Buzzing Hard

Amid the crystalline vibe reigning and spreading, like the lighting crack scraping the encompassing  light blue brightness, a buzz thunder pokes the remnants of sedentary staleness. Buzzing hard. And yet, lightly. Its sound is an echo of the engine of a bulldozer heard by an ear of a heavy sleeper on a morning after the night of heavy clubbing. The eye of such an ear is an eyelid overwhelmed by the weight of the eyelashes persistently glued to the lower eyelid. Encrusted eye discharge safely sealing the slot into a counteroneiric world. Protective oil, somewhat wildly mixed with mucus, solidified the passage of the peep into the sites so far unheard of. Until eye juice starts saturating the morning with drenching freshness melting the hardest of mafothephunkie membranes into the unbeatable mafotherphunkie brightness : yo wha?!

As the soft liquid softens the stubbornness of the mucus crust, juicedrops are invading the territory of contestation--oscillations between seductive drowsiness, inspiring dreaming, and deprivation of sleep—pulling behind them an echo of the shadow coloring the instant as green as one can phunkie imagine! Buzz zones like time zones. Temporary foggy distractions. Like it always happens when hot air mixes with cold. Like it always tends to stir the stillness of the frozen moment. Like wind spells within silver storms, followed by golden floods of sunshine showers.

The eyelid opens into a green velvet room. An interior version of what one might wake up into outdoors on a sunny day. The coziness of what turns out to be a tiny part of the mansion is lulling one into awakeness. No clubbing is heavy enough to obscure the invitingly crystalline kiss of dew. No mucus is sticky enough to prevent eyelashes from separating. No imagery seductive enough to mask the opaqueness of somnambulist symbolic. Because it cannot be packaged in attire gaudy beyond one’s capacity to detect trickster flamboyancy. Because it cannot be decorated to the point of exceeding one’s  susceptibility to sustaining a distinction between lavishness and abundance. Because some rooms feel like wide, open spaces; some velvety upholstering feels like the softest of grasses imaginable; some thoughts reverberate with the glow of natural scenery imagery the way others do not.

In the intersection of the time axes. Counterrites.