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REDD STUDIOS The writings of Kevin Weir

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PART II

16 spines So Well Aligned

Bright red walls with 16 animal spines hung so measured like.

And a blackened floor with 15 doors and a lamp with no light.

As he walked swiftly into the room with his head down, sunshades were blocking nothing. Lit a cigarette and moved into the room with the collar up. Steps into thoughts where it equaled 14 pillars beneath his feet. In a place he came into with both Darkness and Light. Separated by a dividing line in the center. He opens the door and saw 13 white cats giving him a stare so satanically. The next door was Blue and contained 12 dead rocks from Russia and the pyramids. The cigarette was thrown into the dark opening, and the door was closed. After 11 minutes, the room grew with glowing light, and the brightest lay behind the spines. The light was too bright and turned to fire. Spines on fire and 13 doors left mysterious. The man's 10 fingers began to bleed and as it dropped to the floor the blood crystallized into 9 mirrors. Well Iíll tell you that in his dazed eyes he recaptured himself, and thought differently than anything, which didnít believe that there were 16 spines. He thought of 8 days a week, and the double sun conspiracy. On a trip to the Grand River, he saw a rainbow turn into the second sun. The clouds masked both glowing spheres and made it worse, made it to the view of 7 wolves with breath fogging near the sleeping trees and paws on the ice. In door number 6 lays the year 1866, where in February the full moon ignored us, and on the paths strangers would tip their hats. But after two hundred years they said that 5 gargantuan sliver smooth chrome reflecting towers of justice and power will stand. If light ever touched it, the eyes of us would smoke. One door in the alleys below would lead you to the rich room of the 16 spines, displayed so well aligned. Curved and aged, like paper yellow twelve years later. Put on the wall with porcelain nails and scratch-less dry red paint that burns emotion. With 4 walls dark, 4 walls solid and high. 3 of these walls were black and the wall of spines was red. So he now stands silent and finger-less. He says, "I acknowledge civilization and the printed word, the realization of everything and the threat to change." where is thumbs once had been, golden keys appeared. Now he has access to three towers, the other two remain mysterious. More discoveries must be made, more spines added to the wall. So he puts the key behind his eye and between its teeth, celebrates with a cigarette. The air sparks it for him and fire replaces the usual small burning glow. He departs with 2 places to arrive at, but just 1 thought and the memory of fear, for the spines.

 

Details of the room

Under the 16 spines, lays the 1 bent harmonica that sounds so insane.

It squeaks and tears but still does its job and sounds when told.

 

Other than conquered

She stands ancient with the stomp of a foot. He sits far on the open floor. Crying blue gray into the blinds, the snow and the sky. Printed traces of paths from years ago, a stranger tips his hat and continues on. The saddle with a gun, the sheriff that was hung and the buffalo that steamed in the mountains disappear from time. When the walls pound again and again the dust comes to the floor and some may not take it anymore. The sound of terror traps you and blackness of truth lays under the floor. Run at the wall and go blindly at the light. Stampede into the mist of the conquered, know the purpose and drop to one knee. The crowd holds against you so give knowledge and no trust. When the rocks may fly, do not block them. Let the power of blood splash back upon them like acid from Venus. Turn you eyes to a shadow where a memory of simplicity comes back. Expect to keep standing.

 

Winter (The Everyday salt walk)

On a sickened winter midnight the rain did fall. Lighter than the wind that blew with the snow, but hard enough to make things damp. Hours passed to the permission to release the sun into view. Thereto Sunrise on the scheduled concrete. The people wait on the inside of the glass doors, breathing so low. Two bridges, one stream. Some of it frozen and some of it not. But all of it flowing faster than any mind can think up an emotion. Next to the stream, but on the path you run to the ivory city. Then no matter what time of day, the crows scream and scream and scream. The voices of crowd are steady and you hear the scream and the scream and the flowing of the stream, but the scream makes you turn your head. Nothingí above, not much below but one thousand fears behind. Something other than being nervous keeps you away, but you wait for the next hour when it will leave. The only fear you have is the fear of watching yourself, so tell the clock your ready and end it.

 

Sight

A Stack of bricks elevated like a hill. Caged windows and glossy floored hallways created all from the same source. Visions would be different if we were all blind, no colors to see just the comfort of mind. But maybe we are all blind, blind to think of what we donít know about anything outside the planet.

The same man, who had no spiritual beliefs, is the same man who has no thoughts of things past the universe.

Here comes red, here comes black colors that represent things. Then comes Purple then comes white, many timesí only found swimming on the flowers in the grass. Skeletons and the water and the blood and the flesh and minds and thoughts. They have never left the land. Drifting away, sometimes forgotten.

Or unbound from any of man's chains. Shaking arms rolling down the mountains in winter at night. Leave one place to be alone; the plants are poison so find a stone. Cry for the bird that falls. Live another day and live maybe another step or two.

 

Night

Night becomes them in the forest of fear. Cries screams, howls and wind they hear. And the ear-less rabbit sheds a tear. Because the moon stuck him here. And the flowers he wants wonít appear. He runs from the blood, which dropped from the deer. But the forest moves and the darkness spreads, the light streaks in the movement of the land. The phantom shakes the hand of the prophet near the cave and the light is still low, so nobody will know. Except for an owl who was watching the shrew in the grass. Goodbye night, here comes the desert and one road to the merchant. Under one skin and four poles, the shade covers the man who sold us the book of benevolence and gave us the truth of poison, venom, acid, rust, the moth and the tornado. The merchant didnít know of our presence, his eyes were captured by the sky's color and maybe it held something for him. But it stayed high away from everyone else who thought they saw it...

But it stayed high away from everyone else who thought they saw it. His friend in the distance with a crown of thorns and a beard to his chest wore the spine of a cat on his wrist. He looked into our eyes, red with dust. "Your minds are flooded with confusion and undecided inspired emotions." A spark in the mind and glare from above, the ledges formed out of the flats. To fall to the ground at the very sound, in anger of communication. Creeping up the hill, the fire crackles and burns still. The water leaves me now and life deceives me now. Bites of snakes take me numb, but I won't give up. I will put up my thumb. The blood may frighten you so the colors change. When the travels are done you find it for a minute and a minute everything is correct. Billions and one, one life is yours, the good of it you forget the race. Earth's creations conquer you, life's events distract you and the answers follow the dogís steps behind you. And no, you havenít been there before. Its being you, your insignificance powers it.

 

 

 

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