Night Gowns
Midnight sitting up getting stoned looking for cigarettes, tipping the scales in my favour so as to remain in touch with this afternoons thoughts yet totally bored with them and everything else which is the reason I’m sitting up in the middle of the night typing thoughtlessly wondering if the downstairs neighbour will come home sometime before after smoking my last one I will be going out of my mind for the nicotine or whatever it is that hooks you. I cannot sleep and I’m stoned and I cannot sleep without a cigarette and out of totally boredom I’m just sitting here thinking about bedroom clothes, flannel robes, scarlet slippers, underwear, night gowns – you know the textures, the smells of sleep and sleeping wear and in the middle of the night get up to feed the baby wear, the texture of the lining in your slipper, places where it’s worn out like at your heels or under your big toe. And there is that some how more than sexual tingle I get when a woman’s night gown glances over me. It has to be just right for that real dreamy sensation though any way will do for some excitement, just thinking about night gowns, think about it night gowns, just that so slight whisper between you and a woman, just that so slight whisper between you and everything you want – a woman in night gowns. In your sleep the dreams which are gentle, soft always forgotten before waking, images forgotten but not their sensation, never the sense of being which these images born from the touch of a woman in night gown bring. Night gowns, a night gown full of woman, the closest thing to perfect.
South America
A friend of mine asked me the other day, why I had a map of South America hung over the kitchen table. I happen to like South America, its foreign and jungles and Brazil and Argentina and just saying the names Brazil savoury, Chile silky, Surinam otherworldly. The only one I don’t like is French Guiana I mean how the hell did French get mixed in with Brazil, Surinam and the rest? I mean its not even France which after much effort, might become tolerable – its French, French a totally disagreeable taste to it, uninteresting as well as annoying – French. Just say it out loud – compared to Surinam it simply has no business being there.
The continent itself, its shape, I can see an old woman’s breast, a bullfighter poised with sword and cape, a piece of human anatomy perhaps a liver or whatever but definitely distinctly human and inside. If I picture it with Brazil on the top and if I look at it for a while first noticing how much more interesting it is this way, no matter how I try positioning and repositioning this continent none is as interesting or better than having Brazil at the top. It looks so right, so - this is the way it’s supposed to be. I get the feeling that this is how a continent on another world is shaped it brings almost memories of seeing somewhere a land mass shaped that way – Brazil towards one pole, Chile, Peru and such towards the other but its not Brazil or Peru or any of that, they are other names or not at all. It is South America - what was once known as South America only with the part once known as Brazil pointing to the pole once known as north on a planet once called earth. It could now be the continent of Surinam because I like the name but maybe not, maybe I don’t know what it’s called or even if there are beings there to call it or if so have they words to name it?
I am above looking through the green edged field of vision that I have. A concave thickness of glass close to my face as I watch this mystical land of Surinam through a green lightly green edged sky getting closer I see the water blues of oceans and realize instinctively that green is the colour perfect for Surinam – Surinam Green – the kind of green so sensible, so peaceful, the kind of green which guaranties all oceans a lifetime of purity. Getting closer, the tree tops, pine trees then lakes, Surinam a land of trees, pine trees and moose. The beings of Surinam are trees and moose and all the lakes have voices and all the soil rich tree food lake bed friendly. All that live here are moose and trees, pine trees. Yet the lakes all tell legends of ladies and rumour other creatures across the sea but Surinam if it be Surinam at all is filled with only moose and trees and the voices of its lakes. No visitors accept the wind that brings last months news on the occasional wings of migrating things. Lighting a cigarette turning from the concave glass above the mythical land of Surinam I set the controls for the heart of what was once known as the sun, patiently I wait for this land we now head for, this mystical land of oranges and oceans of gold, this land now called Surinam because I like the name…
Now past the middle of the night and all planets, stars and celestial objects are all known as Surinam and I’m still awake. There’s the radio and lighting my last cigarette smoke blowing across the old breast of Surinam in the kitchen.
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