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June 17th, 2011

Taste In A Fold

Ride On A Bolivar Vessel

I parked my chariot and walked to the ramp. I wanted to take this vessel all the way one way and then all the back, right back to where I started, I had no idea how long this journey would take. Tonight, this night, details like that, well, they just didn’t matter. So this is exactly what I did. It was already late, already dark when I arrived. Everyone else, almost everyone else, was in a vehicle. I was almost the only one on foot.

It was night and the sky above was all black.


She Came Alive When She Saw The Camera” – Hear Me Make This, Forever

Tonight, this way out, there were five others also on foot. A woman with her new child, no father in sight. Another woman with her new child, no father in sight, either. And a lone man, a typical good natured Texas young man. I talked to these women, I asked for their permission to record what they look liked to me this night. They said, “Yes.” I talked to this lone man, too. He was here as well because he had no where else better to be in this, his state, of Texas, after a long journey away. He had been farther north than I had, a farther true north where it was his task to rebuild that line through a place. Now, he was here, on this vessel, looking for some new thing, too.

As he and I parted ways, I saw he had a symbol of death scribed forever where his spine connects to his brain and where he himself cannot directly see it, even if he were to try. So I asked him, can I record it, he said, “Yes.” I pointed my machine right at it and my machine burst its fake lightning all over it. Because of this false lightning, I can, I will, see it forever even when I look directly at it. Maybe this idea of death he cannot see or want to see, when he looks for it, like a woman I once saw couldn’t see the lightning when she tried.

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So I made more bursts of fake lightning on this way out. Whenever it felt like I should. Then I did it again, on the way back. Does this fake lightning I made here this night love me or does this real lightning I cannot see in the black sky up there this night hate me? I cannot tell fake lightning of mine from the real lightning anymore. This vessel I was now on, was once where I undoubtedly had seen a hate strike me when I wasn’t looking for it. This is a fact, in a removed link of taste and memory I once saw online and heard is know hidden, in a place in which I was directed to look I no longer care to. In this yet another love letter of mine rewritten for another, I was put here, right here, on these black and yellow arrows now under my feet after a year of begging to be left out, to be left out of the stories of this vessel. Yet here I was again placed on all the days and all the ways I should not have been. If what I saw, online, had been a true love, why was this story told with me, in it, now? Was it for me? Was it to hurt me even more? Yes. Told this way, that day, undoubtedly. So I wanted to know what it felt like here, now I know it’s a place I never will, feel, any, real, thing I can trust or believe.

This was the vessel where I had been shown the greatest hate I have ever known.

I made my way to a private place on the outside of this vessel where no one could see me. I wanted to be alone and I put my machine away. I stepped up really close to the steel of this vessel. I rested my face against the steel of this vessel. I put my face inside a crack in this vessel. I stuck my tongue out, into this crack of this vessel. This vessel did not taste like what my memory can. This vessel did not taste sweet.

This vessel tasted like no other, too.

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This vessel is not owned by you, this vessel is not owned by me.

This vessel is owned, made of, a consortium, meaning more than two. Something I didn’t know, when I boarded.

My return trip, I was the only one, alone.

17 June 2011, This Date Matters, For This Very Story

Story #1390 in 1462 Days With 120 Days Stopped, Due To This Vessel

This Vessel Doesn’t Ever Stop