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musings & scribbles

Untitled 9

In conversations, held, I
Pitch myself to death for
Escape of responsibility;
Duck from ‘mobile, lunge
For precious pain in fre-
Edom’s endorphins/laugh
Without sound, and pause
In flight. Returned to seat
By time’s greatest love,
Rationale, I breathe to forget.

Sometimes, when writing, you have to take into account multiple translations of your work so that no one can say, “well, they meant…”. That’s difficult, especially when trying to maintain a convention. For instance, using fre-edom instead of freed-om will highlight the red of death, while freed-om highlights the release of death, the ritual that death has become due to the human condition of grievance or commemoration or celebration– which are all the same, really. In the end, it’s what I want to portray. Om is pretentious, but will affect someone much differently than researching biblical regions, which can be… alienating. But, learning that what we know is translation and not historically actual (think of the word Dolphin later translated into Rulfine) makes sense for a word like, “freedom,” when describing death. Will anyone get that? No. But, it’s important.

Forgetting

I do not want to forget you
And
All your smiled faces pacing
Our
Memories in faded slide shows
Of
Those days, the nights, our
Trips
Along reality, mind’s delightful sugar.

Now.txt

Now is not the time to forget what you have come out of. You are more than now. Now is just a thin film over your eyes, with vast cities, rivers, mountains, and land beyond. Good is where you are and where you have been; all to come is difficult and trying until that, too, becomes good.

What am I searching for?

What am I searching for?
What makes me think what
I have is not what I need?
I am a tree, having found
A never ending supply of
Nourishment, but still
Sending roots in another
Direction, just to know
My surroundings. Bullshit.
I am more than a tree. I
Am a fat king who still
Looks for more food. Fuck
That.

The Rules (Break ’em).txt

I once thought
The rules were
A means to
Greatness; a
Way of conform-
ING to expec-
Tations and
Being able to
Show worth
By being better
In the gates. Now
I know, as all
Trespassers do,
The lawn is but
A plot of land
Surrounded by
Billions more
In every direc-
Tion, and a
Single is worth
So much less
Than the whole. Now
I know the world has
More vertices than
X and Y. Now
I know the world has
More subtleties than
You and I. Now
I know that all we have
Is here, where
We are; and He
Tells us how
Far that goes.

— and they play along the arm

There they crouch/
And play along
The arm of a couch
Ripped apart
By comfort’s needs
To be where
No one can see.

We lay here,
On a couch that
Has let us be
And been a bitch
To move. But,
Here we lay, where
Our family knows
All are near if
To be hidden or fall’n
Asleep.

Jaywalking

like the feeling when
we’re nearly there, where
we would be safe from what
we put ourselves through

Thump.

Thump.
Scratch/tear/pluck
Yawn.
The cats, finished for the day,
Fall to sides on carpet
And commence the semi-hourly routine.

(title)

Our little cats play
Tip-tap, tip-tap,
Chasing tails
On tiled floor

Cut | Copy | Paste

Lord,
I fight for my family. I may
Say words, but my heart
Is filled all the way with my family.
They matter most to who I
Have become, who I
Will eventually look back and see.
They
Are Your blessing and Your ark for
Me, my anchor when I fly and
My rudder when I float. They,
Whom You have set in my journey,
This life, are Your hands and I shall
Always strive to be Your fingers
Clasping a bride, Your fingertips
On the cheek of a newborn, Your knuckles
White in celebration of a child, Your palms
Outstretched to welcome a friend.
I will be who You have destined me,
And I will do it willingly, with only
Good intentions to slow my path–
Though, we both know You set those.

musings & scribbles