rambling is important...
i miss rambling... i didn't ramble for a long time... at least not here... you should hear me ramble when i start getting into it... just for no reason... no need... no starting... no end... just pure uninterupted streams of concious and unconcious...
but so is story telling...
i once walked to a place hidden in a circular street made of apples... as i walked, the apples started to ripen, they started to rott, they began to smell, i continued to walk... the further aroudn the circle i walked, the more they rotted, the smell started to disapate as the rotting apples turned to dirt. The circle had warped into an oval type shape, and the hidden place i had seen initially had become quite evidant... The apples were gone... long gone... but up from the road started to grow a tree... i took the tree by the trunk. the tree was short and new, so i pulled it from the ground. I moved it off the street and onto the ground in the center. here i planted it again, and it began to grow while still in my hands... i stepped back, and walked aroudn the circle backwards, the tree started to ungrow... as it shrank back to a seedling. i turned and ran from the seedling, ran all the way aroun the oval, and when i got back to where the seedling had been, i found a tree, with a trunk 1 foot across on the tree there sprouted apples, new apples, which as i stepped closer promptly fell to the ground, and began to rott as i grew closer and closer.
i ran the track again, this time returning to a tree with a trunk almost 2 feet across, and next to it there was a stable, a stable filled with horses. as i walked closer, the outer sides of the street became lined with seets, then with bleechers. The horses raced, people bet their life's savings on single races, their dreams shattered or given new hope all within seconds. As i walked closer and closer to the stands, the seasons changed, the years went by. I watched a decade go by as i walked the track, the whole time, no one looked at me, it was as if it was a dream, but the whole time i knew it wasn't. I knew that i was there.
From my pocket i drew an apple, took a bite, and found myself laying in the grass to the side of the apple covered road... i went home, writing down my experience so i wouldn't forget it... I was 4 years old, last year, 20 years later, i walked back to the apple covered street, and next to it i found a tree, and a stable. I left, returning home without turning back. I returned again, the next year - this year - as i returned to the apple covered road, i found bleechers with a grand opening sign above them. I laughed, i smiled, i knew the outcome of every race for the next 10 years... they were engrained in my memory... i walked home laughing, later buyng a house far away from the apple covered street, getting as far away from it as possible, because the last thing i saw there when i was 4, was a leprichaun who's left hand clasped a butcher's knife, while his right hand held the head of someone i didn't know, at the time. Now though, as i looked in the mirror, the face on the head he held was mine. i packed and never came back. Damn leprichauns...
i miss rambling... i didn't ramble for a long time... at least not here... you should hear me ramble when i start getting into it... just for no reason... no need... no starting... no end... just pure uninterupted streams of concious and unconcious...
but so is story telling...
i once walked to a place hidden in a circular street made of apples... as i walked, the apples started to ripen, they started to rott, they began to smell, i continued to walk... the further aroudn the circle i walked, the more they rotted, the smell started to disapate as the rotting apples turned to dirt. The circle had warped into an oval type shape, and the hidden place i had seen initially had become quite evidant... The apples were gone... long gone... but up from the road started to grow a tree... i took the tree by the trunk. the tree was short and new, so i pulled it from the ground. I moved it off the street and onto the ground in the center. here i planted it again, and it began to grow while still in my hands... i stepped back, and walked aroudn the circle backwards, the tree started to ungrow... as it shrank back to a seedling. i turned and ran from the seedling, ran all the way aroun the oval, and when i got back to where the seedling had been, i found a tree, with a trunk 1 foot across on the tree there sprouted apples, new apples, which as i stepped closer promptly fell to the ground, and began to rott as i grew closer and closer.
i ran the track again, this time returning to a tree with a trunk almost 2 feet across, and next to it there was a stable, a stable filled with horses. as i walked closer, the outer sides of the street became lined with seets, then with bleechers. The horses raced, people bet their life's savings on single races, their dreams shattered or given new hope all within seconds. As i walked closer and closer to the stands, the seasons changed, the years went by. I watched a decade go by as i walked the track, the whole time, no one looked at me, it was as if it was a dream, but the whole time i knew it wasn't. I knew that i was there.
From my pocket i drew an apple, took a bite, and found myself laying in the grass to the side of the apple covered road... i went home, writing down my experience so i wouldn't forget it... I was 4 years old, last year, 20 years later, i walked back to the apple covered street, and next to it i found a tree, and a stable. I left, returning home without turning back. I returned again, the next year - this year - as i returned to the apple covered road, i found bleechers with a grand opening sign above them. I laughed, i smiled, i knew the outcome of every race for the next 10 years... they were engrained in my memory... i walked home laughing, later buyng a house far away from the apple covered street, getting as far away from it as possible, because the last thing i saw there when i was 4, was a leprichaun who's left hand clasped a butcher's knife, while his right hand held the head of someone i didn't know, at the time. Now though, as i looked in the mirror, the face on the head he held was mine. i packed and never came back. Damn leprichauns...
posted by Kain at 2:48:00 a.m.
