Abstract Feelings

[ibarakishi]

A thread that $harkToootth should be credited for starting/creating. Everything is explained in the title. Interpret it however you will.

first post:

At 6 am in the morning, phin strapped over your back, the bones of your dead cat in a small box strung across your chest, you are perched on the back corner of the railing with one hand grasping a rope and the other holding the rusted lip of the tailgate of a pickup truck stack with bundles of stuff stacked 15 feet tall tethered by old ropes and strings in one frantic bird nest. All of it, you, the light, the night draining into the horizon like some sick and sorry slog, the day cutting a slit through every corner and color. All of the motion, all of the sight, nothing but a silent sign by languid hands as the air pours cement into every inch of your lungs…. You feel the diesel smog glaze over your every pour and the cigarette smell from their broken conversations still hanging from your shirt like so many times before…You and that truck just keep barreling down those old broken highways, all of it moving, but yet in that moment utterly still. Or maybe its just coalescing, like the understanding of how a movie projected across the pane is just hundreds of still images slighting the mind to become one, fooling into the belief it is something more, something farther, or further, reaching longer or through something you hadn’t thought about before, or maybe just for a longer time… But really it all comes back to the same point. You hold on as that truck keeps floating through the void, thinking about what lead your life to this, lead it to what you felt was coming but couldn’t see or hear, lead it to what fires you felt itching under your nails long ago, your hands only and always but two burning houses. The passing stripes on the road begin to collapse into only a single line, and you stare at your bare feet covered in oil and gasoline. You feel the dust and dirt in every line of your palms and the soil burnished into every fingerprint. Your blisters were long red and tinged with green and purple bruises. You return to staring at the horizon stealing everything you float past. You wonder how they are. You wonder how he was. You think about what she might be doing. How another died this year. And then in an instant it all just kind of stops. None of the details stay in focus, though the weight seems to carry through… You keep staring at the horizon swallowing everything as you keep careening down that road . And you wonder how much of you is really there, really holding on now, and what is waiting in that dark hole in sky….

[Jwar]

bruh

[calfzilla]

Is this the back story to black hole sun?

[Kacey Y]

That recurring dream you have, since you were a teenager, whenever you have a high fever. The one where you're in a room so big, you can't see the ceiling or the walls. In every direction, the horizon fades to a misty white blur, but you can feel in your feet, your bones, in your gut, that you're not free. You're not outside, you're contained, and even though the room stretches farther than your eyes can perceive, the air is stale and your breath seems to hang just past your face. Though the room is looks nearly endless and formless, it's not empty. Just as expansive and enclosing, the crowds mills around you. Shoulders and hips bumping and deflecting, the aimless and restless movements of the equally endless and suffocating crowd of other people. Their voices a ceaseless, undulating drone of muttering. There is no conversation, the words like the bodies only impact and deflect. An infinite sea of anonymous faces, limbs and voices invading the senses of those around them. Somewhere in the distance you feel, but do not see, hands passing a red rubber ball from one set of hands to the other. Not an interaction, there is no play, no return, the ball drifts through the crowd with no more purpose than if it were carried on a wave. You feel its motion, its aimless drifting movement devoid of any pattern, but not of intent. You know, as surely and naturally as you know your feet touch the ground that the balls is moving steadily towards you. From hand to hand, through the undulating, droning, anonymous crowd, though its path seems random, you know the plain red rubber balls is moving slowly and inevitably to your hands. The impulse builds within you to run, you start to struggle against the crowd and realize you could no more sprint through this morass than you could through the ocean. Struggling against the churning mass of limbs only serves to hold you in your place. Maybe you have moved, but you realize there are no monuments or markers to measure your progress against, only the drone of unintelligible muttering, the soft impact of shoulders, hips, arms, legs and backs pressing you in and your hot breath hanging off your face, like a wet washcloth. Now you see the glimpses of red, you hear the soft squeak of sweaty palms pressing and sliding against rubber, you know soon that the red rubber ball will find its way into your hands. Even as your breath quickens and your mind races, the inevitable cements itself like a stone into your gut, weighing you to the spot. Your hands are reaching out and you can no longer discern if your outstretched palms are begging for help or rushing to grasps what your is racing so vigorously to escape.

Then you wake. Not in your bed, but on your feet, in motion. The dream is fading, as it always does. The dream fades before the panic, before the thumping in your chest and jagged breaths subside. The darkness around you begins to focus into familiar shapes. How long have you been out of your bed? Have you been shouting? As the faces of your family come into focus, their expressions a mixture of tired, shocked and concerned, you can still hear the ringing of your own voice down the hallway. You assure them you're awake now and there's no reason to be concerned and they nod and shake their heads, muttering as they guide you back towards your bed with their hands at your shoulders and your back. You slide back into your bedding, damp with sweat and struggle for a moment against an urge not to descend back into sleep, but it fades quickly and your mind returns not to the dream you only just escaped, but still and restful blackness.

[Ugly Nora]

..

[Olin]

I am overwhelmed by something I do not know and everything sits in pale juxtapositions. I cannot tell if my head hurts or feels soft, I cannot tell why I want to cry. There is a tension in my stomach that throws off my balance; if this is comfort then I am too unfamiliar to relax and maybe this is exactly what it is. Something I do not know that is present: a heavy grey, a quiet minor key, a blanket stiff with cold, a warmth from afar. Descent dissent diffident, the night is slow, different detriment diriment, the lights are low, diligent deterrent disorient. Something is close.

[Inconuucl]

Ya'll sounding like Blake Butler.

http://magichelicopterpress.com/dragons/blake.htm

One of my favorite short stories ever.

[comesect2.0]

Give it meaning.
For you or for myself?
conditioned pawn of amusement..
that one flaw of sensation, ..you have seemed to over come before dropping, good for you..not many exit samsara,
adding up your meaning's to place you in the appropriate forever, one sec.
though,
afterwards,
there may be nothing at all,
the brain was just trying to make sense of this,
is life worth it, just to lose it all?
after all is said and done, the ones who loved you are still alive, hopefully having fun.
"oh that guy, thought he was already dead"
what did you do that really mattered anyway...have children?
better enjoy this breeze man, and the sun threw those trees..
then if so, there is nothing to cry about, long as they have children.
some people are a gift to your existence, and you never really saw that until their gone.
and our children's children will live on and they'll never know us, or how it was.. and what we went threw.
the way we have lived, it could happen at any moment, or is happening, yep...its set in motion.
get the news and cry.
thank goodness when an 18yr old didnt use a condom, his genetic structure be rich ..and a 16 yr old womb be immaculate.
the illusion of impermanence the illusion of progress the illusion is life
who left the refrigerator open? wait, leave it open & cut the lights!
& out crawled the inhabitance of earth
alone and scared
I used to think this was for some purpose, like.. it couldnt, yet we can.. so that is the "why"
these sensory organs are not mine.
sadly, your mistaken...they are yours, they have always been yours...this is all there is, its all for you.

[comesect2.0]

NSFW: show

"It's aware of me so we can't"
Well now I'm aware of it so we can..
Beyond matter manipulating matter
What's the matter?
"I broke it from the inside out"
Silly you were out and I was in.
It won't trust us, seldom trusts any of it's familiars.
*Blink* it's gone!?
But why are we still here?
The eyes we once owned are inside you now
Will I still fear?
No.
Is that safe?
No.
Then who are we?
Known.
Okay goodnight then.
Night then.
Then dark, in the dark is when..
We'll see it again.

[Iommic Pope]

Sunset. Pink, sorta orange, gold clouds. It’s probably the end of summer or the start of autumn, the air feels like burning in your lungs. But it’s clear. Everything is like FM radio and some sort of haze from the 80s.
It’s like home.
But you don’t know how you got there.
Or why you keep going back.

[Snufkino]

My heart is floaty. My thighs are tired. In the between.... blue and grey but nice. And sometimes blippy bones and various theme tunes from Mega Man 2.

[waltdogg]

holding onto ashes of chances passed up is nothing more than staring into the dust at sunset and saying "oh, well." what fruit do you bear when you do not grow? your dreams become repetitious and any little change to them turns it into a nightmare of one of those chances you passed by and just couldn't let go of. you're staring at the sun and for some reason, your foolishness is blinding you to the blinding light. wake up, let go. the sun is out, unlike in your dreams.

[$harkToootth]

NECROBUMP... call me a houngan cause I'm raising threads from the DEAD!!!

I was looking to see what microphone DIRTY BEACHES uses and went through some interviews...
....beginning to think this is where I got the term 'abstract feelings'. This interview was published in 2011, which is when I first heard DIRTY BEACHES... so it would add up. To add more context, the day this interview was published was around the time we had just finished shooting a movie (I was in LA being a LITERAL SOY BOY) and the producer had given me a nice cigar at the wrap party. I did nothing but drink tequila and smoke the whole of next day. Listened to music, read music journalism and skyped all my female friends on the East Coast... and ranted about GOD KNOWS WHAT (kind of like what I do here!!!) It was a foggy day (not the weather, it was LA so it was sunny and soulless per usual... I am referring to the smoking and gluttonous alcohol consumption)... so that is probably why I did not remember where I got the term for so long.

[$harkToootth]

When all the thoughts stop for a few minutes and you find yourself... content with life... but you're so unfamiliar with the feeling that your whole body throbs with a sensation akin to hitting your funny bone....

[chromandre]

sustaining relationships despite you make a ass of yourself. that feel.