walkingheartbeat

walkingheartbeat

Night time beckons as the sun sets; it’s semi-permanent, like a purplepink rinse….inset to black back to back night and day, it’s time to play.

I dunno, but that’s the time for me I think. Blink and you’ll miss it for sure.

I like the verge of the horizon, rising stars fading into a sparkly glitter that pulsates pulsars and quasars, planets colliding into my open eyes that see nothing but imagine what I conjure into tomorrow.

I had this dream the other night. It was weird, lots of zombies eating each other’s flesh, enmeshed in a feast of corpses clamoring for the chance to survive again, dead. I woke up thinking to myselfishmess, “what the fuck Tran?” I spent my waking moments trying to backtrack into dreams of something less like shredded dread…but I couldn’t get the smell of rotting out of my closed eyes. There’s sometimes no goodbyes, just a forward meander into a slumber-filled waking daze.

But yah, being back in the village I am missing my night-time hikoi on the sand meets the moana…a boy and her poi…flick flick flick my wrists into some thumping beatz….they’re eating away at me; leaving my soul bared to the wind that rips my skin into neatly folded retrofittings that I used to wear, but are no longer the fashion.

Fusion of yesterday and next year, that’s the shit betch!
It’s funny to think that I couldn’t even spin my poi a few months ago, and yet now they’re like the spider’s limbs that weave me believing in living again. And again, I have to confess that it all has been happening under the cover of darkness. It all hearkens back to the days when instead of walking the beach, listening to the glissando of the waves that crash passion into my gliding arms as they play the music of the moana, I instead rode my bike into the drunken roamings of “something is definitely up with than blimmin kid …we should’ve sent him to boarding school in Auckland.”

I kid you not. It’s a whole other rhythm these days and to be honest, even though I think I can figure the configured rising pitch and fall from grace, I can finally keep the pace, maker of the olden days before I lived this life I have now, when the world was all steaming mudpools, waka taua spinning mere slicing carcasses of their necessary components; a new moment in time.

Today I am getting really good at the poi.