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Night of the Meek. - Sauce1977 [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
Sauce1977

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Night of the Meek. [Sep. 30th, 2003|02:09 am]
Sauce1977
[In the Moment |Internal Drama]

The Night Sky.

The stars took their positions in their normal places in the mostly cloudless sky.

All the clouds appear in my life.

For a year quite vintage,

I still feel the usual way . . .

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If my life took the form of a house, and my soul represented itself as my visage,

I'd be without haircut for months, as I am now, three days of stubble on my face.

I'd be in shabby clothes, playing the piano on key, on tempo, in a complex melody.

All around me, the plaster on the walls would feature fresh cracks to accompany the old cracks with their water stains.

There'd be stains on the rug, some of them dirt, some of them blood.

A kitchen window would ventilate the dank house air, complete with spider web and spider.

Piles of dirty dishes would fill the sink and every flat surface of the house.

Crumpled newspapers, used clothes, and crumbs and splatters of food would create perfect mounds of 'hobo elite' in the corners.

I wouldn't even smile as the most beautiful notes would echo off the hard walls from the scratched, stained, and ruined grand piano.

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I feel as if I'm playing the best piece Mozart never constructed but dreamed, and with fire and high winds sweeping ever closer to my home, I can meekly stare at the flickers of light outside, touching the keys with gifted timing and brilliant emphasis, with a blank stare and a permanent, automatic scowl at that, tight-lipped, in anticipation of the first of the jangling nerves of pain from the burning flesh.
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