condition-stable

admin — Wed, 02 Nov 2011 03:25:23 +0000

I jump from here, I dive, head first, heart strong into the abyss that lay within; the walls are thick, they never shatter, but they constantly mimic the effect. The break always shallow enough to be painful, but never hard enough to break me. The effort is exhausting, the fall and the climb, my eyes are heavy with fluid pressure, with the strain for clarity. I swell from the strain, the thoughts pulsating through me, coursing through my veins, feeding my addiction. I am isolated in my fears, but in common in my pain. The disappointment factor keeps you at bay, keeps me away. The ocean heaves as it fills, the flood gates are tested and the levels recede. The division in discourse is the division in myself. I read between lines that do not exist, I hear things that are not said, and I see things that are not meant for me to see, in the light, the jaded light of self pity and doubt, the jaded light of remorse and pain. I see the distortion and I see the distortion being distorted in the iris of my brain. I reach to fill the void and find the conclusion, the resolution that I think I need, or that I think I want. To realize that I want not to want that which I need, the realization that I am not so strong, despite the means by which I mend I remain delicate. To your touch, to my tears, to the laughter of us all, to the tiny cold hands wrapped in my own, I break now in the softness, delicate.

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I should of done this long ago

admin — Sat, 22 Oct 2011 01:39:18 +0000

Dear Edan,

It is almost to late to begin to retain all the memories. To be fair, it is unquestionably too late. But there are some I have written, stashed on post-its and calendars, some will never leave my mind’s eye, some are gone to time and tears, but those memories I can not see, I can certainly still feel, still recall. Your tiny feet in the palm of my had, the way you relentless kicked me before you were born, my lust for strawberry anything and your endless love now for the same. There are memories I feel, feel more vivid than I could hope to see. And while you sleep, safely guarded by your teddy bear, I loose focus.

My eyes are blurred, distorted from the natural magnifying elements of the water that floods them. I love you, and long ago, ok, not so long ago, but long enough ago, I should of done this. They say better late than never (of course they say too little to late also) so I suppose you can decide. Here goes nothing

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some things need not be mentioned repeatedly

admin — Tue, 13 Sep 2011 00:07:46 +0000

I need no reminders about why aspects of my life suck so much right now. If you feel the need to remind me, please refrain – no comments on my out and about, or lack there of; none on my job or my hours; none on my income or my location. I think I have had enough. I didn’t ask for this. I am making it work, as best as I can. I don’t need any more hurdles than I have. There is enough heart ache without your reminders and thoughtless efforts for improvement. You are not pushing me forward, you are holding me back. The frustration eats me alive sometimes, and I drown in my own tears; and I would hear you, but my ears are bleeding cotton to muffle your critique. I am strong, strong enough; but sometimes I am weak. You that dose not walk with me has no right and no room to berate me. I do not ask you to make concessions. I do not ask you to sympathize or empathize or even give a damn. But carry forth the notion that your words of wisdom are hollow and fall on stuffed ears. I hear not what you say when you speak from selfishness, but I feel the ignorance, the non-experience, I taste the residue of your argument as it dissolves in the air I breathe. Fill your mouth with your pills of wisdom, and put your feet in my beat up size 6′s, set your alarm and arm your self with energy, when it’s over, and you found your peace of mind and the money for the sitter we’ll celebrate with the libations of trial and error. Error and trial… understand that, this is that. That is this. It is not all so bad, it is not all so good. I need not darkness to darken my own. Bring me light or let me shine alone.

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I chose to feel it and you couldn’t choose

admin — Thu, 01 Sep 2011 02:44:21 +0000

It smells, I said, Like blue, the way all things light blue and scented smell. That is just how it smells. I said that. In rambling, in a safe place, to a safe face. I said that because I let my guard down, and knew it was blue, there were crows to be counted, and drinks to be drunk. But I could say anything. Ramblings over countless coffee and leafy phases have escaped me. I choose to feel is that by which I have no means for practice. Engage me; I beg of you. Ask me not what I think, ask me what I see. I will provide you with the cacophony of my mind. But ask me only if you be so inclined. That is why I ask you. I have not the attention or time for t.v. and computer, but to your voice I will listen. To your words I will think and to yourself I will question. I am inclined, as I have said, to do, after all, as little as possible for a klondike bar.

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un

admin — Mon, 13 Jun 2011 03:00:09 +0000

There are places I hate to be. Alone at night, lost in the woods, a dark parking lot, the space between what is and is not, what I know and what I don’t, what was said and what wasn’t. I hate the in between, the gray of mental uneasiness, of distrust in my instincts. The space where there are words I heard and words I said that made no sense because they were not words at all, they were ideas, and feelings, and tensions, they were indicators of my uncertainty, my confusion, my frustration. I hate that place where I am mostly frustrated with myself for those words, for those thoughts, for the lack of. The space between what is understood, and is not, is nothing less than space, a space I run from, cower away and hide, to face the uncertainty of uncertainty is a space I am uncertain of.

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ramblings I

admin — Wed, 01 Jun 2011 02:00:53 +0000

I choose to write. choose as an afterthought, a thought following the careful contemplation of things that were, that are, that may be. I choose mostly to reflect, to avoid the high of anticipation, and buffer instead for the reality. I never thought I would be here. sitting. sometimes in tears, others in smiles. I never thought I would be so afraid of choices I don’t think I have, and equally of the the choices I do. Busy, tired, tried, tested, confident, passionate, bruised, and recovered. I am me as I face the day. I am me. Strong, bold, daring. I am strong. They say it all the time. I am doing the right thing. I am strong. I am weak, I am tired, I am who I am, but who am I. Who am I to face the day, to mock the light and glow in the darkness. Who am I to assume a choice, a path, a way that may or may not be. Who am I to enjoy, to devour, to adore all these right moments, should they be right, and if not, why I am in them. Who am I to be afraid. Afraid….timid in the face of beauty, in the joy of life. Uncertain that the outcome will be worthy of my efforts, uncertain my efforts will be worth of the outcome. But there are no choices. There is no other path, not any other than that which I choose, that which I embrace and desire. But desire is skin deep, desire is shadowy trouble…deceptive and misleading, or is it. Is desire so tainted, or is desire so pure? why fight what you want in life, why deny that which you want, who you want and where you want are ill for you .Why not. Why not be in this moment that is, why not accept that moment that is coming, why not allow the freedom of not choosing….I never chose, except to choose. What now….

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flux/ed

admin — Tue, 31 May 2011 03:24:01 +0000

nothing i can write tonight is right, and yet nothing about it is wrong.

The cacophony of the day.

I sit, I play, I carry on this day in that way I do. In that way I carry on

with you.

I am lost to the clock and the agenda, I simply glide.

There is no expectation, no check list, no right or wrong.

There is nothing but the flow of the wind and the pattern of the sun.

The flux of life as one moment leads to another in a symphony of curiosities that are best left undefined.

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the strides of conversation

admin — Tue, 24 May 2011 02:59:56 +0000

We talked, maybe an hour, maybe more, maybe less. We talked fervently. I reached for each moment, clenched tight, but free flowing. I wanted every moment, every breath, every pain. I moved through this conversation with the ease and grace of the butterfly, and yet with the fluidity of the wind you beat me. You reached the end before I knew I could. The pace was quick, and the sound was quiet, the words you spoke were what I needed, what I hated, what I loved. I kept pace, I searched for a breath, I struggled to finish as gracefully as I began. The whisper moved the hair from my face. The heat hit me, kept me at bay, the tension, the desire. We danced in the shadows and forced moments in the light. The pace was hard and fast, undeterred; yet lacking any real direction, no goal no path straight to follow. I pushed your arms one by one, and felt you soft on my face, warm on my neck and cool at the end of it all. I felt the end, cool in the heat. I finished. I ran. I ran maybe an hour today, maybe more, maybe less.

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the space between what is and what is

admin — Thu, 19 May 2011 04:08:00 +0000

I wrap my head around my imagination and try to find the question to the answer. The imagination deceives me to your thoughts, to your person, to me to all, to the truth; deceives me, shows only all as I see it, I feel it, I believe it. The fluidity that exists between my truth and yours. The space between what is, and what is. The here and the there and the river that we travel. I would cry that river, wring it from my wide eyes, if only I knew how; but my lips bucket the dropplets; joyfully, wofully, mortally. Buckets of tears to shed in a stream to flood my being with all that is. Are there foruntes in my tea leaves and stars to light my way? Can I trust you to trust me, can I trust you to trust me that I trust me, is what I meant to say. Can I swim in the bucket, replensh my self from it’s source, can I consume the doubt in a gulp and choke on faith in a breath? The fluidity of unknowing, gives paradox to the bucket; to drown us in sorrow or replensh us in joy.

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when you see what you want to feel, and feel what you want to see

admin — Fri, 06 May 2011 01:51:46 +0000

Whisper sweet wind, force me to close my eyes and loose my breathe. I am lost to you, a moment in time that escapes me, becomes me, terrifies and rejuvenates. Inspire my everything, allow me to see me through my own eyes, not yours, or anyone else’s, but through my eyes. Allow me to taste the dreams that tempt my aches and desires. Prescribe to me the elixir of relief in the security of my rest, of my giving in to the day and the moment. Do not stifle my progress, but encourage me, comfort me at each stance I take, and stage I face. Allow me the freedom of knowledge and the joys of careless afternoons, lazy breezes and soft sunken couches. Allow the joy of life. I feel no regret. No regret for an evening wasted to the moon and intoxicated rambles, and no regret for a morning wasted to the sheets; and I feel no remorse for not folding the laundry, or allowing the dishes to settle comfortably in the sink tonight, and no concern at deciding to ignore the news. I desire to fulfill my cravings to quench my thirst for the epoch of laughter, the longing to chase the curiosities of my mind, of the world, of another; to hold comfort, not just in my arms, but in my heart. I desire….

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