StoryTime(drip)

Drip...Drip...Drip...

drip...

drip....when will it come. my eyes are open. i see splash after splash, of red on white porcelain; and still...nothing

the drops fall slower now, and surely that must be a sign of how close it is.

how close it is.

oh, great awakening.

and still it is

drip...

drip.....

drip......i remember now when i was but a babe in the crib, staring through cloudy bars out at the recognizable form that is mother. the two foggy projections thrust towards me, instilling a sense of protection. and the face, no more than a shadow in time, enfolds me in its caress of faith. without cessation the red projectiles disperse on the field of white. they keep me waiting. they keep me...whole.

now three i feel the joy of running, the great savage energy of childhood in my veins, immune to all accept naptime. but i don't care i run. i run. i feel the pain of injury. left ankle can't make the turn and gives way to the force of gravity. tears flood my eyes and the scream.automatic.unstoppable..."Mother"....

the bright blue flyer, handed down from my sister, grasped in my hands. father pushes; releases. i am...free! feet on square pegs and the wind in my hair, i can, i can, i Ride! ride with the wind and the air, bring me freedom from care. no chains upon me for i am young.

and still my faucet leaks

drip....

driip....

driiiip......i wonder when will it come. the rapture, the beyond. i am still... waiting... existing...living. the red petals splash on white porcelain creating great flowers of indifference. blood petals of sin and...

i see a hawk lonely in the distance. flying gracefully on the breath of gods, young hands reach to touch it ,to grab, to hold. they yearn to know this freedom from the ground. these hands, my hands, so young, so fragile, unworn by the rain of time. i clench them together, for i wish to remain in this time, in this memory...

yet the dripping draws me back, falling slower and slower, must be almost dry. a moth flits by, my shirt is his quest, and soon there will be no movement to discourage him from his goal. all the ruffles will be his.

now in the playground, autumns breeze on my face, i see joanne in a pink jumper. the first day of classes, the first recess, and before i can think of any consequences i mutter death

"Move or I'll kiss ya!" She smiles coyly, all pigtails and white teeth, but she doesn't move. oh god the horror. what will i do. confusion? this always worked before, maybe she didn't hear me.

" I said move or I'll KISS ya!"

and still there she stands, smiling. stupid girls, they never do what you want. now all my friends are here. shit! what to do; what to do. if i don't do it she'll think am a chicken, and if i do do it my friends will never leave me alone. i can't do it. no way, no how! it'd be easier to kiss a frog than a girl. yech! that's it, I'll pretend she's a frog. if only she would quit smiling, and her eyes, gad she looks like she just got hit with a baseball. oh well, here goes......

red lips become roses become my life, pitter patting scarlet drops of rain. fuck! who would have thought it could take so, long....

so long...

so long.. where is the light at the end of the tunnel, or the out of body experience, or the goddamn great calm that comes stealthily to the dead. Valhalla...nirvana... am i on the right path. like hanzel and gretal i leave a trail of crimson breadcrumbs to lead me back, but the bird called "drain" swallows them as the touch the ground.

and still it is there, drip...

drip....

drip....the gaps between splashes lengthen with the languid slowness of the returning spring sun. why did i do it? i feel the fear begin to seep into my soul. not the overpowering fear of death, but the racist fear of the unknown, fear of retribution. where now is the cockiness and anger? where now is the pride...

i feel the wail of electric guitars, screaming in discordant harmony. they fill me, encircle me, make love to me. the music so full of anger, drenched in unadulterated lust and teenage angst. lyrics screamed beyond recognition because their importance is not in the words but in the emotion. everywhere i look in the gloomy atmosphere people are slammin' into one another in the ecstasy of the moment. my eyes are as if veiled in cobwebs and my mind is detached from me, preferring the intoxication of the rhythm over the confines of my reality. i know this place and i am comfortable here amongst the mohawks and skins. i sense a small cold hand close around mine and a voice calls my soul back from the other side of the music, "Here try some of these." a hand possibly mine delivers 5 black capsules to my tongue starting an automatic process, close mouth, head back, swallow, beer chaser. my eyes focus momentarily on the succubus standing beside me. she is small and slender, cloaked in black composing a stark contrast to her pale skin and blazing come fuck me lips. a thin chain dangles toyingly from her ear to her nose an i know for two hits she is mine to have. we push through to the back of the bar, the black beauties and beauty taking effect. we become like animals not caring where we fuck because that's all it is. there is no love in this world, only lust. what begins in passion moves quickly to anger. and all i feel are the rhythms, the pounding, my heart, her heart, my hips on her hips, the drums, the crowd. everything is pounding, pulsating, throbbing with its own energy building and building to the never obtainable orgasm. and over all the cacophony i hear it, the screaming....

howling.... thunderous echo....hailing me like a sadistic s.o.s. returning me from the then to the now. to the drip...

drip....

drip.....when will it end? when will it end! how long must i wait to find the answer. is this all there is? this endless waiting, this insatiable wanting for something more? Where is the enlightenment? God damn you, where is the enlightenment! is there no happiness? where is the other side? am i lost? this can't be all there is, it can't be. I'd rather go to hell! drip.....

was it, drip....

all for, drip...

nothing....