Here It Comes
Not poetry, not fiction, just words.
By Tyler Goulden
Photos by Tyler Goulden
Published
Dreams Of Beauty is a column in which writers offer their ideas, visions, and streams of consciousness on the meaning of beauty in 500 words.
can’t wait to see it. open my eyes and show me. i want to drown in beauty. suffocated by the creation of life on earth, i’ll take seconds, thirds, minutes, hours, days, years, until it runs out. this buffet of beautiful delight is served hot and fresh 24 hours a day by a chef who went to culinary school on the moon. give me three hots and a cot and i’ll live forever. tell me all the things i want to hear ill listen in an ear that’s plugged by a music station in my smartphone that i didn’t choose because i only know how to make dumb decisions.
i walk in my brothers shoes towards a lighted sky with a one percent chance of aurora. to the edge of the island looking towards the sky looking for guidance, answers, signs. i want all the answers to the questions im too afraid to ask. the song is in my hair i can feel it running down my spine. all it takes is for an ancient old woman walking uphill with a dog on its last leg looking up and seeing a black cat eating a dead bird. she picks up the bird in a shirt that reads bless and im walking downhill towards coffee and poison at the japanese pagoda on the other side of the hill. song is five dollars short but we will see each other tomorrow for another seven dollar americano. she’s the owner of the flowering tree. i walk through the parking lot of the magic castle to the direction of my parking spot in the direction of the director of entertainment. there’s a veil of tears in this soul asylum.
all the beauty of the world screams at me as the teslas roar by and the hummers creep silently on four wheel drive in ways that lead to houses where living has been measured by its accolades. the hollywood bowl overflows with anthems of songs that no singer know the words to and instruments that musicians can’t play. i’m looking at my childhood on the sidewalk and it says “goose” in a blood colored crayon handwriting.
turning it over in my hands until there nothing left besides the empty palm of my left hand slapping myself in the forehead telling my third eye to shut the fuck up. the first costume i ever wore was the last one ill ever put on. i’m stuck in this flesh prison doing a life sentence on earth and i am thrilled to be alive.
someone once said give me liberty or give me death. i didn’t know id have more liberty than i know what to do with. i need to throw a closet sale in order to clean house of all this free will that’s accumulated in my closet. when the dust settles i wanna be the hottest girl in new york city who only wears perfect outfits. hello sir, what am i wearing? oh sorry, it’s mine.