The light filtered through the trees creating broken areas of light and shadow. The diffusion of light through the leaves lent a transcendent quality to the area closest to me. I looked further into the distance and the light became gradually murkier. It seemed cool, damp actually. This progression of light from diffuse to soft murkiness made me feel safe as if I was wrapped in a blanket or held in a lovers arms, content, secure, and timeless. A tinge of sadness reached my soul when I remembered this moment would come to an end all too soon. In a few minutes, an hour at most, the light will change and the moment will pass into a bitter–sweet memory with all the other timeless moments.

Circa 1992

The heat was oppressive our bodies wet with blood and sweat the smell alone was enough to drive me insane. I felt her hair cool and soft, her flesh glistening and white , luna being reflected off the lake in autumn when the mist was rising through the cooling air. She looked almost angelic. I began to bite my way down her stomach to her thighs. I was tugging and pulling at her flesh with my teeth. I tasted her blood as it began to trickle onto my lips. Her finger nails ripped into my shoulders and I felt the blood running across my skin, forming a hot sticky pool on my lower back. She raised my face to hers, her eyes holding mine the air began to swirl slowly forming eddies around us as we were drawn into each other; Twisting and writhing caressing and tearing we did not become one, but rather our souls and bodies became entertwined perserving our individuality, and becoming indistiguishable from one another from the shear complexity of the patterns that were created. When I awoke we were lying apart. I do not remember the parting of our bodies and souls. I do not even remember if that magical occurrence was real or an ecstatical hallucination. I do not care to recall either. The death of anything is bitter especially when it is as sweet as the nights I spent on Park Street.

I wrote this for my fresman english class at Georgia State before I transferred to SCAD. That would put the creation date around January of 1993. As always this is my shit, don’t steal it or I will sue your ass, unless you give me credit and a big fat percentage of anything you make. 

 I walkout of the blinding sunlight and into the dark, the smell of exhaust fills the air. It always seems damp down here as if there were an underground stream running directly under my feet. There is a stream, actually its more of a trickle of bleary eyed human forms stumbling forward to get a quick fix to satisfy their new found addiction, caffeine. The light, that escapes the surface and forces it’s way down this far, is dim and scattered, but it’s presence is one of the few ties to the world above and the reality I have come to know. The sounds that permeate the air are muffled and deep, in a word cavernous. There is the constant sound of heavy machinery on the street above that is occasionally broken by the sound of distorted voices filtering down from the surface to the grime where I stand. I like this place it hides nothing. It always tells the truth. The beams of the street above are not hidden behind colored metal. The voices that can be heard are only vaguely human as the beings that are creating them above are only vaguely human. This is the kind of place where I can watch the world, be myself , and enjoy my existence without the outside world shoving a lie down my throat.