing hurts at all, it’s everything forever.

      Liked by 1 person

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