An excerpt from "Harpsichords"

[Conduit]

"Harpsichords" is a project I'm working on. I wrote this a few years ago, back when I was still a smoker. I was trying to portray the feeling I wanted to experience when smoking, although that feeling never really became real to me. I actually hated parts of smoking, but did it anyway. Funny how things like that work.

There are rocks to be skipped. There are sine waves to create and collapse with smooth, flat pebbles and living water. There is an ocean to be admired immediately in front of him, trapped/freed in some kind of a breeze that smells too lavender to be breath and feels too liquid to be anything else. Rocks, algae, sand, white, shellfish. Calm. It is all happening before him in the highest fidelity, the scene panning from space to space, off into itself, into indistinguishable corners, remarkable, heavenly: he is there. Blue. The front pocket of his cotton t-shirt is a sheath for bone colored cigarettes, one of which has been retrieved, tapped, and lit. He can pretend he is pulling it all in with the smoke because it’s there, it’s visible and it’s polluting the moment, warranting inhalation. He is a filter. He breathes it all out into itself, pushing the goodness out into all.

[Irish-dipstick]

"Harpsichords" is a project I'm working on. I wrote this a few years ago, back when I was still a smoker. I was trying to portray the feeling I wanted to experience when smoking, although that feeling never really became real to me. I actually hated parts of smoking, but did it anyway. Funny how things like that work.

There are rocks to be skipped. There are sine waves to create and collapse with smooth, flat pebbles and living water. There is an ocean to be admired immediately in front of him, trapped/freed in some kind of a breeze that smells too lavender to be breath and feels too liquid to be anything else. Rocks, algae, sand, white, shellfish. Calm. It is all happening before him in the highest fidelity, the scene panning from space to space, off into itself, into indistinguishable corners, remarkable, heavenly: he is there. Blue. The front pocket of his cotton t-shirt is a sheath for bone colored cigarettes, one of which has been retrieved, tapped, and lit. He can pretend he is pulling it all in with the smoke because it’s there, it’s visible and it’s polluting the moment, warranting inhalation. He is a filter. He breathes it all out into itself, pushing the goodness out into all.

dam this is deep yet i cant relate the way i would like to because i have never smoked but i must admitt ive seen the effects that happend to my grandmother....peace duke

[homeyjay]

"Harpsichords" is a project I'm working on. I wrote this a few years ago, back when I was still a smoker. I was trying to portray the feeling I wanted to experience when smoking, although that feeling never really became real to me. I actually hated parts of smoking, but did it anyway. Funny how things like that work.

There are rocks to be skipped. There are sine waves to create and collapse with smooth, flat pebbles and living water. There is an ocean to be admired immediately in front of him, trapped/freed in some kind of a breeze that smells too lavender to be breath and feels too liquid to be anything else. Rocks, algae, sand, white, shellfish. Calm. It is all happening before him in the highest fidelity, the scene panning from space to space, off into itself, into indistinguishable corners, remarkable, heavenly: he is there. Blue. The front pocket of his cotton t-shirt is a sheath for bone colored cigarettes, one of which has been retrieved, tapped, and lit. He can pretend he is pulling it all in with the smoke because it’s there, it’s visible and it’s polluting the moment, warranting inhalation. He is a filter. He breathes it all out into itself, pushing the goodness out into all.
Way to paint a picture, had a brother trying to visualize, liked the thought provoking ending statement too. felt hj

[sexydeltagirl]

Very Nice....Very visual piece....