Thursday, December 3, 2015

a weekend of james

it seems flannel is the neo-armer of choice these days sitting comfortably between the shoulders of the noble, or anyone affording not only jest but pragmatisms previously cultured wedgedly among kings. noble soldiers defending leisure. its leisure defending polite yet accosted social quids pruned crowns and labeled what ever is necessary in the moment to pass as normal.

this is where you find james. the there could be described as the space between an elephants ass and the ground. it could also be described as the middle of nowhere. or Georgia. the this, of course, did not dawn on james right away.  in fact it wouldn't until a few days from now when the, 'practice makes perfect,' euphemistic pleasure cord to pull soul sail, enabling a vale of naiveté to be widened to the point of broke, was pulled, the bit of spilled coffee on a saucer sitting to the right of james dried and the girl long gone.

but today is a good day. james fills his time. he takes no real pleasure in media. in all honesty time really fills itself. he wakes up, the phone directs him to weather,  laptop tells him to laugh, his girl tells him to move and the clock tells him to work. in fact he doesn't really think at all, filling time would be the only cause to think and, that being taken, there could be no thoughts to give.

the next day was the same as the last except for a brief almost exegetical moment, a spark, of christ conscious condensation pooled onto the small of the back sending a fraction of a thought up the spine of james which left him unable to blink three seconds longer then normal. the cause could be described as that moment when one has gotten into bed chilled but the warmth from the cover mixed with body heat has made it too hot and one is forced to take a layer off. it also could be described as the absence of color on jupiter. or the soft and eerie realization that everything has in fact been done-and there is nothing left to do.

this moment of course did not dawn on james. some say we don't see what isn't needed until it is needed. lessons learned a few blinks behind. a life being, velvet scrapes of clothe laid between corduroy ones, flannel crossed leather or silk sown into mosaic printed felt either gently waxed or tumbled softly with creek stone. james was the latter but if he thought about it, which he didn't, he would probable describe himself as witty with a quick blink ahead of the rest.

and the next day, james whore flannel.