TRANQUILIZER

On the bridge I stood long enough to make a pause in the shit, urine and hobo drenched landscape watching the cars pass by. They look beautiful in the night with the red lights contrasting the orange of the city. I think I will make a movie-a 3-minute one showing everyone how colourful these things are in my head. Like the films those guys you just love to want make. Or like Holden Caulfeild (Or Salinger) thinks-guys you wish were your friends and you could just call up and talk to. Or maybe not, because vision is limited and cant be twisted beyond the bounds of your eyes. Unlike words, beyond colours, beyond limits, each time a different beauty to each one.

Or maybe I need to make visual drugs, it couldn’t be too difficult since I hear Silicon Valley or wherever it is where they conduct useless robotic engineering will be making chips that can be etched in your spine. (Am I scared, or what?) Maybe I could marry one and together we could create visual oblivion. Curie style. I know it must be colourful. Colours are hypnotising. Or maybe someone from the CIA. After all I hear, oranges are really blue but seem orange because of some ocular default.

And the train passes, blurring, my mind a melange of Jefferson Airplane, Catcher in the Rye, which so far is a pretty irritating book and also a predecessor to Vernon God Little (You should try reading cable TV sometime) and the Sudoku puzzle before I melt into a-surprisingly deep-cat nap. Much of the colours have faded in me, I am dying for the home I need. Only I never seem to reach it past the dream.