Thursday, April 25, 2013

On The Road

On the Road. You can walk, drive or even lay on the road. Simply make certain it isn't alive to... Well I'll let you decide which road you want to go down and whether it's alive.  I'm going to be on the road in the next day or so to see something interesting, something fascinating and go somewhere I've never been before. All three. I'm excited. And I'm feeling dead tired but I'm hoping the adrenaline will kick in before I have to head out. Enjoy the story. I'll share another dream home soon. Kisses, m. 

Yellow Line - Tyler Shields c/o

Yellow. Yellow. Yellow. The black split in two by the divided bright line. Closer and closer. Frantically its pushing forward. Speeding engine roaring across the lines. Passing cars. Dodging bullets. Heartbeat pounds within a heavy chest. Radio sounds cut out as the approach draws nearer. Wires pass out of range in the night and there’s no more stops along this stretch. Last chance to turn back and every time its full throttle. 

The Long Stretch
(October 20, 2010)

As long as I can remember there have been men that crossed my way.

It’s been sometime since someone came along. Traveled through the dark night, bright day. Down this way. Down this stretch. The long stretch. Some travel beneath the stars in the darkness that blankets my roughened exterior with a coolness that never comes in the daylight warmth. The long stretch doesn’t beckon to them like it used to. Yet the call remains.

Any that cross close enough will hear it. The sound of my song. The song that leaves them wanting to find it. The one thing that can’t put a finger on, but once they’ve heard it can’t live without. And they’ll follow it. Follow it off into the end until it’s found. And they’re never lost for long once they’ve found it. Along this never-ending path that welcomes them.

Some that pass through know where they’re going but will never get there. Others don’t have a clue what they wanted when they stumbled down this stretch into nothing. That’s when it calls the strongest. The urge to take a turn off the map in the foreign direction you don’t know. It calls intensely. And that’s when they are mine. Some might think they’re run a little off course from the main road. They keep telling themselves that the road only looks like it keeps changing. Well if anyone ever crosses feeling while traveling down an unfamiliar stretch they might want to remember this one thing: You aren’t lost. The road isn’t where you think it is anymore. Once you’ve stepped one foot into these boundaries you no longer have a direction.

All directions ultimately converge upon one. And I am boundless. Long, dark and unending. The mass of my dark body is filled with faded pieces of discoloration from the unyielding sun. Parts of me are broken, yet remain strong and useful. Chunks lifted, pulled through the blackened gravel and unpaved holes compose my surface. Unreasoned patterns, breaks that show distinct mistreatment and neglect. But make no mistake those small pieces are merely a sum of my parts. The whole is intact.

Been here a long time. Longer than before they paved over me. Long before they had feet. Long before even they were here. The speeding demons. Four wheels charging across the plains harnessed by a fifth that governs the direction of the others. Behind the wheel and they think they’re still in control.

Man’s biggest problem is how he perceives the world around him. He likes to see things the way he thinks they are. How he thinks he controls them. Not how they really are. Sometimes I wonder if I were to bleed that I might feel the same way.

Listening to the sound of their flesh grating against my hardened surface as the gravel slices into soft tissues and tears towards the bones I wonder what it would feel like to bleed. Would it grant the key to understanding the passage of life and time like they do? Feeling the burning of skin as it pulls fresh from the interior layers beneath and the flow of life escapes. What understanding would the sensation of pain bring me? Bleeding out through remaining fleshy portions as a result of mortality. If this threshold of feeling is what lends their minds to believe in boundaries, I truly wonder if understanding will be enough. And if understanding what it means to be of the flesh would tame the insatiable urge to annihilate anything that crosses my stretch.

Alive through the moments of death that pass within my unending reach. Moments that will happen again and again. The shadows of the lost that edge closer and closer toward their destiny. All the while cracks that splinter across my wounded surface crave another taste. Waiting. For another taste of blood. Waiting. To be fulfilled by it. Calling out to the blood that comes. Waiting. For it to spill. Down. Down. Down. Deep into the fractures that lie of weakness in my hardened armor. Dripping. Crawling. Deep beneath the surface and drying. And the rain comes to wipe clean all traces of what’s come and gone across my boundless empire.

Blood Alley. Freeway of Flesh. Highway to Hell. Requiem Road.

In some parts of my boundless empire there’s been a name or two given to mark a few of the outstretching veins. They’ve seen their fair share of death. Life that travels on them and then spills into night without cause. It can be called many things but it don’t change what’ll happen if a desperate soul makes their way down one of these paths. And there’s nothing like a fresh soul waiting for life to show its value. Desperate for a change. Not caring where the call comes from next. With a small glimmer of hope that didn’t matter enough to expect something from.

Yellow. Yellow. Yellow. Lines divide up the center of two lane black. Chk. Chk. Check the lights in the darkness that reflects black. Lights on. Lights off. Flashing. Only black bounces back beyond that yellow line. The feelings of fear and apprehension come through loudly like a record player etching out a tune against a revving engine barreling down the stretch through the night. Behind the wheel sits desperation as the wheels keep spinning faster and faster like there’s no tomorrow and rightly so there isn’t. Brakes squeal with the sounds of panic. Even though there’s nothing coming for miles in both directions the sonic boom of impact will clap across the horizon with the intensity and magnitude of thunder. The shadow of darkness will once again coat the stretch in the silence of night. Chk. Chk. By the bright light of dawn remain the last sounds of the engine brought down to mere whisper. Somewhere beneath a twisted metal wreck sitting in front of the open horizon lies the last breath of bleeding desperation that tomorrow couldn’t wait for.

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