musings & scribbles

shit. i’m sorry these take so long. i like hording things. especially writings and words. you’re probably not reading this, or one of you is, and you’re thinking, “what’s he doing?” i’m setting you up to read. i like that.

i like the whole, “this won’t be good.” i revel in it, for i do the same. it’s how you can come away satisfied, no matter what; you either feel as though you’ve pre-scripted life, which is somewhat of a rush/a sense of control, or you feel surprised, shocked by what’s transpired/what’s gone from, “this won’t,” to, “oh.” hah. k.

watched a youtube of leonard cohen. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLq7Aqd_H7g. he’s a good writer.

you should check ferlinghetti, william carlos williams, or john donne, as well.

so. life is all in the timing, and the timing is what life is, so, doesn’t that mean that you can make whatever you want into whatever you want, because if what you want is what you want, then isn’t what you want what you want? just be careful, because you may get what you’re wanting, and realize it was only what you wanted, and not what you want.

if i’m just words, then let them sew themselves within your thoughts, so some part of me is lasting, and not just a disease with an easy cure.

have you ever just sat there and thought, “what the hell is that? what’s keeping me here? what’s anchoring me right now and making me be where i am? what keeps me on the ground? what keeps me where i am? should i leave? but what would make me leave, then, if not what is keeping me here? i’m here. blah.”

what keeps you ever-here?

what is removed is as important as what is kept, and you’ll love what you remove far quicker than what you keep, because you only love what isn’t there, for what is there is far stronger than love, it’s experiencing, and you can’t beat that with just a thought, no matter what, unless you can.

i practiced wordings, words,
similarities, symmetry, worldly
clues to the way i’ve come to
understand things, with
the roar of thunder and
the twing of a chime in wind, but
all of that is meaningless
without you to read, so,
i thank you, and
you mean everything to me;
for, without you, i would, surely,
envy everyone else
who may live so free
as without boundary
or
occasion to be trained
for you, who read, who
see knowledge in these words
i know not the meaning of.

thank you,
thank you,
thank all,
thank you.

given life,
he chose walk
and
, wandering,
he fell, and
lest he rest
, he put foot forward,
wishing ground
lay there,
to be
stalked in drunken twist
of hips and ankles,
thighs,
to bend and ‘stend of knee
in dance, in worship
of the land’s many niches
yet to be filled.

what world is this
when life, lived,
told, is given a reason
and this reason, known,
holds but a clue
as to what this reason, known,
may be, but– to guess– to guess–
to guess is to give in, and to
forget, to lose the reason,
to long for what
may be
is what may be’s
only way of being.

may you hoop around these
and dribble your thoughts
to know they are but all laughter.

Same old same sorry. And a hummingbird cries to be let out, and rides a broom to the opening of the garage before flying to the tallest tree at a distance they can travel while under such stress.. and that funny string of dust/of cobwebs from their tail.

within hands of sedimentary, he
rises oiled own, to know the
spatial widths of claspings, dormant
but in settled raise and movement
swayed but by shakings, rakings
of the plasma, floor beneath such
dwellers, ceiling-crawlers, brought
to kindled flame, not molten, sought
to be but tamed and holden.

say the words before the beat
ing of your heart s-t-arts y’
mind and you leave words
to caution and not a pas
sion of the jester’s soul.