In rows, life gives order;
Bent, straight, grouped, stacked,
These rows provide a linking,
Giving weight and measured time,
To their purpose, place, and builders.
musings & scribbles
All the little
Shades and chips in
Marble speak to me,
Saying life
Is better broken, where
We can piece
Ourselves
Together,
And make it
Worth
A
Whole
Lot
More.
Give me Love,
That most subtle needle-born disease,
Giving me reason to
Find a place to stand and be me,
That city fool, that shitty fool, who
Can’t stop grinning, can’t stop grinning.
Give me Love,
The only way I know the rails are fake and
We’re of free will.
Give me Love,
She who tells me the dull walkings
Across the crossings,
Following the followers of
That artifact of survival, Hunger,
Are holding back the panic
Of knowing there is more to do
And we’re not doing it, and
We’re just putting
Foot forward, foot in door,
Foot in mouth, foot up,
Foot on others doing
The same.
Give me time to start a rhyme,
Give me grief for being bland,
I don’t care, it’s just a means
To acknowledge thoughts
You can’t think ’til I’ve
Put them down, giving
You time to start critiquing, complaining,
Constructing a better version but
Not putting them down because
They’d be derivative.
Following the followers of
That artifact of survival, Hunger,
The Primal Queen with reason, sure:
Calamity.
Ah, to be the rocks, just
Built, broken, swept aside
To be something else every few
Eons, sure, and getting to
See it all.
Victory formation in a parking lot,
Hoping she overlooks that I’m broke as fuck,
Giving her the first of several reasons
To find someone better, and
She does, and we’re going stronger,
Forgetting that we were beside but
Not inside to start our friendship, sure,
And that should give us time to
Know our outward appearances
And all the actions, sure,
But there’s reason inside, and that
Takes time to understand, and
Takes time to dissect, to know
And roll with without complaining,
Without giving another reason more.
So many movements of these thumbs as
I try to make sense of the churning thoughts,
Refusing to let the refuse decay without being said.
Victory formation in the driveway,
Playing like we knew what would happen
But still surprised by the score.
Give me time to form a thought and watch
The words, just watch the words.
That’s what holes in memory are: watching
And forgetting and being disconnected,
Looking for another channel, rather than
Turning off and stepping out, because
We can’t, we can’t, we can only witness
And be disassociated viewers/a
Live studio audience
Refusing to participate,
And tearing up their tickets to forget
They ever wasted their time.
Sometimes the best memories are the opening act.
You just hope the encore is worth waiting for.
Despite the
Idea of being
Together, I
Find myself
Being drawn
Inward, to
Myself, the
Warmth I
Look for
Being found
There, and not
With you.
Like
Any source of
Heat, though, I
Will soon give
All I have, and
Will need to
Find such warmth
Elsewhere, though
I only look
Between us, and,
I know I
Will find but
Kindling, needing
Stoked, as
Would any fire
Let be started
In the cold rain
Of discontent.
Why fear Death? Why give yourself to Death, before Death has taken you? Is that not slaving over supper, when it may not be eaten( soon)? Why go through such strife, such lacking of the self? You have a chance to be happy, to be full of life before, perhaps, it is taken. We have everything around us to fill ourselves with, to give ourselves weight against Death’s snatching of our bodies.
I wish I could say that, upon stumbling on an appointment with Death, we have our memories, our fondness of the days preceding, but some of us do not; I wish I could say that we have our family, our friends, or our loved ones (however fleeting they may be), but some of us do not. Instead, I say that there is much around us to fill ourselves with; whether a comedy in our situation, or a drama in our whereabouts, we can fill ourselves with life lived & living.
Why succumb to the diagnosis?
Meet you in the kitchen,
Where hands are busy,
But heads are turning,
Trying their best to
Wander into dancing;
Hands slip on hips,
And we lose the world
To be at once found
While letting go that
Which keeps us held.
So many days finding myself
Against your wishes, giving in
To the dreams had while ‘wake,
Folding in two at the sight of
You, but how odd the two of
Us to think the taut matters
When we would rather unravel
And feel the thread got’ wet.
Try not to be
Worried about what is outside of you.
Try to remember
Who you are when you are alone.
Try being better
When you could be much worse.
Try finding
Where you hide within yourself.
Give up on finding fame. It’s worth being mediocre, so you can live a life worth living rather than worth seeing/seeking/being unhappy. Select all of your old works and be proud of them and that you can’t remember your craft, so you never have to worry about repeating much more than a few lines. Be careful of looking back; if you do, know that apologizing is always worth its wait.
So much time to be sad, but I’d rather be happy and warm beside you. So much time to be mad, but I’d rather be happy and warm beside you. So much time to sleep, and I want to be happy and warm beside you.
Dreams are a way to be and be forgotten.
How many sit/stand/crawl and realize who they want to be is attainable, but life has a funny way of changing our minds?
Found another way to be happy. Found it without trying to be. Found another way to be happy. Found it hidden behind dreams let roam too far out of the mind.
Now, don’t get me wrong, hard work or chance play as much a part in who we are as any part of our lives, but there’s a reason viewers outnumber the viewed and we should be OK with those odds. Makes it worth it, don’t you think?
We hold tight to ideals and understandings that are not offered, no, but placed before us as proofs of a grand scheme, wherein we, the sapient few, know what more there is beyond sight, in emotion, that most worldly and yet intangible of the uncounted senses. Perhaps we would be better served by holding away from us most ideals and understandings, until time when we, grown and lived, can find and touch in thought what makes us important, where we see we will be. Or, perhaps, we should be satiated by the prospect of returning, physically, to our makeshift world, this most beautiful abnormality and its hangers-on.
That may be mean to say, but I mean to say it.
“Come in backwards, so you can already be on your way out.” – Ontario Hallman
You can’t claim autonomy and depend on conversation to survive.
Don’t get too deep into your own shit that you forget to flush.
Early enough to be dangerous, late enough to not be tired.
Behind every gracious defeat is a pained heart.
Guiding yourself through life with laughter and kindness often leaves you seeming weak and immature, no matter the sophistication you display along with them.
We live, we exist, we feel, we focus, yet we rarely just be. Laying, standing, sitting still and gathering the senses describing the world around us can be rewarding if we choose clarity over movement of the mind or body.
What use is a light in the twisting tunnels of thought, they which constrict and constrain focus to be pointed, not broad?
The mistakes we allow residence in our lives are the successes we have yet to create.
Greeting a friend, coworker, family member, or animal is not as stressful as greeting a stranger. Not because of first impressions or assumed reactions, but because of acknowledgement and acceptance of another into your collection of thoughts. Imagine not knowing someone, yet feeling connected to them, if not because of fleeting introductions, but because of recurring expectations.
Humanity is a disease who knows they can change, but chooses to continue to remain the same.
When awe gives way to understanding.
“It is a soft touch which takes you down, sir, not a strong arm.” – Candi
In the fold, but on his own.
Perception is the cage of the mind.
Perceptions are the hands which carve away at the world, leaving but an image of what was once immeasurable possibilities.
The best people are too humble to know they are.
Empathy, and acting on empathy, are the most important ingredients for life. They conquer fight or flight.
Not everyone on a boat is sailing the ship.
She is the softest blade.
She
She brings me joy in the form of
Smiles, glimpses into
Innocence surrounded by
Years of who we are.
We silly billions
We risk what makes us human,
Squeezed and squeezing what contains us,
Spinning, forcing us to be what mold we remain in,
Giving in at first but changing
Based on feeling different when we are but all
These silly billions, flashes and reflections
On the stream, forming in swift current
Around the rocks left standing
As we push and bubble upward,
Into the air and where our source,
Of whom we are but mirrored,
Guides us outward,
Pointing us by darkness’
Great clarities toward where we come from.
And yet we remain these children,
Craving our motions made in moments
When time was but this allotment we could fill
With what we wanted, not what haunts us
I grew up with you in my eyes,
Holding life ahead to hope
The days would waste away without
Really being used by
All of those mentions of something more,
What when I know now I could have
Had more time with you.
Her hands rush to his,
A shock/she must have
Snuck that static ‘fore
They touched, but,
Her hands rush to his,
Her eye locks on
Those unanswered
Potentials asked of
Him, he who falls
Shoulders in her sight,
Likening to the marionette
Let control himself– how
Foolish to think him capable,
Though all can learn like
You taught me to be better
Than who I had been, who
I wanted to be but couldn’t see
Without you to walk with me
To where life would lead, obviously
A place much more welcome than
Where we had come from, where
These blinking cen-ti-se-con-ds count
Down to revolving doors coming
Back around, letting us be found
And falling down like marionettes
Let control themselves– how
Foolish to think us capable.