Original contemporary art prints.

Bright Eyes

Bright Eyes
January 31, 2007 facter

I love her, yes I do, her with those eyes of bright shineyness. Its nothing about her, its just the way she looks – or what she looks with.

Im sitting in a pub when I catch a glance, and now – see, I’m just not the big into romance, there’s not that many things that catch me out. Unless there’s some kind of story there – something that eludes me. Something that pulls me in and makes me go “Oh lah lah loom” at a woman when she walks past.

But her, her. What can I say?

An obsession is only that which we really, truly desire. Okay, so we may desire it above all other things, we may want it more than is healthy. We want. We need. We take take take and collapse our reasoning on it without a single point of convolution or converging necessity.

It happens. Its happened to me. It happened to her.

Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know. I cant repeat anything else of what I could think when I saw her sitting across from me. Id been with them, those friends of mine – taking the piss every which way and sure, every moment a joke. Every word a cutting scathe of slayed out suchness. That’s what we do. That what we want. I looked over at the table, I looked over towards her – and there they were. Staring at me. Smashing into me. Living the moment.

It was like a test. It was like a mess. It was nothing else but a pure challenge to my own insight and my own lack of wonder at anything that had come before.

Eyes. It was all in the eyes. All in her eyes.

That’s where it began, and ultimately – where it has now ended.

You see, obsessions are hard to pinpoint. Where exactly, does desire, pulp-relation, crush or casual fuck turn into the needy. where does the lust, the passion, the grab them thrust them trundle them into every nook and cranny fora slip up skirt fuckfest turn into an unhealthy desire to penetrate them in ways which they may not be favorable to, but they do anyways – because they are there,waiting. Waiting with you, being with you.

And where does love, that healthy, true moment of simplex and cored out emotion turn into that unhealthy beast of unpardonable action?

So I stared at her eyes, that day. Just before we took that piece of paper to the guys car that got ticketed a few minutes before (the piece of paper we placed next to it read: FINED $500 for crime against Heterosexuality! – for driving a Volvo, no less) I leaned over tot he table. Caught those eyes.

Shit, asked for a number. When was the last time…oh. Right. Now I remember. It was when I liked that girls fingers….

So Ic alled her. I waited on her. We did coffee. She liked something in me, I liked something in her. We progressed to drinks, food, fucking, snogging, fighting, loving, spewing and splashing radial drops of bodily fluids across scattered sheets.

But all the while, I watched her eyes. Its all in the eyes. Blue, green, brown, black, green with those little hazel flecks and rings around rings upon ring upon freckled splashes of multi-fluorescent pampered particles.

It found her for her eyes,. and I loved them. I wanted them. If I were to have any eye4s int he world,t hey would be hers. I don’t know where the obessssion came from – but there was nowhere I did not think of them. Nowhere I didn’t want to see them. I took photos of her, cropped them out – bands of flesh surrounded by coloured orbs of nihilistic green – the3y were green, not those other colors. Green as fields. Green as appled candy and food coloured beer on St Patricks day. I kept a photo, not of her, but her eyes, in my wallet. I told everyone about them. I looked into them. I edited video out and playesd endless loops of her darting eyes, darting, no sounds. Music in the background.

All to the tune of some remix of Bittersweet symphony. That endless track running circles around my mind as her eyes drew me in drew me in…drew me out.

She began to notice. She saw little things. She wondered why the hell I kept staring – but was it my fault? was it MY fault that within her eyes lay such utter perfection that it was as if a million fractal mandelbrot patterages roamed within bowls of liquid gold? Was it my fault, that her eyes held such allure that I couldn’t, wouldn’t, DIDNT look away?

My friends tired of my conversation. Tired of my endless talk. They suggested I keep it from her. Shut it up. Shut the fuck about her. Fucking. God. Damned. Fucking Eyes. Shut. Up Shut up SHUT UP and they kinda drifted away, but itdidn’t matter, because she was still there -still in my bed. ….still.

Sex stopped. Id ask her to look at me whilst I wanked myself into oblivion, staring into those eyes..those…

I came home. Her bags were packed.I looked

her in the

Eyes.

“Where are you going?”

“You’re a freak, you know that, don’t you? What the fuck is wrong with you? I found THESE!”

…and she threw at me, a rainbow of eyes. All our photos, meticulouslychopped. Stripped. Eyes floating in the air, eyes floating above and beyond me around and around and around …

“I like your eyes,” I said.

“Like? You fucking freaky motherfucker. That’s all you like. That’s all you’ve been doing! Looking at my eyes! WHAT ABOUT ME YOU BASTARD?”

“Well… I like. I like your….” and they were there, in front of me. I stood, mouth open..agape…leant ..over… my fingers out. Out my fingers forth…went into …touch them to touch them..those eyes..

“Get off me! Im leaving!” and was trying to get past me. Trying tot ake those eyes away from me. Closing them off from …

Snap snap snip snip snap snappity snappity fucking SNAP SNAP SNAP IF SHE SNAP LEAVE WHERE THE EYE$S SNAP SNAP GONE.

You know, I love her. Yes I do. I love her, yes I do, her with those eyes of bright shineyness. Her eyes I love, her eyes of green. If I had of let her leave, I’d have lost them both, both of them, you know? You do know, right where it hits you – about obsession. you knowwhat its like to be clawed at. To be so utterly entranced, in love, w ith something…to want. to need. to want want want want.

So, she didn’t end up leaving me that day. She didn’t take her bags. I took her by the hand, in my hands, in my hands and held her for such a long time,t here in our living room. I took … I took her…and stared right into her eyes….stared, into those orbs of succulent measure ….

And really. The rest of her is unimportant. But for now, all I can do is stare at her eyes …. still seemingly perfect …. even though the vodka within the glass that I have now placed them in, seems to have dulled their color somewhat …