6th and Oz
"Oz"
6
Last Updated (Monday, 23 November 2009 04:46) Written by Megan Whitney Sunday, 25 October 2009 21:14
Houses are being built up high, blocking Dorothy’s view of the Emerald City. Will she ever get there, find home?
The sun seemed to have trouble rising this morning, but she did not. Eight o’clock and the boy was still up, whiskied-out. She could not help and even if she could he would still walk away. For now she’ll have to do with raw smiles on the faces of balloon men at lunchtime.
~~
Attraction, that’s what Dorothy needed. To attract something or someone; to shake her insecurities, emotional wreckage built over time and rainbows… but then again wasn’t that why she ventured out in the first place?
She thought of bumpy hills, rockied mountains, roads that snaked along never ending; never finding happiness. In her mind her journey was one of self-undiscovery. And so, as she thought, she got. Unhappiness overwhelmed. No thank you again and again. She had a choice.
Calling the wicked witch unto her, she let evil torment, infest her thoughts, flourish in its new found home—her closing mind. Where was Christopher’s mythical mushroom god when she needed him? Please. But to no avail.
What she saw on summer nights, sticky flesh sapping mosquitoes in their wake of nourishing bliss-hiving stems slender and bone, what she saw in her mind became in her hand. Palms outstretched, extending from arms bowing under pressure, lashing out in pain—was struggle, suffering she could not whelm-in. The flesh of the Earth she had planted the seed and with one small thought it began to grow wild, relentless; life in a deadening state.
Paralleled with magnetism only to Dorothy’s mind, the wicked witch had manifested herself to life, overwhelming goodness and love.
6th and Oz
Last Updated (Tuesday, 30 November 1999 00:00) Written by Megan Whitney Tuesday, 13 October 2009 00:59
Abstract blog-project relating life in Austin in terms of the Wizard of Oz.
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Last Updated (Monday, 23 November 2009 04:52) Written by Megan Whitney Thursday, 10 September 2009 03:49
She waits. Exhaustion drips from thighs, triceps, sockets where eyes sit, magnify non-interest—energy depleted from unrelenting emotions—seeks solace in the company of beets: daffodil, sunflower, and tomato friend; laughs at the amigos as they pass by supporting those who exploit their kin in Floridian vegetable fields. In Oz subways do not run underground.
As she waits Dorothy has grown stale. Is he ready for another? Or perhaps she just longs for freedom. “There’s no place like home,” but she no longer has one.
~
Whose train wrecking now and where are we going? Amtrak stops boarding soon and Dorothy is still in Oz.
~~
Cough syrup makes for a strange aesthetic, so she skipped it for the corn chowder; saying “happy birthday” to her American god. Wherever you are, “my tuna is getting stale.” Dorothy wonders is it time to quit? Was it all a waste?
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Last Updated (Monday, 23 November 2009 04:58) Written by Megan Whitney Thursday, 20 August 2009 00:06
The sun beat hot on the bedroom doors, relentless, and in need of an answer. No one responds. Love tossed and turned wanting the heat to stop. Dorothy rolled over sweating, loving. Just a kiss then back to sleep; both boy and girl dreamt on…
Walking down the street she steps in beats hip to the sound of cars driving by, vibrating jives, the cement grumbles, she begs. Whores. Begs. Cunts. Begs. G-d bless you.
“Would you like a sandwich?” No. Walks on to the next.
Can you spare a quarter? Love me. Dime? Love me. Nickel? Love me. Please, I just need to get off the streets, no longer want to prostitute myself, help me clean up. Shoot up. “Dried up old slut… coke fiend… no!” Love me.The girl could not sleep. It was eleven o’clock and at these hours her mind raced, battled her idle ways to experience, live life, leave the boy.
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Last Updated (Monday, 23 November 2009 05:01) Written by Megan Whitney Thursday, 13 August 2009 20:34
As morning broke Dorothy felt something was off. In the night little men had come creeping into bedroom out for blood, yet in for love. Upon the rise of day light’s life she knew, could not break free from waking night’s screams.
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