Food For Thought

A given emotional dilemma of all sorts. short circuit the unbelievable, and make it what it is. to describe what is nothing. to make believe what can never be. a surprising outcome to something so beautiful. contrive, resist, the futility of it all. rushing minds of pedantricity and the resolute never final. save for what? leave me nothing, explain what nothingness is. Absence. all meanderings begin to end. benign thoughts. the uselessness of it all, all the misgivings all the contempt, all the rage all the tears, with all the wishes of this world, nothing what is not, can never be. what is not real, cannot be real. can it? can it? can there really be more that we see? but what is real? strings in a knot, paper in a voluminous book, a speck of dust in some inconspicuous altar of sorts. do i dare to believe the unbelievable, to follow a story with no happy endings? to jump with uncertainty that someone is there to catch my fall. the futility of it all vexes my soul to no end. sever, cut, slash, devastate and regain. delude and reach indulgence. break free of the everyday mundane. Solve me nothing and request what is to be and create from nothing, and fill what was not there before. save me, save me, save me, say that you will. say that there is never-ending love and say happy endings does exist, i want to believe in the unbelievable, i want to break free for the everyday mundane. Tell me selflessness does exist, and i will smile. for there is death in the refusal to believe.

[Sunday, September 21, 2008 at 10:53am]

Apple Cider

Sing a song that i know she cooed, were you aware that the sunshine shines only indarkness though soley through livid expressions? Harbor menace and deliver the final blow--- a smirking success. Ramparts do swing as playgrounds fall prey to unattended children. I saw the panther walk and talk galvanizing some astute behavior of deer-- only seen in near catatonic state the impossible became all the more possible by teh moment. Derive the meaning of these constituents and dance in the flames of inquiry in the form of like little sands of flies swarming about some decaying rotunda. Destitute in nature, the lack of eloquence is harrowing and at best amusing. The strategy of omission is brilliant in life,--yet, evokes feelings of nostalgia and one becomes-- almost willingly-- estranged. Jettisoned from the proper hierarchy its a wonder to know the true intentions of these capricious minds. And all that was said --sagacious in reasoning the thought of an obscure paramour, embellished and trimmed with all the proper sweet nothings as it was. harmless as it was. sweet as it was. determined as it was. For fear has no hold in the bold and the cavalier. Though jaded as she was never did the tiger retract her claws nor did the wolf hide its fangs. In hypnagogic stupor i feigned all the came and delighted surreptitiously-- brazen in all things concerned. The dewy grass is yet more sinful. A notion so harmonious and so peculiar its a wonder how delinquency became so trite. She lives. Walk with me in my garden and i will show you all the places that i would hide. Walk away, was twilight always been so warm?

Inconsistency

Commonality for me, can easily be confused with love and as if reassurance are never too real, consistency of inconsistence is all to prevailing. As if the engagement of the mind is much more than a relation of that of convenience. I confess my flaw, alas it’s true! I act due to convenience and efficiency, productivity, and all other factors that should not be considered at all when looked upon this certainty. The flavor in which one exhumes is sometimes too euphoric to resist. No matter the acidity of its cause. There in the corner, what do you find? A fine petal to where there is neither begging nor end, a ribbon of sorts that cannot be cut nor folded; and never ending as it seems to be. So let it be, let it flow, follow where ever it may lead. For, ultimate transcendence or utter demise, a choice you alone to make which path to follow in this savage garden of sorts. Oh sweet release a rapture only too contrive. Save me nothing, remember? The aroma and odor of a flower is as biting and inviting so sweet as if to meet that of a gait, that of a stare, and that of a smile. NOTHING! Why? Why is it that I cannot think of anything? I value none but my own yes? What is a catalyst of sorts, some prevalent epidemic that causes my mind to soul to delve into a spiraling darkness and into the belly of the beast? A flirt. A flaunt of the dancing flora of this illustrious adamant atrophy. Habitual it seems this preternatural existence that sleeps within me. Haven ward it looks on blank and absent, it seems its eyes. A collective transgression that devolve as it advances. As if a poisonous vine of thorns surround and engulf me to be taken into nowhere. Habitual it seems, as it wreathes, twisting and meandering all around—growing, groaning with in me. In likeness of a moth to a flame.

Why is it that my eyes refuse to tear? I see my demise as clear as it has never been, and here I am, smiling. I smile if through it all everything will happen to it own as if it was to the accordance of fate itself. Such hypocrisy and naïveté is maddening. Always unfinished and incomplete—never willing to dive into the unknown with eyes fully closed.