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Is it a matter of being comfortable, or a matter of making excuses? I am not sure if the way I perceive would be anything that brings interest. I know I am not jumping to throw my opinion in the ring. I mostly sit back and watch and contemplate as each moment passes before me. I like to play out scenarios of what ifs and maybes and how comes of some sort or another. Perhaps just letting things be and allowing free flow is a matter of therapeutic consoling.
I am only generic in the ways I want to be.
– – –
I am shallow. Cold. Inattentive. I am standing there watching you get reminded about how worthless you really are. I am standing in line waiting to take the next shot. I am seeing objects where faces should be. I am getting enjoyment out of this process. I am soaking in the anguish. I am rolling in the rapture. I only want the worst for what could be. I want to laugh as limbs get taken each moment. Some glass spread about. Some explosions off in the distance. I want to reach in a pull a warm heaping of self. Hold it high above. Drip. Drip. I am letting the sun dry you out. I am beating myself over river beds. Over rocks molded smooth by the passing of time. By the repeat of sky to air to ground to exhaust. I cannot look you in the eye. I can only sit here and run my fingers through my years of guilt. Through my years of stepping over the remains. You no longer exist. I no longer exist. With each time a thread of me goes by.
– – –
Its only been a week or so…yet lifetimes seem like they have come and gone. Around day one I was working at a desk, the lighting above, the smell of cheap perfume, the nonstop chatter of that bitch. If only I could drown myself in this cup of steaming shit we call coffee. Wake me up. WAKE ME UP! It never worked quite well. At day two I was flying looking down upon trees upon trees. A lake. An open field. A herd of cattle. Birds fluttering about. Those fucking birds. I can’t wait to land and start taking shots at them. I paid a pretty penny to join this expedition. Prostitutes and endangered species, that’s what I’m after.
You drop things, they leave stains.
In WI people are shouting. In Baltimore no one cares.
A drug seeps through the veins. A member of society steps over a curb, they notice a crack in the fabric of life, they call in a complaint.
Water consumes. It consumes the fabrics, the overpasses, the parking lots, the pathways. It consumes the alleys, the overhead hangings, the gutters, the drainage pipes. It consumes the pavement, the tops, the passageways, the walkways, the overlaps, the gaps, the barriers, the suppression The water travels to a place where it belongs. It hurries to be with itself. The water jumps down to be under the ground. I sit staring and listening. My ears can hear this. I can hear rushing. I can hear a roar. Here I am, standing, on a street, a car slowly passes by. The roar under neath. I wonder what it would be like to ride that wrath out of here.
You make stains with that. Be careful!
Sometimes I think my thoughts should be kept inside.
Are you new to this?
Are you transferring some news to present to this?
You are where I want to be. Inside of a warm surrounded by cold with breathing next to me. I see glances of moments and time of time and when it all comes to be I can only smell…one scent, to begin to remember. If only I could convince myself I was the only one left to be. In competition. Why is it always competition? I don’t care to compare.
I am standing in a room surrounded by others. I can tell they are thinking about moments and trying to impress. We are always trying to impress. You know something that I really dislike, is trying to impress. I don’t care about you and I don’t want you to care about me. We are all here for the same reason, the same purpose. Why do I or you need to be better than anything. We have our skills. Mine are different than yours. So be it! We each play a part in a role of moving objects that creates an outcome wherein we all survive. We all prosper. My sentient being I want everyone to see this. I want you to stop striving for so much, in return, I promise to accept you for what you are if only you will accept me for my outcomes.
I hate to be thinking about the negative. Tonight I stood in a wall of noise. I stopped and glanced and took in a deep breath. Pictures played out inside my head, taking back into warm of sun shining days. I am glad you are continuing on your way. I am laying a foot or so away. I can feel as one breath after another makes a moment to appear and brush by with a whisper. Eyes are widening and hair settles into place. From one glance to another glance and in connections of where we have been, our eyes are telling stories of decades past. I am creating an image of uncaring. I am telling you I am an evil person. I have done things that others wouldn’t have thought of. I am only human. I am walking just as fast as you are. I take one foot and step over sidewalks that were created too tall. We always want to build up barriers. I just want you to trust me, and in return, maybe I can do the same. And in return, maybe……just maybe. ….
So many maybes.
I can’t think as clarifications make passages of happenstance. You are there. I am here. Combinations. We couple. Is it necessary? Am I necessary? Perhaps another moment could tell, you could be anywhere, in anyone, at anytime. Its just a matter of filling the air.
These nervous corners of rowing.
And in lighting the way some space is seen. A gap of fortitude. A handling of shame.
I have never seen an ending that comes out any other way.
You are replacing. Even when it feels empty. This cask of iron that sits on edge is waiting, waiting for a still moment to break the silence. I am only thinking what you wanted to.
A finger scene. A puppet show. A marionette dancing along to a slow, slow change in emotion. From frown to again. This closing again. Light sources mimic a closing again. Lines make up circles that make up gendered flanks of persons in motion. We are all headed to some place out there. That place we can see, on the horizon, with crisp leaves wanting to call attention to seasons upon seasons. Its all in full bloom right now. It will be in deadened quickening before you know it.
I don’t want to be put on repeat. A continuation of the same repeated process. A repeat of pear and et and trap and ee and preeta, or is it preate. ear pet.
A lonely spaceship. Plastered for all to see. And inside we bring lights of beaming in through portholes like its meant to be. I am not almost concerned. In fact, I am not concerned at all. Even when winds blow and bolts jolt the line between here and now doesn’t seem to give much. And total night time in angry face like shapes of construction and objection and misconception of the meaning to all of this. I am not laughing at what you have to say. I am simply beginning to feel like my inside should be external as that’s what I was told to do. Its only a matter of moments until an untrained eye will catch the circular notion of the back and fourth of similar thoughts and notices that tell you your time is almost up.
It is no sheer coincidence that water brings solace. A moment to stop and wonder as waves lap over discarded bottles gently nestled against the pier. And underneath our feet the concrete moves upwards in buckled movements of an uncertain future. Will one foot step over the next at an awkward angle? Will my shoes feel a yearning toward one side or the other with a pull of precise decisions? We want to know what’s going on now. We want to know a solid foundation to start from. But its never quite so simple. Not one day to the next. You want to know something? This isn’t about you. But I am talking about you. Maybe not. Really its not so personal.
I keep playing videos of musical installations to define my moments. Like this day will be forwarded by these changes in intonation. Notes to make you feel like you matter.
Its moments like these were minds don’t matter much. The flow of sunshine through screened in windows. We like it here. We like to think here. We like to know here. We like to think about liking and knowing here. I am only as colorful as you want me to be.
Do your demons keep you awake at night? I dream about being in some sort of other outer existence. Where in shallow moments of exchanging thought versus meaning and reason versus purpose take hold of main sails and send us off to the limitless. The waves of mind and time and constant uncaring.
Lets share together. Lets stand tall together. It’s the least we can do. Though in the end I imagine our bodies will touch and somewhere we will think to ourselves that this has a conclusion. A final episode of you and me in some city with a backdrop of other people’s lives.
Can I get through a message without being in such formation?
I am going to make fun of others. I am going to judge them. I am going to shove their meager bodies and pathetic lives into easily stackable boxes so I can place them within my warehouse of ideas. There you will sit and watch and wonder as the room fills to the brim. I will take stationary notes and paste them to each corner reading aloud a single answered phrase of yes or no and maybe and why not and if so then where and when and how and where did it all go wrong? Why are you looking at me.
Oh the stories I imagine you tell. At least this city creates divides among miles that seem like years. I don’t tend to have too many thoughts these days. Or at least thoughts I care to put down on paper. I think I try and get rid of the resent by not wasting time, however it seeps through the cracks and jumps back around when I am least expecting. Maybe its wanting to keep a solid footing on what’s ahead. But this stink remains so long as the filth is left strewn about as I walk through my days. I can only hope that time will keep repairing and slowly any memory will dissipate as the next natural disaster fills the mind for a while. Oh these disasters. We can only keep going in hope that the next wave doesn’t come crashing down on us. It’s sort of how we interact throughout all of life. Blinders focused on our own existence. Perhaps a little dab here or there to keep our conscious clean. But a forward looking focus and a growing sense of self worth helps us to sleep at night. We ‘earned’ this so how is it not right?
Written sometime in February of 2009 or so…
These words don’t come out right in translation. Between thought and verbal. As if abuse had meaning. Abuse of what? Abuse of mind? Abuse of being? Abuse of physical? Abuse of existing?
I am what I meant to be. True to self and honest in being. Your words penetrate like lions, sent out to hunt and kill. Their teeth tear at every mindset, every sense of who I thought I could have been. The blood flows and flesh becomes nonexistent as digestion takes hold. Saliva closes, like sweat when you have had enough. When you exert yourself to the point of extinction. And in evaporated moments your mind wonders and the cages begin to disappear. Are you a flower? Are you sacred in this.? Do you tell me what I need to hear? And between the ugly there is. Some light. Some sort of being. Some sort of happening wherein I can encounter. Like a mountain in creation where time clashes time and memory erases. I have no answer. I have no simple solutions. I can only sit here and play along as the rest of us pretend.
You want something. Right now. You want there to be something. You want some sort of being that cannot become. You want an answer to the reason. You want an explanation. You want to walk out of a crowded room and enter an elevator filled with forgiving. A man breathes and you can feel the comfort. A woman touches and you can feel the lust. These shadows play tricks like images portrayed of happy moments penetrated by some unknown being. We want it hard, we want it long, we want it giant and in speculation to the right to passage.
Words are like moments waiting to happen. A slight change of direction, a different sense of opinion, a spoken idea or a slight of a glance followed by an agreement. We encounter each other and hope for some thing…like…that thing…like…that one time I remember…and how I felt…and it was a first….an unknown. My heart was beating. The sky was clear. I can see stars between the windows. A radio glows green though no sound is made. I can hear you breathing. I can feel you next to me. I can tell myself that this moment is happening. And warm flows.
If I was called a creator I would say a creator of what? Of stuff? Of mental images? Of things that others want to say but don’t know how to do it? I want to take images of life and hold them forever. Photographs become. But my hand doesn’t create. These words. I can tell you what I want to say. I can share with you my thoughts. My voice doesn’t. My mouth doesn’t. My public surrounding doesn’t. I have so many occurrences where this is what I have left.
We celebrate creators from the past. Poets. Writers. Inventors. These are the people that made our world go round. Would you call them insane? At the time they would be. Would you dismiss their ideals and continue in your existence? At the time you would. This isn’t like some sort of suggestion, but an ideal. And to tell yourself that you are wrong. That what you have it’s not right. That you can do more. That we can do more.
I just want grass that passes by as I step one foot at a time. Over underground caverns filled with the hopeless. Over less than amazing existing and continuing. I do not have any answers, but I will do my best until I hear at least one person saying yes….we have come to this.
At an interview tonight I was asked if I had some last minute thoughts, or words of wisdom, or life mantra. I have to admit that I drew a blank. I have to wonder, do I have any convictions that I am holding dear anymore? The best I could come up with was ‘don’t be a jerk.’ Makes sense. Sort of sums up everything. Though I suppose jerk could be defined in a number of ways and one persons jerk is another persons hero, but you know, it’s a catch all sort of guideline.
But what should I say? Treat others how you want to be treated…something about peace and love and all of that other nonsense? Do I discuss my wishes of some sort of half apocalyptic ending to it all where life comes down to a matter of survival, quite literally? Then really do I want that? Do I want anything more than what everyone else does? Now my thoughts seem to be leading towards home purchases and job security. That and what bars are fun to hang out in and where I might be traveling next. I suppose I have entered a life that I always use to shun. There I was, acting as if I was better than everyone though I didn’t have a self sustaining bone in my body. At least I support myself. I can do things I want to. I can take on challenges without having to find someone to bail me out. I should be proud of that, right?
But then why do I feel so ashamed?
Why do I find myself constantly thinking and worrying about things that others around me don’t even understand? I think I am still stuck in a mind set of college – where my surroundings justified my existence and it was almost as if I had followers who listened to my every word. I suppose I yearn for that? I want to be the leader of some cult with the ability to control…only problem is I would figure out someway to ensure its destruction before I even reached my pinnacle of power. I have discovered I am good at burning bridges and tearing things apart. I like to make myself the enemy of others. I suppose so I have something to fight against, or someone, or a goal to be working from? Maybe its just a matter of fictitious worlds that lie within the breaches of my mind. Maybe it’s the beginnings of a mental disorder that will creep its way about my life as I continue to progress further. Maybe my reality is nothing at all but creation after creation. I find that I do my best work when I don’t think about anything at all. My eyes roll back, my mind goes blank, a little haze descends, and out comes the world.
Maybe if I just keep telling myself something is one way then it will be. And maybe I am ok with that.