HOME | BIOGRAPHY | SURVIVAL WRITINGS | MUSICALITY | ANDY'S BLOG | FINE ART | CONTACT

Previous 


Next 

 

BLUE BLOTCHES

It was a Thursday night when a friend and I made up our minds to discuss the matter of blue blotches, which are frequently mistaken for unfriendly type-like thoughts. In the two minute room with pale thoughts of burned out light bulbs, those blue blotches came to light. They blocked our self inflicted ideas of greatness and let our true desires fall into place. In the dark on a toy box behind metal doors of a closet the oh so Freudian act between two friends took place, with little thought the consequences. Yeah we can talk about being sick, holding eachothers hand. Well my brain has been split open on the kitchen table one too many times. Talk is talk and sex is lust, and we are nothing but animals wild in the street, and we can't do a shit thing about it.

We talked about art and politics, but lied about our emotions. Not even blue blotches can block everything out, one might go mad. But is it real, these blue blotches, love? Physical acts are real, the smell of soft skin, the touch of lips and the feel of warm hands to the back of the neck.

Oh may I find the sign to bring me together unshaky, clear and sure of you my dear friend. When the night had ended and everything had been said, I hoped to understand my dear friend. But still I was left like that old house's garbage disposal, stuffed with trash and left to dispose of the white tears and blue blotches smeared.

©2004-05 andycorrigan.com