Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Could've been anyone
Ambling past the corner where Saturday night events are stapled in bright hues to wooden panels, meets a building that uses the smokescreen of "condemned" to harbor unfinished business with the mirth of resilient residents, my gaze brushes past the mural. My heart is drawn to it, far more than my eyes, which are now stretching as far to the right as possible to avoid the brilliant colors, flaking off in old age. Limbs of softly painted branches curve around scenes of each season. I remember stopping there and eyeing the entire artwork from top to bottom. It had been warm and exciting. I had peeled away a strip of white paint and remarked that I could draw on it. I withdrew my black sharpie from the side pocket of my jeans and held it out in front of me, relinquishing my sword to its rightful place. Black ink absorbed the strip, curving lines like the acrylic trees. We had to keep going though, so I carried it with us, accumulating a pile of scavenged items as I so often did on these walks. I remember that your interest in the mural extended as far as a quick glance at the sunsets and winter scenery. You were content to stand there behind me though, as I took it all in. You could've been anyone in that respect. But at times when I find myself sitting on the leather bound stool, snapping my wrist against the edge of the rosewood and plucking the curled iron, I wish it were you that sat opposite me, fingering complimentary melodies. It's terribly futile to think of these things now, so my eyes won and guided the rest of me back to the concrete slabs, stacked one in front of the other, stretching farther than I cared to see.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Winter
"The whole world is a narrow bridge; the important thing is not to be afraid."
Sometimes fortune cookies can give decent advice.
The cold was bearable because my thoughts were consumed with warmth. Wooden planks supporting lazy admiration. I walk by them sometimes, and sometimes there's a momentary unsettling feeling. I don't want to be entangled in your tourniquet and feel inclined to speak in monosyllables. I want to feel the railing in my grip, leaning far over the bridge. While watching cars pass by frantically, I thought it wasn't right. I thought that it wouldn't last much longer and that I would have to walk away. The attachment was never very consistently congruent, though I'm not sure you were even aware. There were times that I practiced my speech aloud in front of my reflection, but then I would imagine the surprise in your eyebrows and frown in your lips. I'm not prepared to go on like this. Nothing that is impermanent is perfect, but, do you miss the snow? Do you miss the warmth in the cold? There are things I'd do differently, and maybe you would be one of them, I can't tell for sure. Perhaps this is arbitrary and a course of bad judgment, seeing as how his flower in my hair, a nickname in his voice and his arms wrapped around my back ought to convince me that memories are better left alone, shoved in the blue box beneath my bed with all the others. And lying there under the shade of the tree on a sunny afternoon in early summertime, across from young love and next to an eager affection, musing lyrical bliss, I feel at ease. I feel complete and content. I don't think of the cold, I think of the rope hanging quietly on the branch above me. It's odd, this mixture of conflicting sentiments.
Sometimes fortune cookies can give decent advice.
The cold was bearable because my thoughts were consumed with warmth. Wooden planks supporting lazy admiration. I walk by them sometimes, and sometimes there's a momentary unsettling feeling. I don't want to be entangled in your tourniquet and feel inclined to speak in monosyllables. I want to feel the railing in my grip, leaning far over the bridge. While watching cars pass by frantically, I thought it wasn't right. I thought that it wouldn't last much longer and that I would have to walk away. The attachment was never very consistently congruent, though I'm not sure you were even aware. There were times that I practiced my speech aloud in front of my reflection, but then I would imagine the surprise in your eyebrows and frown in your lips. I'm not prepared to go on like this. Nothing that is impermanent is perfect, but, do you miss the snow? Do you miss the warmth in the cold? There are things I'd do differently, and maybe you would be one of them, I can't tell for sure. Perhaps this is arbitrary and a course of bad judgment, seeing as how his flower in my hair, a nickname in his voice and his arms wrapped around my back ought to convince me that memories are better left alone, shoved in the blue box beneath my bed with all the others. And lying there under the shade of the tree on a sunny afternoon in early summertime, across from young love and next to an eager affection, musing lyrical bliss, I feel at ease. I feel complete and content. I don't think of the cold, I think of the rope hanging quietly on the branch above me. It's odd, this mixture of conflicting sentiments.
Monday, June 18, 2012
What a lovely daughter
We write to identify ourselves, we hold our bodies close to deflect insecurities, we live sheltered lives in a cage where our daily schedules are designed to keep us occupied and docile like watching a flashing television screen.
There's more out there, did you know? There's a whole civilization beyond the mountains and across the sea, they appear to be the last of the free.
We don't know true freedom here. We know how to be subservient hard workers, constantly taking orders in order to feel some sense of self worth and recognition.
They tell you that you've been crammed into this battlefield along with the rest of us, so that you can get an education like previous generations couldn't. They tell you that one day, you'll get a job that supports all of your needs and wants and that you'll rest easy in your old age. They tell you that you'll find a nice member of the opposite sex to fall in love with and have 2.5 children with in a nice suburban home in a nice school district, with a white picket fence, as mandated by the HOA. And they'll never mention that this is not freedom, they'll never mention that you'll always be hungry for more.
They'll never tell you that you don't need to go to school to learn. They'll never tell you that you're worth something if you don't go to college and get a job. They'll never say that you're a valuable member of society if you don't have a home that they made for you. They'll never tell you that being in love is not for everyone. They'll never tell you that being alone is okay. They'll never tell you that walking around by yourself in a crowded town, just to observe life as it is, is productive. They'll never say that living in modern society with a supposedly "democratic" system, still means that your thoughts, actions, decisions and lifestyle won't be a product simply of you.
They're not going to tell you that fighting in a war is a deathtrap and you shouldn't put one's life in danger nor innocent civilians, they'll tell you that you're serving the country. They'll tell you that it's an honor, a privilege, that you owe it to society.
You don't owe anybody shit.
You are as free as you want to be. Bike where the road takes you, sleep where nature gives you shelter, sleep from sunset to sunrise, grow a garden and become vegan, read all the books that you can, live outside of the system and take no benefits from it.
If you want to.
Make your own decision, nobody else can. Do not fear the unknown, or it will always hold you back.
There's more out there, did you know? There's a whole civilization beyond the mountains and across the sea, they appear to be the last of the free.
We don't know true freedom here. We know how to be subservient hard workers, constantly taking orders in order to feel some sense of self worth and recognition.
They tell you that you've been crammed into this battlefield along with the rest of us, so that you can get an education like previous generations couldn't. They tell you that one day, you'll get a job that supports all of your needs and wants and that you'll rest easy in your old age. They tell you that you'll find a nice member of the opposite sex to fall in love with and have 2.5 children with in a nice suburban home in a nice school district, with a white picket fence, as mandated by the HOA. And they'll never mention that this is not freedom, they'll never mention that you'll always be hungry for more.
They'll never tell you that you don't need to go to school to learn. They'll never tell you that you're worth something if you don't go to college and get a job. They'll never say that you're a valuable member of society if you don't have a home that they made for you. They'll never tell you that being in love is not for everyone. They'll never tell you that being alone is okay. They'll never tell you that walking around by yourself in a crowded town, just to observe life as it is, is productive. They'll never say that living in modern society with a supposedly "democratic" system, still means that your thoughts, actions, decisions and lifestyle won't be a product simply of you.
They're not going to tell you that fighting in a war is a deathtrap and you shouldn't put one's life in danger nor innocent civilians, they'll tell you that you're serving the country. They'll tell you that it's an honor, a privilege, that you owe it to society.
You don't owe anybody shit.
You are as free as you want to be. Bike where the road takes you, sleep where nature gives you shelter, sleep from sunset to sunrise, grow a garden and become vegan, read all the books that you can, live outside of the system and take no benefits from it.
If you want to.
Make your own decision, nobody else can. Do not fear the unknown, or it will always hold you back.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Like Water
He stirs from his slumber, dropping the weight of his body to graze the aging carpet below him. Cool air bombards his bare skin as he spreads a thick layer of cotton across his shoulders, wrapping either side against his chest, burying his thin hands deep into the pockets as he lets out a low, unsettling sigh. "The snow has turned gray today." he observes with a wrinkle of his pointed nose. Uncomfortably, he shifts from left foot to right and sighs again. His soft blue eyes swing about the barren room like a wrecking ball, aimlessly tossing its mass in every direction. His gaze settles on wooden pipe that had seen many generations of men too distraught to resist another warm inhale. He looks past it and crawls back into the depressing comfort of his bed, folding layers of sheets and blankets against his shivering body. Feeling his eyelids pour over his pupils like a liquid screen dimming the intimidatingly white walls to a safe black, he sighs once more and surrenders his conscious mind to dreams that might soothe him.
god i hate children.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
My Apologies
this is going to be stupid. (and edited)
the more i read over it, the stupider it became.
the more i read over it, the stupider it became.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
The Wind
It carries the petals raging against the storm.
They are beyond the command of the soil and the pathway ahead is rapidly tumbling in a mass of pebbles and dirt.
You would think that naivety and immaturity would come to pass with youth, but certainly this is not always the case. You would think that having a spine means it wouldn't be kept collecting dust in the closet.
What happened to direction? Why is that as soon as everything's so independently stable, the slightest of feathers could knock everything to the ground? What gives it the right to have such power? Does it have as much power as it does perhaps, because we give it such? Why is it so hard to resist?
Why do I give you the comfort of familiarity? You don't deserve it. Why do I let you control so much? Why are you the only thing that brings about this disgusting and shameful sense of weakness?
You weren't here the whole time, you don't know me.
They are beyond the command of the soil and the pathway ahead is rapidly tumbling in a mass of pebbles and dirt.
You would think that naivety and immaturity would come to pass with youth, but certainly this is not always the case. You would think that having a spine means it wouldn't be kept collecting dust in the closet.
What happened to direction? Why is that as soon as everything's so independently stable, the slightest of feathers could knock everything to the ground? What gives it the right to have such power? Does it have as much power as it does perhaps, because we give it such? Why is it so hard to resist?
Why do I give you the comfort of familiarity? You don't deserve it. Why do I let you control so much? Why are you the only thing that brings about this disgusting and shameful sense of weakness?
You weren't here the whole time, you don't know me.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
For Frodo!
I've come to the conclusion, that the only way to truly live is to live selflessly. Not to get weighed down with attachment or personal needs and wants, but to give the entirety of oneself to the greater good, to a world of peace and justice and humanity. It is with the power of hope and courage, that man does not fail. Love for all beings is much greater than the grief for all that is the product of man's decline. It is my intention to die for something far greater than myself, to rest knowing that there is peace upon this earth, and that my journey does not end with my own ashes. And I will not rest until this can be realized.
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