we are all victims of happenstance;
random acts of violence across the cosmos, especially felt in the microcosms of our daily existence. the mind takes snapshots; pieces of reality. broken apart, learned freedom through fragments of sombre melody, intense feeling - lost in the lack of. feeling good, the universe has bestowed upon me a gift, relatively prolonged supply of tiny little mushroom stems and caps and severing ties with false pretenses, leave only me behind with whatever answers. i'm feelin' rather good leaving behind the known world learning a tiny little more than what i knew before i shall take a tiny snap for the road. i have much to say but i feel rather chained again. see ya later, space cowboy
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bottom of the valley,
arms and legs spread over the ridges breathy whispers blow clouds through growing unevenly, still growing indeed see your seed sprout forward bite through the disbelief reopened wound the silence was better kept me ignorant in bliss they sure weren't lying i turn over and crack my back over the mountains to my side and watch the dawn break over the horizon should've erased my mind long ago what is anything supposed to feel like? to honor our truthfulness, i must confess
i underestimated such wound, flashes of past oh, i've no response to give but twenty-eight peonies and earthly silence - seems to be key, knowing what i know not asking why i know what i know just wishing i knew ignorance selfish, yes; but fair. i learned a thing or two from the Lily of the Valley: tiny precious things, its outline; fragile, tender light, soft come springtime manic manic manic when the paranoia sets what am i left with? just another version of the world to contend with. spring does not last long. how could i ever respond but i suppose these lines will remain open til cemetery weather, ain't it? still weather, no slick whips of leather self-conscious but how does it matter? smell the Lily of the Valley, take it in golden strife. Dramatize like you always do but somehow, dealing with it hasn't been so drama i don't feel so good most days but some days are good and few others we create with others maybe go shopping shoot guns and drink up i want to rest in the valley thing is, there is nothing
but lightness and forgiveness when it comes to you. yes, a little somber and a stinging heart just like before but anger hasn't been a part of the conversation. we're just human with valid feelings and thoughts with our own ways of healing and learning to be. sometimes, on nights like these especially it's just hard not to be kind to you and myself. time and space respect i shut off my table lamp and just lay in bed not as soft as yours and simply lay in my emotions and thoughts yes, i've grown seemingly so much in such little timespan but the upsetting part is just knowing that the heart wants what it wants and my mind just explores places on its own but i've learned to just let it do what it wants to do it's just a journey like always. they're not bad thoughts just finding ways to survive is all, it seems. it's not really that upsetting knowing the heart wants what it wants. this heart is quite greedy, it appears. took a dance with the devil,
hanged from broken ties oh, mori i mori i elven ruins rebuild rusty daggers and rusty hearts strewn about like littered newspapers chaotically layered on the floor to paint the walls and hide the past forgotten and glimpse of memories in passing? was i a green glass ashtray? or more like a cigarette butt discarded after i'd run out, producing too hot of a smoke? uncomfortable burning in your throat? unfortunately for the environment, i do not degrade as time passes by. it would take a decade at the very least if that 'under optimal conditions'. food for thought uncomfortable, sure. seemingly necessary for my ever-questioning mind seeking answers i may never find but sometimes, dispelling those thoughts- quelling, silencing the mind is for the best. i cannot sit still in the same emotion it has felt like i was waiting for something anything to happen like stuck eyes on the clock waiting for the lost hour for something i think i feel like a cigarette butt on the aphalt unluckily, i pulled a lucky on accident lit it up, tobacco end in my mouth tasting nothing but burnt chemicals wondering why it felt like a strange drag why it smelled off-putting i enjoy off-putting people most times they don't mean to be but apparently i've a soft gaze on my face when all along i thought i was the opposite big sighs i do not know why i sought to be the villain in my own life probably not going to buy another pack at least for a couple weeks it was a sad waste of a cigarette pulling a lucky on my second to last one what bad luck but nothing can be chalked up to good or bad luck just the vast indifference of the universe it cares not but we puny little humans do we care very much every so often as in the past i make the same wish on eleven-eleven time went much slower back then now everything is coming and going so quickly not in the good way what else is there worth waiting for? always at eleven-eleven ah, i love American drivers.
the same simpletons swerving between broken white lines (no matter where in this vast, barren country (it's a good thing)) and police vehicles trying to get by a narrow pathway. i pulled to the side to let him pass, then racing down the way to catch some reckless drunk in the sun-setting evening light. quite warm, with windows down: 'i want to thank you for letting me see myself' blaring through my truck's speakers. tenacious thing takes me anywhere and everywhere. loyal to the Chevy. driving through nice neighborhoods, families and their children playing outside in warm spring season. apartment complexes, ritzy houses, manors and large spaces all around. monuments to large gains in capital; those lavish, soulless things. at least the apartments have personalities and spaces for community. no exclusion necessary. seems anywhere but my room is a better place to be. the smell here reminds me of my recent past, shell-shocked, almost. love lost hurts most. reminds me of my father and his threats to leave the country. sometimes, i wish he had. sometimes, i wish i had stayed away when i ran. i had nowhere else to go and no one to turn to, so i came back. makes sense why i am the way i am, the more i think about it. a penchant for death since a very young age, we've been passed down a dark torch, flamed in black. stories told of a wolf standing atop a hill in the villages of Northern Mexico; a black wolf, with glaring red eyes come to take life. stared down my father face to face, growling before wiping his eyes and disappearing as they reopened. an omen, perhaps, before an accident where he had rolled over and wrecked a truck full of people. thankfully, no one died. as i came down the hill, i saw the skyline of the city where so many events and memories remain, gone but not forgotten. film reels of the mind thrown away into the wind, never to be retread again. lessons learned, and life goes on. i'll appreciate my last chances to see that striking view, so close but far enough away from the insanity. for at least a long while. not the end, no, no. still good people there, good people everywhere. but for now, it is not anywhere i would like to be near. i drove down industrial purple night, fading into pitch black boredom reigns. ruling over the empty roads, seldom a soul to be seen. no human presence to be felt. just trees upon trees on hillsides and curves on ancient roads routed through ancient bridges and underpasses. you planted seeds in my heart. my heart's good soil, fertile growing. it spouts out a sapling of something greater, surrounded by our flowers. that too, on a hillside set upon an evening sun, nary a cloud in sight. it had rained for so long in my heart but i must allow sunshine through in order to grow strong and proud. change is uncomfortable, so painful. but growth and changing into a being knowing its worth and set boundaries, so not to be drowned by the rains of my own beating heart. my heart's good soil, it is a good place to settle down and build a home atop solid foundation. i admitted to my therapist, "i went on a drive, smoking a cigarette, the usual. and came to the realization that i am just my father's son. which i understand now, and i'm proud of it, but i am more proud to know that i am a better version of him". to which he responded something like, "that's how it should be, and now your children will be better versions of you and theirs will be better than them, and so on". ending that cycle of familiar generational trauma, something i wish i would have known years prior. i suppose better late than never, i'm quite proud of myself and my progress. i don't think i've ever actually felt that way before on my own. my heart is a fertile soil, from which beautiful life shall sprout. in the spring time of my life, for the first time. rains will come and go. tears and memories will come flooding always, but at least i will still have those forever. my heart is fertile soil and i will grow, grow, grow. in love with the world and this life? no, that's a stretch. there are things missing, but it's a start. then i went to the bank and gave a panhandler a twenty. i hope he spent it on water and food. "god bless you, brother", you too, friend. god bless American drivers. cuts and bruises mark my skin-
warehouse whirring sings. muscle aches, constant joint pains- such self love, i sing. physically torn to pieces- lonesome, still i stand. never truly content with what is (my) potential, constant striving beyond my capabilities. bags under my eyes, i sleep not. not too much, just enough, not to drive off the road, nod off and wake to even more whirs and beeping. still so tired, though i sleep through the night from time to time. peace? no, not so peaceful. i count my words too, may it be enough to fall asleep and survive another life. friends offer me thoughts and prayers, apologies for nothing, really thankful but i require tangibility the people i love and respect most in my life challenge me to challenge myself confront me when need be. everyone needs at least one military friend i converted him to my ideology of political critique into leftist ideals. my pupils grow wider and the world around me will begin to shift change into colors and amplified thoughts and emotion chemical imbalances balanced for a tad while psychedelic release, confrontation of the self the ego the challenge a requirement face the past, present the future not yet to come why worry? the future has not yet come. the now is so important, what is it that you'll do to get by? clearly, writing is the sole release. music is merely a distraction, attempts to occupy mind when all i want to do is exist. can i just exist? "no, you must work hard. you must work even harder, count your syllables, count your damned blessings, breathe and feel that everything and nothing". (no one said this) that cacophony of human sound honkings and whirrings the industrial revolution was man's great mistake. man was God's greater mistake, why breathe life when all man does is squander their greatest potential? seek life, love, foolhardiness. history. accumulation of our knowledge, collective knowledge. why, we seek therapy to learn, better understand, and reinforce the light already burning inside. our hearts and minds, we do know the answer. it's just a matter of building a solid enough foundation to create a solid human bean. flawed, imperfect but enough. i know that i am enough, my only content is in knowing that i am enough. i shall explore more under the influence of a tiny scrap of paper challenge me, challenge me, challenge me truly my greatest enemy is mankind, and myself. love's enough. i watch the moon outside again the stars are bright and perky shiny little things poking through the night purple skies in the distance light pollution's awful but this city is even worse trapped, confined like a tiny, scrappy animal surrounded by liars and stress-inducing people family, friends, the like solitude peace and true quiet, barring the insects chirping through the night and the owls hooting along oh, so peaceful, so peaceful get me away from here and into the silence surround me with nothing but trees nothing but splashing water and crashing waves deafen me, deafening i am already so deaf we laugh about it carve a cliff out of my body i have stood still for years long enough to become stone rock to be eroded and turned into a national park a new wonder of the world i declare myself human i am stone no more i refuse to be eroded by the annals of time i undeclare myself a national park a former wonder of the world i witness the movement of time i witness the greys on my face one at a time, many at a time all of it at once. by god, i am so beautiful that god may not even exist at all. but if He did, that is okay too. i simply exist, of that i know. so to make the best of what i've got of what i've left. king of hearts king of fools a subject to the aztecs non-subject to the spanish subject to love and lovers subject to bullheadedness a subject to ignorance and to wisdom and enlightenment oh, don't take pity on this poor soul this dramatic and emotional poor, poor soul instead give me lightness, love enhance our beings i am no nit, do not speak to me on such assumption based on that of my ability to be the jester someone needs to be the jester i do not make jokes i do not tell jokes nor am i the joke i twist the meanings in the sayings of my compadres and it makes them laugh i relay information they ask, i answer i do my best i am only human i only want to be human no matter how much i desire to be a barn cat i am more than happy to be human and to confront myself more and more the longer i spend breathing and thinking and vomiting thoughts and phrases and as much as i know that i am more than enough and that love is truly enough in the shadows of my heart, i do not always feel enough there is an uncertainty that quakes my entire being. there is no sunny beach there where we stood and dug our feet into the sand and walked along the waters there is no blue ocean there there is only a pit of pitch black discontent discomfort a stupid feeling unable to pinpoint is it my upbringing? is it my tainted bloodline? is it inherited trauma? stupid questions that don't matter so many stupid questions i ask. "for someone so smart, you sure don't use it". i know. my heartbeat grows deeper and pounds faster challenge challenge challenge syllables be damned if this isn't purgatory or a layer of hell then i do not know what is "you sure don't use it". i know. i took a deep breath, i said "i'd rather live a fool's life with my heart on my sleeve, than to use and abuse my 'smartness' in cold, logical fashion". that's no good either, that's not what i've been doing recently. balance, you fool. it is about balance. how did it take you so long to understand this? live with love, and use your mind to best live a life of love in relative stability. in financial security. in a good balance. oh, you beautiful shameless fool. your purity in love and your filthy, disgusting mind. physicality is not enough it does not decide heart and mind does and you know this too. kill off what remains of your shame whatever remains of your guilt anchored in a past you could not control. kill off any inkling of an idea of anything you can control. life has no master, neither does time. neither do people. the only thing you can control is yourself. your mind might run 24/7, your heart might always flutter at the lightness you receive when you go through live pictures you may smile and that's okay "it is okay to not be okay" a history rooted in dichotomies hypocrisies, shame kill it off you set your own history now the past is dead and gone only present remains it contains the seed from which the future grows and it may die as well or it may flourish and sprout forward like the cherry trees blossoming, littering their petals to the ground striking your eye and appreciating the wild winds that caused it to reach your eye. i was the sky today: i wept, i swirled around in the wind and as the fast winds rolled the clouds over i broke through with sunshine and blue skies. who knows what future may hold, maybe he'll release a new song with k dot. and who know what the future may hold, maybe future will change his name. all i know is that i don't know anything and that may be the best way to live. spare my heartbreak, i will kill the shame inside embrace fully my whole being twisted and all a thorny rose a bright orchid i'd give you yours too but i mustn't think of that. when the universe ends and restarts i hope that even the slightest of what i know now will remain. the universe may grow cold but i remain warm, forevermore. especially, it seems. for you too. one morning, under cover of dark
i saw a beautiful cat run across the road to underneath the elevator shaft. i walked toward the building where i worked and 'pss pss pss', i love you. me too, little buddy. me too i'd be a cat and spend some time in the dark with you too. sore arms and calves
so everything, really but hard work rewards itself however it may come i sit outside and smoke nic-nicotine rush conversations of music - they're full steam ahead focused while i don't exert such energy on it. rather, i write. i prefer it. it's easier to expel current thoughts and emotion and plaster them to the wall but rather than painting over it i created a museum to see how far i've come how far i'll go truly, i have only started living a year or two ago really, i've just begun when i didn't necessarily expect to keep breathing for as long as i have. foolish youth and a penchant for death. it awaits. it is okay to be late in the game to bloom as late as i have i sit on the stairs outside and smoke and talk while i slowly appreciate and enjoy my coffee spring has come and the flowers and the trees bloom with beauty, tiny colorful buds sprouting from sleeping branches that's me. sunlight is nice but i prefer the rains of cloudy days to contrast my beautiful blooming self. i sit among the flowers as the king of hearts and playful squirrels as my free roaming subjects. solidaridad entre los trabajadores.
una vida para reir, a trabajar con gusto. para estar, para sentir. para perdernos en amor. las tierras mexicanas nuestras, la estabilidad financia ahora llega por mi familia. nuestra tierras. que sería estar en paz? i once had a dream many years ago, i wrote a piece relating to the middle of nowhere amongst fields of wheat, where nobody knew my name. where i couldn't be reached for miles and miles and miles on end. living true to myself, to the ancient life set before me by my ancestors to listen to the peace in the winds. a gentle fluttering of the leaves and the trees, soft sonic pleasures to my hearing impaired ears. "i went to the middle of nowhere and nobody knew you", they'll say. exactly the point. i am going to find myself by the cobblestone street by the river, staring into reflections on the water and feel its fresh, strong breeze. start small, exist, continue to heal. life set such experiences before us, to learn and improve. one of many human traits, that is, perseverance. i grip the weight and slowly raise it. feeling the burn in my body, slight ember come aflame, soft light. repeatedly tear the strands of muscle over and over and over again until i am reborn anew. we all decide for ourselves, so i decide my own fate. for now, that is just being and building up my ancient ruins back into a blossoming fortress, before the Spanish came. i am both, dichotomy and one-sidedness. honest, yet full of contradiction. confusion and clear-mindedness. indeed, at least i am learning to be at peace with the world. as violent and unstable as it is, it is my responsibility to maintain my stability. i've never chosen violence outside of self-defence or against myself, it is not so good. but so far so good. yes, i am empty inside, lacking something. wholeness can be achieved by oneself, but there will always be something lacking without love. i am a broken record, i skip seconds and perhaps repeat the same tune over and over and over again. looped, but that's okay. i enjoy much of it. breaking out of patterns and learning, bending and remolding the record, not being so warped. there's still much left to complete my fortress, but i'll keep stacking those bricks, putting up the windows and the doors, and create a calm space in both yards, complete with a swinging chair set facing the fields. (west of the fields) to enjoy dusk and dawn, so that by the end, i can put on the Doors and enjoy the fruits of my labor. sigh sigh sigh, the fruits of labor should be enjoyed in the company of love. what a broken record; such a thing to mend. "i went to the middle of nowhere, and you knew yourself". i already know myself, exactly the point. |
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