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Chasing the Shine

from Gills and a Helmet by Jellyfish Brigade

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It's been a minute since my last sober slumber, rolling under cozy covers. Here goes another tally mark, diagonal, my rally start's practical: fingering a spirit out a nearly empty pack of smokes. I'm like...I don't even know. Dirty diamond thing of a self but I clean it slow. I be composed of chemicals from the products placed. Lay me to rest as a heaping pile of toxic waste. Stamp that on the real, my clan of seashells lamped into the e-realm, rambling bout how we felt Befuddled but coming to grips, measure the day by the clumps of the thick mud on my kicks. Ok...Holla like a mockingbird. Reverence led to the spiders spooling gossamer threads. Eyes on the six leggers caught in the web like they gonna hit me with a tip to get up out of this mess.

I've been taking my time to create the divine, and when I wake and I rise, I start chasing the shine.

It's been a minute since I last seen a thunderstorm toss a couple branches to the lawn on a summer's morn. I truly miss it, spotting the gloomy visage of the cumulonimbus looming like there's doom in the distance. Salutations I'm Lucas Dix, shaper of the clay and the universe's nucleus. Youth consisted of the chase without straying far, following fireflies and caging them in mason jars. Its all gravy, giddy in awe lately, caught waiting, pause, witness the bark and the moss mating. Gone crazy like the normal folks, but instead of hopping on the meds, I'm heading for the 40s at the corner store. Damn, love it with a closing fist. Some will only blow a kiss if they're granted ownership. So as a growing kid I let them lightning bugs go,
if I hold them in my hands they can't dance and glow.

It's been a minute since I tracked minutes Out of time, out of touch, no J-O to pull me back in it Cramped with it, 5 deep up in the bungalow, where the people come and go and the happenings are punctual. No particular plans B, other than do whatever tickles my fancy. Banging a game of billiards at the back of the bar or balling my sweater to a pillow for a nap in the park. Yo, I tend to marry to moment with the mystical often using it as an excuse for the shit I pull. Funny how the bellow of the battle cries share a similar tone as the tremble of the alibis. I bet I said it a lot, cycle with the sun, moon, weather and the whether or nots. Spotting the terrain for the Flying Betty's, while still breaking my neck to catch this sky correctly.


from Gills and a Helmet, released July 6, 2011


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Jellyfish Brigade Portland, Oregon

Machines and the Gods


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