She had no reason to persuade.
It was always just a myth
perpetuated
on fire.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Schism
Unload your head.
What I mean is cock back your brain, pull the trigger and sneeze.
There's nothing more frightening than a fistful of placebos, mood stabilizers and a cup of spiced rum at 5am.
Here's the story. But don't forget it before you fall in too deep. Before nothing seems illuminated anymore.
A story about a path, or a search for what will never abide. A path to redemption, but the search exists only for when you're finally lost. Too far gone. Further down that path than expected. Away and forlorn. Find home. Find desolation. Find your self awake at 5am sucking on an ice cube that might as well be your childhood pacifier.
Sometimes it has that effect. Sometimes you can see only light reflecting to degrees of maddening shimmers, and the darkness becomes a curious threat. Reach out! Into that light you will be encompassed by these varying degrees of blindness that no ambitious man can carry on with alone.
Know that this is not on the path you seek. That path, that message of hope and expectation, it has it's limitations. It's inspired by men in dark suits with no names. Ambitious men. But you're free to choose otherwise. Choose outside your charm and charisma for example. But why would you? There is still hope left in self-preservation. Civility remaining. Get to the heart of it.
Find the cheese. Find the rat. Don't get caught on the ramp. It's all a trap. It's a labyrinth of woe. And you'll need to go through it at least once. You should know that something's up when the only effect is your 'any path of light'.
Take this torch with you, down into the darkness, and you can see it for yourself. The paths above mean nothing. Look around.
There is no blind-in-one-eye uncle. No faceless giant in the woods. No fear from what is lost or has now become unknown. No imagination or worry. It's okay to breathe deeply.
Do not struggle or assist. Break-out, or give-in to redemption. Those are your choices. One begets one. The force of salvation's grace will guide you through the slalom. The soothing and smoothed ice of a bobsled track. This is your path. Your life has yet to become the Olympics, as you see it only through a single event.
Unload your head.
What I mean is cock back your brain, pull the trigger and sneeze.
There's nothing more frightening than a fistful of placebos, mood stabilizers and a cup of spiced rum at 5am.
Here's the story. But don't forget it before you fall in too deep. Before nothing seems illuminated anymore.
A story about a path, or a search for what will never abide. A path to redemption, but the search exists only for when you're finally lost. Too far gone. Further down that path than expected. Away and forlorn. Find home. Find desolation. Find your self awake at 5am sucking on an ice cube that might as well be your childhood pacifier.
Sometimes it has that effect. Sometimes you can see only light reflecting to degrees of maddening shimmers, and the darkness becomes a curious threat. Reach out! Into that light you will be encompassed by these varying degrees of blindness that no ambitious man can carry on with alone.
Know that this is not on the path you seek. That path, that message of hope and expectation, it has it's limitations. It's inspired by men in dark suits with no names. Ambitious men. But you're free to choose otherwise. Choose outside your charm and charisma for example. But why would you? There is still hope left in self-preservation. Civility remaining. Get to the heart of it.
Find the cheese. Find the rat. Don't get caught on the ramp. It's all a trap. It's a labyrinth of woe. And you'll need to go through it at least once. You should know that something's up when the only effect is your 'any path of light'.
Take this torch with you, down into the darkness, and you can see it for yourself. The paths above mean nothing. Look around.
There is no blind-in-one-eye uncle. No faceless giant in the woods. No fear from what is lost or has now become unknown. No imagination or worry. It's okay to breathe deeply.
Do not struggle or assist. Break-out, or give-in to redemption. Those are your choices. One begets one. The force of salvation's grace will guide you through the slalom. The soothing and smoothed ice of a bobsled track. This is your path. Your life has yet to become the Olympics, as you see it only through a single event.
Unload your head.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
animals
She told me her inclination was to avoid romance and endure a friendship that freed her. I had walked a mile with this envy, torturing my libido. Torching my straw house. And then we kissed again in my memory. It ceases to be in that moment.
A simple unanxious moment.
It is an unerring infatuation.
And we would kiss again, yet with questionable authority. Her children still yearning to be fed. These conceptions of self-worth and contempt, compounded in a mission statement, complicated in desire, though undiluted in consequence. They are somehow familiar with this pride.
--If I could disregard all my feeling, I would.
--But it's rare, you know. It's cheap, and I give.
It's the sensation after labor. It's the accomplishment, but more. It's fulfillment and exhaustion. When you've leveled all of your ability for it. When it's nothing but impetus and will.
Except that there is no labor. And nothing defined as such.
So I leave it for opportunity to decide, as virtues will not walk with me.
I can always live with the animals.
A simple unanxious moment.
It is an unerring infatuation.
And we would kiss again, yet with questionable authority. Her children still yearning to be fed. These conceptions of self-worth and contempt, compounded in a mission statement, complicated in desire, though undiluted in consequence. They are somehow familiar with this pride.
--If I could disregard all my feeling, I would.
--But it's rare, you know. It's cheap, and I give.
It's the sensation after labor. It's the accomplishment, but more. It's fulfillment and exhaustion. When you've leveled all of your ability for it. When it's nothing but impetus and will.
Except that there is no labor. And nothing defined as such.
So I leave it for opportunity to decide, as virtues will not walk with me.
I can always live with the animals.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
new spice
Her smell,
her
scent,
was like a new
spice
I hadn't,
until that moment
we were
close,
ever
encountered.
She made me
at
home,
nervous, exposed
my fraudulence.
These things
were always without
a
touch, or a
taste.
And I hated loving
her wisdom
which
made beautiful
sense,
but
her words
I
sometimes
forgot to hear.
I feel
more
than I know.
And in self-preservation,
my fraudulence
returned.
her
scent,
was like a new
spice
I hadn't,
until that moment
we were
close,
ever
encountered.
She made me
at
home,
nervous, exposed
my fraudulence.
These things
were always without
a
touch, or a
taste.
And I hated loving
her wisdom
which
made beautiful
sense,
but
her words
I
sometimes
forgot to hear.
I feel
more
than I know.
And in self-preservation,
my fraudulence
returned.
D-version
I am a fossil
designed by time
designated for removal
yet determined to exist
in dingy discord
with dissension for debutants
of demure design.
I disassociate from diversity
with dismal diatribes
drafted in discipline
and dispensed with dignity.
Duly discerning the decibel
of my destructive discourse
does demonstratively indicate
a derogatory disposition,
though diligence and decency doesn't divulge
a delightful dose of desire so adeptly.
I don't deduce
I should dig any deeper
into this diversion.
designed by time
designated for removal
yet determined to exist
in dingy discord
with dissension for debutants
of demure design.
I disassociate from diversity
with dismal diatribes
drafted in discipline
and dispensed with dignity.
Duly discerning the decibel
of my destructive discourse
does demonstratively indicate
a derogatory disposition,
though diligence and decency doesn't divulge
a delightful dose of desire so adeptly.
I don't deduce
I should dig any deeper
into this diversion.
fall
Representative of the gypsy, emblematic
pragmatic, plus one in the bag
gone for a summer
I've milled throughout this fiction's claim
gone until winter
gone for the summer
circumventing the fall
A milieu of modern promise and praise
when the day's apprentice
left to hold the sun's reign
he was gone for the summer
enticing the fall
Our sanctity prevails
over untreated allegory
as she failed me once aside the ocean
gone for a summer
revealed in the fall
gone without winter
Abdicating patience
in an omnipresent fog
this presence of mind resigns us to peace
and I am set at ease
in the mountains of Tennessee
To see beyond reason
yet continue to fall
long gone is the altruistic winter
far gone is the fog
Absence in opposition
now the sole distinction to be held by the spring
I have come to embrace the fall
pragmatic, plus one in the bag
gone for a summer
I've milled throughout this fiction's claim
gone until winter
gone for the summer
circumventing the fall
A milieu of modern promise and praise
when the day's apprentice
left to hold the sun's reign
he was gone for the summer
enticing the fall
Our sanctity prevails
over untreated allegory
as she failed me once aside the ocean
gone for a summer
revealed in the fall
gone without winter
Abdicating patience
in an omnipresent fog
this presence of mind resigns us to peace
and I am set at ease
in the mountains of Tennessee
To see beyond reason
yet continue to fall
long gone is the altruistic winter
far gone is the fog
Absence in opposition
now the sole distinction to be held by the spring
I have come to embrace the fall
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