| Beginning at the End Back at the beginning I tried to speed up the process of unfolding your walls, using any means and now, post-end, in these last days and weeks I am intruded upon with flickers of surreal imagery, unbidden, like the fetal quickening or one's first bleeding, labor pain, or hot flash, and true to form in their tone and weave. You are a minor pentatonic walk-up played to compliment the major; the close harmonies of spirituals; not being able to stand any more top 40, switching into the dregs of a classic-rock power chord riff and, after some grating, back to the bassy & pulsating. So I roll in my fuzzy blankie inhaling your musty mildewy smoky sugary tangy pheremones thinking of oily warmth dripped on my cheekbones. Knowing you is teenaged angst 10 years later, carrying its full measure of been-there-done-that, knowing better, and still craving a screaming encore. You are the voice of God on his day off, giving it up to the star-dotted summer sky, 10:30pm. Like one of those hyper-realistic dreams, the kind its nearly impossible to extract one's "sleeping" from, the kind where you can physically feel the elements, of having powers far beyond those of an average human and no fear of using them. The clean hard lines of you face and neck, of your body and intellect are aesthetically pleasing I fill my eyes and mind and transfer funds to my memory bank, not forgetting to save. A performance artist you are, that's what all this was, one of those little eclectic melodramas you string together and call a life. So believable, so realistic, so intense till you scratch through the surface & find everything staring you in the face as it really is: like a fun-house mirror. Pam Ehli/1999 |
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| Since 1-9-03 |