windy whispers of her sisters
Sometimes I wish people would ask what it’s like being a robot. I could twitch my fingers and imagine sparks and whirring gears and I could speak very quietly in response, so that they had to lean in really close to hear.
“It’s like being full of gears.” I’d reply.
“What?” the chorus would ask. I’d smile and blink my under-oiled eyelids-
whirr - click - whirr
“There’s fire too.” I’d say more loudly. “Gears and fire and a metal skeleton.”
“Like Wolverine.” Someone would say, grinning. I’d turn my head once in descent-
click, and the gentle hum of it returning to center.
“No. Not at all.”
“Oh.” The chorus sighs.
“It’s like closing your eyes and listening to your heartbeat. It’s like placing the final piece into an old pocket watch, winding it up and putting it inside your skull. Or lighting a candle and, as it burns, pouring the wax out onto your fingernails, making a new skin. It’s almost like having your blood pressure taken, but it’s every time you breathe, inside your chest.
Thump - thump - whoosh
The chorus will stare at me, their eyes will shift from me to each other to the ceiling and down to the floor: looking for bolts of sense, hinges of continuity, that might have fallen out of my monologue. I might smile again, listen to the
hiss and scrape as the melt bends.
Then I’ll close my eyes and watch the gears behind my eyelids and twitch my fingers and imagine sparks.
-
I'm procrastinating. Mmhmm. Fucking midterms. >.<
I go home for a week on Saturday.
It's been quite a while since I posted here...since I really used LJ at all actually....
My room is very dark. Let there be light! ...and there was light.
I lost my camera cord...again. I think it must be somewhere, hiding in the stacks of paper or behind the toys. Lurking, coiled around my jack in the box or my stacks of DVDs...devious little bastard.
Mmmmmmmmmmmm...lally lally lally.
Someone please cut off my hands and hide them,
Beneath the sand and soil, ashes and dust.
Or set them free below the heavy waves,
Set them afloat, to lifting currents trust.
And let them, if they choose to be my own,
Return to me, breathe out my words in lust.
p.s. Jesba, sorry I never got on AIM, I didn't see your message...
“It’s like being full of gears.” I’d reply.
“What?” the chorus would ask. I’d smile and blink my under-oiled eyelids-
whirr - click - whirr
“There’s fire too.” I’d say more loudly. “Gears and fire and a metal skeleton.”
“Like Wolverine.” Someone would say, grinning. I’d turn my head once in descent-
click, and the gentle hum of it returning to center.
“No. Not at all.”
“Oh.” The chorus sighs.
“It’s like closing your eyes and listening to your heartbeat. It’s like placing the final piece into an old pocket watch, winding it up and putting it inside your skull. Or lighting a candle and, as it burns, pouring the wax out onto your fingernails, making a new skin. It’s almost like having your blood pressure taken, but it’s every time you breathe, inside your chest.
Thump - thump - whoosh
The chorus will stare at me, their eyes will shift from me to each other to the ceiling and down to the floor: looking for bolts of sense, hinges of continuity, that might have fallen out of my monologue. I might smile again, listen to the
hiss and scrape as the melt bends.
Then I’ll close my eyes and watch the gears behind my eyelids and twitch my fingers and imagine sparks.
-
I'm procrastinating. Mmhmm. Fucking midterms. >.<
I go home for a week on Saturday.
It's been quite a while since I posted here...since I really used LJ at all actually....
My room is very dark. Let there be light! ...and there was light.
I lost my camera cord...again. I think it must be somewhere, hiding in the stacks of paper or behind the toys. Lurking, coiled around my jack in the box or my stacks of DVDs...devious little bastard.
Mmmmmmmmmmmm...lally lally lally.
Someone please cut off my hands and hide them,
Beneath the sand and soil, ashes and dust.
Or set them free below the heavy waves,
Set them afloat, to lifting currents trust.
And let them, if they choose to be my own,
Return to me, breathe out my words in lust.
p.s. Jesba, sorry I never got on AIM, I didn't see your message...