Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Eye* Fucked* You* Last* Life
I ran into three vampires on my way to Etobicoke today.
As I was descending down the escalator to get to the subway platform, I spotted three very attractive individuals, moving awkwardly within themselves, waiting, unaware they had caught my attention.
One was dirty blond with half her hair secured by two dangerous looking chop sticks, crossing in an X. The other half falling loosely at the back revealed the fragile ness of her beauty which was as fair as her face. Thin lips, beautiful eyes, the mind seemed wiser, along the curve of her cunning smirk. There was an edge. It would be her words not her tongue, for her voice was soft, and I could barely hear her speak. Her body was thin and a Black mid-calf leather trench coat accentuated her broad shoulders. She’s was a woman, out of a Milan Kundera Novel.
The second woman had such a small face the wave of velvet black hair wrapped her like a curtain on an unusually bright morning, being unveiled by maids in a princesses chamber. The eyes were so small but lashes pompous. It almost looked like she had a birds nest in each eye. The nest of a Raven mother. She was wrapped in black. And had a cold beauty. There was a distance she held. Her distance created a coolness about her. And between her and your interest in her, there was a walk accompanied by a cool breeze, an invitation into the unknown. She was hard on the outside, but in her soul I could image a
paradise of cashmere cushions and a tangible softness. She took good care of her inner world and all it’s creatures. She didn’t let invaders in for the experience. And my favorite part, her lips were outlined in that shade of light between dark and bright Rouge. A feast of blood, a greed for passion, composed neatly and frankly on her face.
There was a man, standing in between them. I would call him a boy. He couldn’t be older than 25 rotations, but he looked lethal. Straight blond hair to his shoulder blades and a strong face. His position is what made them interesting to me. For he was like that tip of the triangle, in control of the shape of the threesome, always moving forward, but without moving at all. He was also all in black. His skin had a healthy bronze to it and his eyes sharp, but intention soft and practiced. Precise, and relaxed.
I sensed some sort of unspoken bond moving between them. The energy around them was controlled and cool. The contrast of Red Black and White moved me, because their speach was brisk and soft. They weren’t trying to be heard. Their appearance was as they were not, but at the same time, simply were. At first I thought they might be prostitutes. High class, Dark, Discrete. Second I thought they might be coming from Prague or Bucharest, lost in the unfolding subway tunnels of Toronto. Third, I didn’t know what else to think. The doors opened. The people who had reached their destination got out, and a new batch of people trying to figure out where to go, got in.
We entered the same cart. I decide not to watch them and choose my favorite seat by the window, clicked my cowboy boots together and opened up my Statistics textbook. Next thing I know, I feel his arm sliding past my shoulder, as he’s stretching it around the seat of one of the woman, as we are now sitting back to back from each other. I can smell her, even though her smell is tasteless. I can feel something shift, inside him. And know it is for me. He knows I’m there, even though we don’t yet exist for each other. They are still silent for a while and I feel the dance in the air as his head slightly shifts to catch a glance at me. I ignore him and don’t pay attention. A few second passes, and I get the first answer. The first and only answer I need to provide the curiosity that was unfolding into pending
questions.
“Do you know where this place is?” Velvet asks
“Somewhere around College and Spadina,” Bronze answers
“I used to go there all the time, using the Bathurst route” adds in Chop Sticks in a typical girly 20’s voice. Sans accent. Sans sex. Sans fun!
And this lady’s and gentleman is a demonstration of what appearance, color, strength, length, and visual abilities, are capable of doing to a mind like mine. A story is born with every curiosity that holds my attention. And I have to admit that being wrong did not disappoint me, because there isn’t such thing in this world.
I still don’t know where they were going? What brought them together onto the same platform and rushed us into the same subway cart tonight. Where their lives have taken them, and where they are still going? What kind of party they were attending and why those woman decided to piece themselves together the way they did, earlier that day, only for my brief encounter with them later that night. That overwhelming wave of peace that envelops your body when you feel that you and others are one, you are alive for each other, and all is alive to move you!
They returned to their mumbles. I reached St.George, packed my books and got off without a second glance at them. I saw a stream of people making their way downstairs to reach the Westbound trains, just as I heard the warning alarms for the doors closing behind me. I decided to turn around one last time, and observe them. Velvet was positioned parallel to me. I looked straight into her eyes.
She couldn’t understand. Could not move. But the seed of curiosity was planted, the spark flickered in her eyes, as her head made the slightest tilt to the side. She wanted to know more. Her train was moving away. I could stare at her as fiercely as I wanted. She was becoming afraid. Her lips parted as her eyes narrowed at me.We were alive for each other in that moment. For our eyes, and concentration and being were fixed, as her being was slowly being pulled away into one direction. I smiled, for she held my gaze for as long as she could before her body was rushed back into the tunnel. Back into the course of her life, and I to the course of mine. Our questions for each other left unanswered. The train rushes away and lightly picks up my hair with the friction of wind in the tunnel, as a last farewell to the role it played as the stage. I take a step forward. Satisfied with what happened. Satisfied that I will never know. Exactly what occurred and what could of. It was perfect, in so many ways.
For I know I was meant to know them, knowing them not at all.....
As I was descending down the escalator to get to the subway platform, I spotted three very attractive individuals, moving awkwardly within themselves, waiting, unaware they had caught my attention.
One was dirty blond with half her hair secured by two dangerous looking chop sticks, crossing in an X. The other half falling loosely at the back revealed the fragile ness of her beauty which was as fair as her face. Thin lips, beautiful eyes, the mind seemed wiser, along the curve of her cunning smirk. There was an edge. It would be her words not her tongue, for her voice was soft, and I could barely hear her speak. Her body was thin and a Black mid-calf leather trench coat accentuated her broad shoulders. She’s was a woman, out of a Milan Kundera Novel.
The second woman had such a small face the wave of velvet black hair wrapped her like a curtain on an unusually bright morning, being unveiled by maids in a princesses chamber. The eyes were so small but lashes pompous. It almost looked like she had a birds nest in each eye. The nest of a Raven mother. She was wrapped in black. And had a cold beauty. There was a distance she held. Her distance created a coolness about her. And between her and your interest in her, there was a walk accompanied by a cool breeze, an invitation into the unknown. She was hard on the outside, but in her soul I could image a
paradise of cashmere cushions and a tangible softness. She took good care of her inner world and all it’s creatures. She didn’t let invaders in for the experience. And my favorite part, her lips were outlined in that shade of light between dark and bright Rouge. A feast of blood, a greed for passion, composed neatly and frankly on her face.
There was a man, standing in between them. I would call him a boy. He couldn’t be older than 25 rotations, but he looked lethal. Straight blond hair to his shoulder blades and a strong face. His position is what made them interesting to me. For he was like that tip of the triangle, in control of the shape of the threesome, always moving forward, but without moving at all. He was also all in black. His skin had a healthy bronze to it and his eyes sharp, but intention soft and practiced. Precise, and relaxed.
I sensed some sort of unspoken bond moving between them. The energy around them was controlled and cool. The contrast of Red Black and White moved me, because their speach was brisk and soft. They weren’t trying to be heard. Their appearance was as they were not, but at the same time, simply were. At first I thought they might be prostitutes. High class, Dark, Discrete. Second I thought they might be coming from Prague or Bucharest, lost in the unfolding subway tunnels of Toronto. Third, I didn’t know what else to think. The doors opened. The people who had reached their destination got out, and a new batch of people trying to figure out where to go, got in.
We entered the same cart. I decide not to watch them and choose my favorite seat by the window, clicked my cowboy boots together and opened up my Statistics textbook. Next thing I know, I feel his arm sliding past my shoulder, as he’s stretching it around the seat of one of the woman, as we are now sitting back to back from each other. I can smell her, even though her smell is tasteless. I can feel something shift, inside him. And know it is for me. He knows I’m there, even though we don’t yet exist for each other. They are still silent for a while and I feel the dance in the air as his head slightly shifts to catch a glance at me. I ignore him and don’t pay attention. A few second passes, and I get the first answer. The first and only answer I need to provide the curiosity that was unfolding into pending
questions.
“Do you know where this place is?” Velvet asks
“Somewhere around College and Spadina,” Bronze answers
“I used to go there all the time, using the Bathurst route” adds in Chop Sticks in a typical girly 20’s voice. Sans accent. Sans sex. Sans fun!
And this lady’s and gentleman is a demonstration of what appearance, color, strength, length, and visual abilities, are capable of doing to a mind like mine. A story is born with every curiosity that holds my attention. And I have to admit that being wrong did not disappoint me, because there isn’t such thing in this world.
I still don’t know where they were going? What brought them together onto the same platform and rushed us into the same subway cart tonight. Where their lives have taken them, and where they are still going? What kind of party they were attending and why those woman decided to piece themselves together the way they did, earlier that day, only for my brief encounter with them later that night. That overwhelming wave of peace that envelops your body when you feel that you and others are one, you are alive for each other, and all is alive to move you!
They returned to their mumbles. I reached St.George, packed my books and got off without a second glance at them. I saw a stream of people making their way downstairs to reach the Westbound trains, just as I heard the warning alarms for the doors closing behind me. I decided to turn around one last time, and observe them. Velvet was positioned parallel to me. I looked straight into her eyes.
She couldn’t understand. Could not move. But the seed of curiosity was planted, the spark flickered in her eyes, as her head made the slightest tilt to the side. She wanted to know more. Her train was moving away. I could stare at her as fiercely as I wanted. She was becoming afraid. Her lips parted as her eyes narrowed at me.We were alive for each other in that moment. For our eyes, and concentration and being were fixed, as her being was slowly being pulled away into one direction. I smiled, for she held my gaze for as long as she could before her body was rushed back into the tunnel. Back into the course of her life, and I to the course of mine. Our questions for each other left unanswered. The train rushes away and lightly picks up my hair with the friction of wind in the tunnel, as a last farewell to the role it played as the stage. I take a step forward. Satisfied with what happened. Satisfied that I will never know. Exactly what occurred and what could of. It was perfect, in so many ways.
For I know I was meant to know them, knowing them not at all.....
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