La Pura Neta

There used to be this place on Michigan and Ohio. It's now another neon-colored clothes store for those who long to feel hip. It used to be wall-to-floor music. Not the best music, mind you, but it was a place that spoke to my young soul. I dreamed of working there-of opening those cardboard boxes filled with industry-made sounds, which in turn  made the 'ca-ching' sound every two weeks. Alas, it was not meant to be. But that place didn't leave without giving me the most memorable of self -conscious memory. Just another day, walking towards the escalator to go to the toy/stationary section. I decided to go to the loo. Just normal business there. I began to wash me hands when, a tall, beautiful, long-haired girl straight out of Robert Plant's dreams runs to the bathroom stall. I hear the struggle of her unzipping her pants and the slamming of her bottom hitting the seat. Then, a symphony of gas. The cry of freedom was heard and felt and it forever changed me,

The sounds of melody long have gone. Gold lockets, tight disordered tight-pants. The sound of money. Washed face people standing over the floor built upon the people of before. Of the grit and grime of creativity, of indifference ingrown. Built above it a society unaware of color, of dirt. This story doesn't contain any real people, only what people really are. The sound of the singer with golden locks and tight faded red pant.

It's been awhile since I've tried to write in this voice. This voice-the voice that flows like a river through me, now clogged by jagged rocks and wood. Trees knocked down and turned over, trunks rolling down stream. This river can't seem to let me free. What would the trunk be if it were free. Alone on the bank? And the river. An empty stream? And the rocks. They have been placed before as a guide. Where is this voice of mine? Where is mine? text. What is a word with no sound? It sits still, still, still, to become tender or to burn. Too many words together just mash-a bright light that blinds even the light holder. What do these words mean? No escape, no relief, but they are me. They are mine. Letters jumbled together to represent my thoughts. My river of insanity dreams.

I had a dream I was sleeping. ring-ring, ring-ring My left arm pulled from under the covers I slammed my hand on the phone, a drawling 'hello?' Swoosh! A black wave of darkness flowed over me. It started to lean closer and closer. I began to hear nothing but a buzz, a static connection, the sound of a light saber. Pressure was placed on my chest-I've felt this before, I 've deliberately seeked this before. But not now, not tonight. I don't know how, but I'm walking oustide. I'm in a panic, a realization of my brittle state of mind. My palms sweaty. "why must you do this?!", she asked. "What about me and my metal health?!" I know you're crazy but this isn't about you. It's for me. My breath shortening after every passing word, thought. For a lingering moment, I did not know what I was searching for, until I found the one house, on the residential street, that had its lights on. I walked up the stairs, opened