listenings ever dumbening First Listen Listen. Just listen. To the deafening rush of blood through your arteries, your veins. Out and back. To the digits piling up and spilling down. Static and rain. To the nauseating pop of tendons, to grit between teeth. Listen. Just listen. To the shuffle of Japanese feet, down the hallway, past your door. To the high-pitched rip of tire on asphalt--then steel glass voice siren. Listen. Just listen. To your heel, full of sugar, hovering hinged above the floor. To the streams of night scratching blue on paper, looking for a foothold. Listen to the wash of silence, the bend around exhalation. 030120 ... no one fan humming wood bending down under foot/wood against wood ankles crackle and click pittering paws catching up sounds softening over rug shoulder softly thud against wall tea kettle whines feet skitter on toes skin making slight sticking noises on wood my sounds are boring 030121 ... MDogMA Listening to the moon brook ebb over the flow; the redheaded ninja kills me again without making a sound You don't hear them until your dead 030121 ... ever dumbening Second Listen Listen. Just listen. To a man vomiting on the BART train, echoes of another night in the dog house. To the chatter of mind--too fucking loud, sometimes. Listen. To a roar, passing through thousands marching for peace. To the emotion machince of the gospel choir. To the blowing central heat, and the jealous dreams. Listen again, for you're not even close. 030126 ... shouting across the states wow james, i REALLY like this. 030126 ... ever dumbening listen, just listen to the whistle in and the whoosh out of her breath, as her face lies buried in my neck. to the erratic slap of the overflowing gutter's late-season offering on the cement. to the tires passing as they lift and release the wet road. to the two men speaking spanish—contemplating the fence they're waiting to continue to build—sitting mere feet from where we lie naked. 030502 ... birdmad Faint whir of the CD player, rustling sound of paper, clatter of fingertips against keyboard, sound of the O'Jays playing in the background, someone else's CD player spinning. "They smile in you face...." syncopated beat, breathing. knuckles cracking, reviewing reams of paper and gigs of data, metl on laminate sound of letter opener, spinning point-down on the desktop, more clattering and clicking of keyboard, faint ear-ringing sound of monitor screens, feet on carpet. Rumbling in stomach, sound of slightly nauseous hunger-pang from spending the lunch-hour among the quiet stacks of books in a little store only inches removed from the rising and ebbing roar of traffic. 030502 ... MOAI The sound of wind on water, and through the grassy fields, whispers of ghosts. Rain seeping silently into porous stone, faint rustle of scarce palm fronds. Listen to the echo of the quarrying hands and straining backs. Feel the rumble of the earth. Birth-cry by proxy in the triumphal shout of the stone-movers. Listen to the rhythm of time. 030502 ... no reason the whirrring of the computer being on the buzzing of the amp i'm too lazy to turn off the sporadic clacking of keys being typed the automatic whisperings that come out of my mouth my thoughts. my head... the constant whirringbuzzingpounding that i always try way too hard to figure out. 030512 ... ever dumbening Fourth Listen Listen. Just listen. To your heart this time, to the sound created by trust. To Da Inner Sound Y'all. To the clean firey buzz from the tungsten tip joining slips of steel, and follow the bead as it leads. Listen as she speaks of rosemary, as she speaks of cumin, as she speaks of her long black hair. Just listen. To the rusty-ringed wheel of wood as it tries to climb—fighting—out of the well-worn granite tracks. Don't judge the sounds. Just listen. 031115 what's it to you? who go blather from