Monday, May 1, 2017

ALT 3

AwfullyLittleToes

ALT 2

AbstractLandmarkThoughts

ALT 1

AlwaysLivingThings

CTRL 11

ConscientiousTreason(or)RealLife?

CTRL 10

CallousedThumbs(and)RestlessLegs

Why?

Why am I different?

Is it because I'm the third of three?  Is it because I do everything I can to be alone as me?  Is it because I live in the 21st Century?  Or perhaps it's because this western hemisphere has got a tight grip on me.  Could it be early childhood trauma?  Could it be the soil that I've buried my roots in?  Maybe a combination of thorns and petals?  Could it be a blender of culture, religion, and psychology?  Maybe I'm who I am because of who I am and in that way the answer to the question is found within the question itself..

If you want to hear the stories my brain's been drawing, please tell wake it up and give it a pencil in time.  Now that I'm awake the words are asleep (again).

Fading colors feel like forced fiction.

Sunday, April 9, 2017

I hope this isn't all they give you

Is anybody out there?  Will somebody listen?  It's a song with passion.  It's a laugh with a sting.  I awake and you're not there.  Every time we talk in my mind you're there and though it's like something from a dream, we're living beyond the clouds.  You and I have a triangles between us and the strings that tie us together don't let me go any farther than the slack you've built up.  I can hold hands and I can read pages between glowing phases but then I just fall asleep again.

On my way here I saw the signs.  There were crows, ravens, and the bones of long forgotten felines on the path.  The signs and symbols burned holes through my skull and I assumed I could just hold my breath for four years and not fall faint.  The cemeteries littered the side of the road where dust and sand made the perfect potion thought to cure all pride and turn a blind eye to every prejudice.  When the tumbleweeds and armadillos made way for white-painted suburbs and cul-de-sacs built with stained glass fa├žades, my imagination took ahold of me.  Maybe this won't be the death foretold in me.

Why didn't I listen to the signs?  Is it because one's eyes can only see the sights?  I cannot listen through these sockets in my face impeded by optical intrusions.  I saw everything so clearly and I just wanted to start a new adventure so that I could continue my current adventure with new credentials and an increased skill set.  Why did I leave the fertile ground for a library?  Indeed I do enjoy reading and have had ample chances to fill every nook within my ears, but I'm not sure all of these were meant to be filled.  Or perhaps not in this manner or with this substance.

I'll just fall asleep again and if you pass by me you won't even notice.  You'll see me laying here like a whispered vapor that's somehow nearby but still feels farther than it is.  I'll fall asleep again and you won't know what it's like to be awake with me, but after all you never have.