I worked all day after waking up, finally at 6:45am this morning. Seeing how it's 11:37pm now, I felt the need for reflection.
Shitty Monday morning started early in the form of mishandled agendas.
By sleeping in, I no doubt wasted time and set my day up for failure.
Morning seems, undeniably the shape which molds the day.
The morning is far to easily upsetted before breakfast.
Ill tempered, no nonsense having, get outa my way types of Monday mornings.
I just seem to get in the way of.
I left my shoes stranded at home. Cursed myself to motorcycle boots and business slacks.
Which certainly will not do.
For some reason, that's frowned upon here in America.
I'm sure that sorts thing flies where your from, but not here. No dice.
So I rode west. Hell of a decision that was. Grabbed some dress boots from the store, went back to work and changed again.
Just in time to drink my coffee while it was still warm.
Coffee I went brilliantly out of my way to get. Sacrificed being on time for. Just to ensure a "DECENT" cup of coffee and a muffin.
I admit, there is no food in my home.
I should buy some grub for those empty cupboards.
The shelves are all bare. And winters chill is all about the air. For 33 weeks now.
But, no man dare speak or care.
Monday, June 25, 2012
The art of smelly
What do you do when there is nothing left to say? Paint?
Better yet, write? At least there is a thought, a will, to make marks, signs in the dirt.
Ink into clouds,
Words into feelings, feelings to remember.
Like a nose remembers a scent.
Maybe we should combine scent with art.
The art of scent.
A gallery of immensely preposterous sights, sounds and scents.
I can see it now.
Genius I know.
I can't stand myself, naturally.
It's disgusting. Who even talks like that?
Better yet, write? At least there is a thought, a will, to make marks, signs in the dirt.
Ink into clouds,
Words into feelings, feelings to remember.
Like a nose remembers a scent.
Maybe we should combine scent with art.
The art of scent.
A gallery of immensely preposterous sights, sounds and scents.
I can see it now.
Genius I know.
I can't stand myself, naturally.
It's disgusting. Who even talks like that?
For violent I
My thoughts at night
Branch out, branches on trees.
Growing through sunlight.
They walk and talk,
Confess and regress.
Intercepting waves of thought that get caught on que, preview a new, time I knew inside my face, I view, then erase.
Branch out, branches on trees.
Growing through sunlight.
They walk and talk,
Confess and regress.
Intercepting waves of thought that get caught on que, preview a new, time I knew inside my face, I view, then erase.
Over the hills not far away
The breeze flows through the branches of trees as the kids run by, dragging their sticks across the wood fence planks.
Sunny warmth through clouds and cold dark shadows mire about, winters last remaining hideouts that linger longer in the suns absence.
"you can't see it because of the mountain, but it's there."
She said, pointing west, towards range blocking our view of the suns slow decent into the sea. Where I'm sure it's greeted well.
"you ever been up there?"
He asked as his finger elongated toward the ways tower. At the top of what is known as rattle snake mountain.
"no, what's up there?"
She said to him as his feet took off in that direction.
Sunny warmth through clouds and cold dark shadows mire about, winters last remaining hideouts that linger longer in the suns absence.
"you can't see it because of the mountain, but it's there."
She said, pointing west, towards range blocking our view of the suns slow decent into the sea. Where I'm sure it's greeted well.
"you ever been up there?"
He asked as his finger elongated toward the ways tower. At the top of what is known as rattle snake mountain.
"no, what's up there?"
She said to him as his feet took off in that direction.
My dead aunts diary
The day I received my wings was the day I fell from grace.
Pissin in the wind, blowing right back in my face.
And here I sit,
Burnt, blackened, beaten down.
Cutting off my strings,
Burying this crown.
Resisting all I see,
This silent tragedy.
These carnivals of joy,
We're not once made for me.
Into the ground I lay my thoughts.
At night, to rise, when given forth the sound.
Pissin in the wind, blowing right back in my face.
And here I sit,
Burnt, blackened, beaten down.
Cutting off my strings,
Burying this crown.
Resisting all I see,
This silent tragedy.
These carnivals of joy,
We're not once made for me.
Into the ground I lay my thoughts.
At night, to rise, when given forth the sound.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
I see
If fortune favors the brave, what favors cowards?
I have known the bravest men and death surely followed. My Latin may be a bit off. Although, It's not around to defend itself.
Square one.
Everything known is shrouded in the unknown and moving freely through it. So the mind thinks.
In this world, all is possible and impossible. Infinite possibility splays itself across the horizon in heart warming colors at the end of a day.
A man walks slowly down the boulevard at dusk toward the end of town. Two lovers kiss by the grand fountain in the park. A nest of song birds are quieted by their mothers feeding. For a moment, time freezes. If you stare at the setting sun, you see a frozen fire at the snowy tips of Mt. Kilimanjaro, where another man has scaled towards the heavens to speak with god.
I flick my pen and the gears shake, the seconds resume their march and age once again, draws lines on our skin and strips the keratin from our hair.
In this world, life is a series of fragmented memories shared by an empty audience.
At dinner, they talk of war and peace, life and love and the continual duality that is seen. There is black holding hands with white and color is an old friend that shipped out to see, many generations before. Children play in the streets while their mothers shop at the market for supplies. Everything is accompanied by its opposite and every reaction has an alternative reaction.
A man sits down for dinner at the table. His meal ready in every color and the absence of color. A framed photo of a beautiful young woman next to his glass. Instead of eating he weeps, then laughs, then weeps again, until his food is eaten and thrown away.
Across the plains and through the ancient trails, 4 men that are one, adventure to a crypt, in a forest with little white to guide them.
There they find a tomb with a heavy concrete lid marked with writing so dark it's unreadable. They remove the lid with much effort.
In this world, color was buried like an old friend. While time held them and kept life noir.
The 4 become one again and he lays lips on what seems to be the woman from the photo.
The next day, the sun rises yellow.
The adventurer does not rise again.
These worlds are one in the same.
Both seen and unseen. The lines are vague while their borders broad.
It is only a matter of the seen and what is unseen.
I have known the bravest men and death surely followed. My Latin may be a bit off. Although, It's not around to defend itself.
Square one.
Everything known is shrouded in the unknown and moving freely through it. So the mind thinks.
In this world, all is possible and impossible. Infinite possibility splays itself across the horizon in heart warming colors at the end of a day.
A man walks slowly down the boulevard at dusk toward the end of town. Two lovers kiss by the grand fountain in the park. A nest of song birds are quieted by their mothers feeding. For a moment, time freezes. If you stare at the setting sun, you see a frozen fire at the snowy tips of Mt. Kilimanjaro, where another man has scaled towards the heavens to speak with god.
I flick my pen and the gears shake, the seconds resume their march and age once again, draws lines on our skin and strips the keratin from our hair.
In this world, life is a series of fragmented memories shared by an empty audience.
At dinner, they talk of war and peace, life and love and the continual duality that is seen. There is black holding hands with white and color is an old friend that shipped out to see, many generations before. Children play in the streets while their mothers shop at the market for supplies. Everything is accompanied by its opposite and every reaction has an alternative reaction.
A man sits down for dinner at the table. His meal ready in every color and the absence of color. A framed photo of a beautiful young woman next to his glass. Instead of eating he weeps, then laughs, then weeps again, until his food is eaten and thrown away.
Across the plains and through the ancient trails, 4 men that are one, adventure to a crypt, in a forest with little white to guide them.
There they find a tomb with a heavy concrete lid marked with writing so dark it's unreadable. They remove the lid with much effort.
In this world, color was buried like an old friend. While time held them and kept life noir.
The 4 become one again and he lays lips on what seems to be the woman from the photo.
The next day, the sun rises yellow.
The adventurer does not rise again.
These worlds are one in the same.
Both seen and unseen. The lines are vague while their borders broad.
It is only a matter of the seen and what is unseen.
Lone
You called while I was mid shame, hanging my head and strumming the Avett's.
Blame, please lift it off.
The timing of your digital voice uncanny.
I forgive all. I don't even care anymore. Its all very petty and unnecessary.
The only hurt I hold onto is shame of knowing I caused you harm.
There was a time not long ago when I knew two lovers who could finish each others sentences simultaneously as ALL THE SIGNS sped by, noted. They laughed a lot but when it fell apart, it felt much worse than a million hearts, breaking up all at once.
The good still outweighs the bad, I never wanted to make you sad.
Now I get to feel all that pain.
To say i'm stupid wouldn't be a lie. I'm selfish, childish and full of pride.
So much so, now I get to say goodbye, to the person I once was.
Id cut my heart and give to you, a bloody mess all on your shoe, of the person that you once loved.
You were all I had and all I ever wanted.
I was the worlds luckiest man.
Like a lottery winner, I spent my money in a hurry and left myself with nothing.
All for what?
I did my best. I am only a man and far from perfect.
You will love me or you will not.
Loved, regardless, you will always be.
I am destined for lonely dark roads. Cold winds and sad songs.
The blues and colors that know no happiness.
Empty places and long stretch's of road.
Dances with the stars and walks when no one is looking.
I was made to be a living ghost.
So I will haunt the corners of buildings and the far below.
The sound of hollow foot steps will guide me home.
I will make my bed in a tall tree and live off its leaves.
A cave transforms into a dwelling fit for a shade.
And a letter you will get everyday.
Blame, please lift it off.
The timing of your digital voice uncanny.
I forgive all. I don't even care anymore. Its all very petty and unnecessary.
The only hurt I hold onto is shame of knowing I caused you harm.
There was a time not long ago when I knew two lovers who could finish each others sentences simultaneously as ALL THE SIGNS sped by, noted. They laughed a lot but when it fell apart, it felt much worse than a million hearts, breaking up all at once.
The good still outweighs the bad, I never wanted to make you sad.
Now I get to feel all that pain.
To say i'm stupid wouldn't be a lie. I'm selfish, childish and full of pride.
So much so, now I get to say goodbye, to the person I once was.
Id cut my heart and give to you, a bloody mess all on your shoe, of the person that you once loved.
You were all I had and all I ever wanted.
I was the worlds luckiest man.
Like a lottery winner, I spent my money in a hurry and left myself with nothing.
All for what?
I did my best. I am only a man and far from perfect.
You will love me or you will not.
Loved, regardless, you will always be.
I am destined for lonely dark roads. Cold winds and sad songs.
The blues and colors that know no happiness.
Empty places and long stretch's of road.
Dances with the stars and walks when no one is looking.
I was made to be a living ghost.
So I will haunt the corners of buildings and the far below.
The sound of hollow foot steps will guide me home.
I will make my bed in a tall tree and live off its leaves.
A cave transforms into a dwelling fit for a shade.
And a letter you will get everyday.
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