Inside / Out

You see there’s a light on in the next room as a few beams sneak out from under the doorframe.
But you’ve never seen the room.
Or what’s inside.
You only know of the shadows that sometime appear, casting dancing figures on the floor in front of you as you remain in the dark.
It’s quiet when you stop to listen but you miss what you don’t hear.
Silence sending you down the spiral staircase of thought, where existence has no meaning or truth.
Where you can haunt among the ghosts.

You always thought truth is a fickle concept anyway.
You see there’s a light on in the next room as a few beams sneak out from under the doorframe.
But you’ve never knocked on the door.
Or asked who’s there.

 

I am grateful for a bit of free time. ❤

“DIE CORPORATE AMERICA”

“DIE CORPORATE AMERICA”
yelled the graying man
as he rode by on his bicycle.
A wind suit of blue blurring my vision;
his continued rantings inaudible…
Not that I felt compelled to engage in the conversation,
one-sided as it was.

Startled, I stared after him,
my eyes following his retreating figure.
Burning through feelings of opinions
that constantly linger in question.
Now, a few new ones to add to the collection;
with anger driving the day to day commitment (or just pathetic misery).

I examined myself completely – again;
mind, soul, body…clothing.
Lunch break dog walks for existential evaluations.
Adding to the focus of all of the moments building
into total nonrecognition of what IN THE MOMENT means.
Untucked collared shirt creating a liminal picture of me;
walking the line, living multiple lives at the same time.
“DIE CORPORATE AMERICA”
What an archaic response to today’s ennui.

I am grateful for all perspectives.

Memories from 8-20-13

Paths 8-20-13

How many paths must we cross,

Must we stumble through;

Guessing which part of the fork is best positioned for the tastiest bite?

To chew on the destination of thoughts that enable blood to pump and flow

Parallel to the bordered trail like a stream;

A continuous reminder of water and the other elements one person needs to survive

Removing the requirements of life and focusing on all that is surrendered

To a compartmentalized pandora’s box

Categorizing important cargo in a wooden reminder of vulnerability

Dried salmon candle wax puddled on the cracked surface

Staining the purity of all that embraces my mind

People Are Strange

People are going to be mean. They will be inconsiderate and sometimes cruel or unsympathetic in their expectations and understanding. We will misunderstand one another and create barriers of disassociation. And it hurts. This pain, it can bring out the worst in us. It can distort how we interact with others. How we see ourselves or even, how we believe others see us in return. People are going to use you. They will manipulate your pain, sometimes without meaning. They will let their insecurities drive focus of opinion into a kind-of forced interpretation of reality that only ever exists in their minds. We lose ourselves in the isolation of thought. We lose each other.

“People are strange when you’re a stranger
Faces look ugly when you’re alone
Women seem wicked when you’re unwanted
Streets are uneven when you’re down”

https://youtu.be/Lit0Jxv-ks4

I am grateful for moments of clarity in connecting to others

Cloak and Dagger

The Masked Archer – Romaine Brooks

Illusional words slice through time and space

As a sharpened arrow might

Pointed dagger at the ready to penetrate

or, hoping to get lost along the journey?

–

With intent or target concealed in prose

Suspicion incites assumptions

Doth the protagonist plan foul play

or, is thee a hero of fables?

–

Allegorical motives pursue to embolden heart

Uncertain, as there’s only one cloaked player

I say –

Speak now or forever hold your tongue

There’s no peace in your silence.

–

The near and far continue to ask…

“How does one talk to strangers?”

The responses stolen by some passionate,

passive familiarities of understanding

Phantom answers to inquiries from the shadows.

–

I am grateful for all of the storytellers.

–

“How doth the little crocodile

Improve his shining tail,

And pour the waters of the Nile

On every golden scale!

How cheerfully he seems to grin,

How neatly spreads his claws,

And welcomes little fishes in

With gently smiling jaws!”

Insert Title IX

Silly women with our silly thoughts

Demanding silly rights from our silly sons, brothers, husbands, fathers, grandfathers…

Silly facts from our silly leaders

Backing silly fools who commend silly racists, xenophobes, fascists, homophobes, sexists…

Silly religions of the silly gods

Forcing silly practices on the silly world, country, city, home, person…

Fuck all this shit.

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A few exhaling breaths disrupt the haze as

Spreading palms fan out and trace invisible brushstokes within the air

Hanging smoke of the swirling strands trail upward and against my arm in contrast

While sunshine beaming in through the window draws shaded patterns on the wall

Their long oblong shadows lining up to slice through me – geometric smiles captured

Shining light flashes into view like falling diamonds

And in this moment I allow myself to forget – flying diamonds aren’t real

That I’m not breathing in all of the dead skin and dirt floating around me

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Sunset smothered in ash
Interrupting Intentions
But blanket lightly cradles
Folding up into the warmest cocoon
Hoping for rebirth
Or – maybe a few quiet moments.

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They would say ‘we are not the aggressors!’

As the falling tears dropped

Brazenly confused in their state of being

Blotchy red skin, better for the convincing –

Must secure opinions to take notice:

‘Selfish’

‘Sad’

‘Irresponsible’

‘Permanent’

Broken hearted actions indefinitely examined

The laid-to-waste resolutions begin to be forgotten…

Minute details buried so that we can all play the victim.

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As an action, love is fluid.

Lust demands devotion of the heart but we instead settle into beautiful praise of friendships.

‘Living’ all narratives of description while or

so as to forget the physical touch of happiness.
The Past means nothing to the Future.

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Hoards of creeps –

Fighting the trail of death;

seem friendly enough.

Men in general –

All happy smiles;

with their sharp Alligator teeth.

Good friends speak –

If only to confirm;

“All acts consensual.”

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I am grateful for friends

Pixelated Cartoon Experiences

Bursting into thought, I found myself standing in the middle

of the desert

Joshua trees scattered like gravestones, a prickly contrast
against the red earth and the vibrant blue sky

I found myself walking forward, or at least in a direction
other than ‘avoidance’

Rocks littered the earth underfoot, granular shapes of all
kind squished into nothing from my passing

Sunshine beating down on shoulders and face, not overbearing
but pleasant like the way it might feel to sink down into a hot bath or wrap up
in a blanket fresh out of the dryer

Finally at peace, even if alone and lost within the reality
unfolding

Large pairs of lips floated overhead, hanging like clouds; smiling
slightly, teeth shining, biting and tensing – not disagreeably – but seemingly mimicking
each movement until they were one of the same

The heavens swayed by makeshift appearances, pixelated
cartoon experiences; all attention must wander…

Associating self, wondering if there’s an existing connection
to the hovering mouths waiting for a time and a space to speak

If maybe this was a sign of a new beginning; a nudge of encouragement
to find a voice and release the vaporous toxins that have been progressively
choking any chance for a breath of fresh air…

Reflecting on the experience like a photograph – remembering
how each pair of lips laid sprawled out and suspended overhead; looking for a confidante
like a lonely and abandoned kite

I am grateful for turning another year older 💕