Something has to happen soon…
Something has to happen soon.
The process is staring at blank wall, and you may or may not have this. The question is, do you have a blank wall? Take the pictures down from the wall and stare. Pull up a chair and enjoy yourself for a little bit. Entertain the nothingness before indulging in the possibilities of whatever can be written, scribbled, colored, shaded, scratched, etched, and etcetera. Take out the sawzall and cut a window in the wall just to see what’s on the other side. It’d be ridiculous to, but it would be ridiculous not to.
It could be that there is too much work with taking down the pictures from the wall, and maybe they are actually glued to the wall. Perhaps the sawzall will create too much of a ruckus and a mess that will only lead to some unfathomable explanation later about how the wall was bowing in or out, or both–breathing perhaps. If the walls were breathing, who wouldn’t be curious to find out what was going on? Is the house alive or are there fairies or gremlins that live within the walls of the home or apartment. Perhaps the infestation is just centered around that one room? That would make extermination that much easier.
But close your eyes. That’s the perfect blackboard, and this way you can use white writing to make your work pop that much more. This not-so obtrusive surface can be toted everywhere. There is an authenticity to scribbling, sketching (Kerouac sketched in words) in white upon a dark surface. Plus, who didn’t have fun with chalk? It doesn’t have to be chalk either. But close your eyes and push away whatever noises are pulling at your ears. Breathe deeply and exhale smoothly. See what colors and patters bloom before your eyes.
You can open your eyes whenever you’re comfortable. So you find yourself in front of a train going who-knows-where (you do, of course). Bags, suitcases sit at the feet of at your raincoat-covered body, and your umbrella is clutched in your opposite hand. It is raining, by the way, but you could find yourself in front of a bookshelf of your local bookseller or cellar or library. You can find yourself wondering what it is you are looking for; it can be easy to forget sometimes. The person next to you is looking at the same shelf as you, waiting for you to make a move with a harboring hope that you’re not going to make a selection that is in their favor.
Thick quinking Quick thinking could get you to opt for a random selection, creating a false reassurance to the other that you weren’t sleeping, but in fact concentrating. The book you choose is wedged in there, so you grab a hold of an adjacent book. It’s still wedged uncomfortably where your display of pulling is heightened and exaggerated. Soon your trying to pry the book from the shelf with your feet upon the shelf, pushing, and pulling with your arms. The book eventually pops out, with the result of your kicking the shelf into others for a successful domino fall.
You sit up, confused and frustrated. Embarrassment is glowing a bright red to flush your cheeks. You fall back with the book gripped tightly in your fingers, and your head rests upon the dirty, poorly padded floor carpet. You close your eyes only to open them back up
and at a supermarket.
The canned veggies are organized brightly in front of you. The others in the aisle aren’t paying mind to you. You walk over to the canned corn and you reach out and stop halfway. Second guessing your effort, you take your index finger to hook the lip the aluminum container. You flick the strength the potential energy embodied in your finger in a downward motion. The can falls successfully to the floor. It doesn’t open. You laugh and those around you eye your move and they all step back simultaneously, methodically. One-by-one the cans fall to the ground, which eventually tips when the entire aisle is emptied to cause everything to roll. The ground doesn’t tip too extremely, because you’ve kept your feet planted. Dashing, you slide successfully upon spilled veggie water that spilled from broken cans, and by way of gliding you exit the door.
While outside, you laugh to yourself and close your eyes to emphasize the hearty chuckle. Opening them, you are sitting at a library table with your head in your hands, smiling goofy to make the chuckle look worse. Everyone staring at your commotion places their index fingers to their lips. You excuse yourself from the common area and walk to to the fiction section. The shelves tower over you, and you assume that choosing wisely will only make the the shelves fall back, generating this thought from experience. The cans fell forward, so the logical reasoning, the next turn, the objects would have to fall back. Like the bowing of the walls, the breathing, the in and out, the give and take, the etcetera.
Rolling your eyes, you don’t think twice about pulling out the book in front of you; it slides out smoothly, and you bounce it in your hand while smiling. You feel victorious.
Looking up, you notice a pair of eyes staring back at you from the other side of the shelf. You can see the cheeks shrug from a smile.