[Enter] Duke... The Dreamer
[1]
The hallway to his bedroom was littered with family photographs. Most of them relatives, but a few were of his dad grinning with a celebrity. Duke didn't know why they were there or who they were there to impress. Guess his father just liked remembering that feeling of being someone. A certain importance.
He got to his room, at the end of the short hall. Marched to his bed, and layed face up. With no lights on, he could stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars his little sister had helped put on the cealing when they were both much younger. Bed was so looked foreward to. The connection between head and pillow was almost magnetic. As if physics itself were tempting the two to come together... a magnetic attraction. Protons and electrons did the lustful dance of adultry every time he called it a night. The pillow softly kissing his cheek, he was free to dream, and dream he did.
Astronauts use to come to him in dreams. The messenger... The Appolo and interpreter of the Gods. At a round table sat
Engineers
Politicians
Revolutionaries
Fortune Tellers
Scientists
Scholars
Saints
Martyrs
& of course astronauts.
He tosses and turns as the point-counterpoint creates more confusion than a cure for the school day duldrums. Politics play far too much a role in their decisions of what he'll become. They build a model.. an ever changing interactive statue of what Duke should be. No pressure... no pressure. Even lead can turn to diamonds under pressure. Granite or Gold should be elementary at this point.
Every time he wakes up he is already home alone. School is an hour away, so he sits perched on the hood of his car and smokes a cigarette. " Are you addicted to them?" people always ask. The answer is always no, but increasingly he knows the answer should be yes. He knows things are getting bad when no amount of listerine and toothpaste concoction can help get his breath to smell fresh. Now with the smell of death, decay and rot spilling out with all his words, self consciousness has reached new levels.
They dont get him through school, they dont put a kick in his step. His dad calls him 'Hollywood' for his addiction. "make you look real cool, huh... like that errr, that Brad Pitt character, eh?" then he mumbles something under his breath and walks away. No matter what, he walks away after every conversation.
The hallway to his bedroom was littered with family photographs. Most of them relatives, but a few were of his dad grinning with a celebrity. Duke didn't know why they were there or who they were there to impress. Guess his father just liked remembering that feeling of being someone. A certain importance.
He got to his room, at the end of the short hall. Marched to his bed, and layed face up. With no lights on, he could stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars his little sister had helped put on the cealing when they were both much younger. Bed was so looked foreward to. The connection between head and pillow was almost magnetic. As if physics itself were tempting the two to come together... a magnetic attraction. Protons and electrons did the lustful dance of adultry every time he called it a night. The pillow softly kissing his cheek, he was free to dream, and dream he did.
Astronauts use to come to him in dreams. The messenger... The Appolo and interpreter of the Gods. At a round table sat
Engineers
Politicians
Revolutionaries
Fortune Tellers
Scientists
Scholars
Saints
Martyrs
& of course astronauts.
He tosses and turns as the point-counterpoint creates more confusion than a cure for the school day duldrums. Politics play far too much a role in their decisions of what he'll become. They build a model.. an ever changing interactive statue of what Duke should be. No pressure... no pressure. Even lead can turn to diamonds under pressure. Granite or Gold should be elementary at this point.
Every time he wakes up he is already home alone. School is an hour away, so he sits perched on the hood of his car and smokes a cigarette. " Are you addicted to them?" people always ask. The answer is always no, but increasingly he knows the answer should be yes. He knows things are getting bad when no amount of listerine and toothpaste concoction can help get his breath to smell fresh. Now with the smell of death, decay and rot spilling out with all his words, self consciousness has reached new levels.
They dont get him through school, they dont put a kick in his step. His dad calls him 'Hollywood' for his addiction. "make you look real cool, huh... like that errr, that Brad Pitt character, eh?" then he mumbles something under his breath and walks away. No matter what, he walks away after every conversation.
posted by ptownintegra at 1:27 AM
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