segment from my journal..

While working at the mall today, actually right now... I see this couple, to juxtapose the couple, in the gar they have on. He in sweats, her dressed up so very cute... all matching, make up and hair perfected from what must of been a long morning in the mirror. She's not into the moment of things though... she is somewhere else in her mind. He doesn't notice such, he is eating general tso's chicken from the restaurant down the way. Drinking his pepsi soda as she drinks her water and drifts off more and more... Her hopes to be in love palpable...

These feelings grow stronger for her as a couple say hello, this couple all clingy and matching each other... They appear to be a new couple or at least still have some flame between them. She gazed at them fondly as though that's what she wants... then peered back to her boyfriend wondering why are we not the same? but gives into this is what she has, so she shouldn't argue or push against the grain. I don't know why she sticks with it, but I'm preaching to the choir here. I've done this exact same thing. I've been there; in complacency or some deeper push of trying to make it work. Pushing through and closing off to what matters only works, for so long. She thinks no one notices, but oh they do and I do. I feel for her... I've been on each side of such a debacle. More times the dude I see, but self-conscious and never in sweats.

passing thoughts... Whilst at work.

'suffering'

"All artists are willing to suffer for their work. But why are so few prepared to learn to draw?", Banksy.

The path to the cross is suffering, the end is death. How will we leave this labyrinth of suffer? Perhaps, heaven? Not quite sure anymore, but perhaps even it's the peace or joy in the labyrinth.

What shall we learn? Yes, we suffer indeed. But why not pick up some sort of talent? Learn to play music, knit, draw, etc. Kafka suffered, Plath depression, Tolstoy, depressed through his own pursuits... Great writers but they created from despair for muse, like Kierkegaard. When that eternal despair wilted, so did the muse... perhaps I don't know anything. I'm just the same anyhow, less structured and I use more stencils (quotes.)

thought continues...

'the race'

Is a race really a term of endearment or proper analogy for life? Biblically a good term for hope and despair in the cross, taking the burden of the cross. Socially, not as much by the tagging term, "rat race" life isn't a race to be won, who really wins in the end? It's like the end of an eating contest, there is no winner... In the bathroom context so to speak, the full circle of such an event.

Even then, all allegories have there issues, Tolstoys allegory in the well or the labyrinth, where is hope? Perhaps it fits on the context of our suffering itself and the juxtaposition to each event. Forever paradoxical, not just a lexical gap for the issue but a black-hole in our understanding not even light can escape. Time and space is altered to it's (The black-holes entity) and not our own, the damn Thou not the I's/it's perception...

If success is counted sweetest to those who ne'er succeed then it's not the race, but the journey? "so not all who wander are lost" but just seeking? Seeking what? I have no answer... guess I'll just enjoy being lost. Whenever I find myself thinking I'm right on an issue, I learn later and very roughly that I am so very wrong.

no(a)ught everything.

Splatter & Splash
I'm in this shadow you cast
Far and Beyond.
Don't mind; combust if I must...

Flames, burning twirling brightly graffitiing skylines
feeding the auroras ; Borealis to Australis
Grasped still by shadows cast
splishing and splashing about.

Ought naught fight expectations set
for nought is all returned.
bending breaking the withering tree,
what that was, was never me.

_____________________________________

'Theos'

Despite the inquiry of such, I depart
Depart from these weary lands
filled with anguish traversing paths
questioning of which, depths of Faith

No longer warm, no longer sought
out of sight from peaks above.
Disbarred from joy; pry these lips from upon this alter
Reap from which you sow no more.

Vast the distance, silent the path
Destruction awaits. peer in my soul...
gazing down the barrel
how bitter and colds this night.

really rough part of the story

I wasn't quite sure what to do nor was I quite sure of where to go. It was just a cold dark aimless passage and where ever it so happened I chose to go, would I suppose far better then the current situation. Meeting her was as spontaneousness as it gets... A million different things happening, but I was nowhere except in the current state of things. I don't have any clue where she has went off to. No idea of how to locate a girl that can appear and disappear with the wind. That's the draw in it, the mystic, the adventure, the allure of not knowing what the hell is going on form one moment to the next. Even amidst the chaos of it all black clothes to the sneaking around night after night, trying to not get caught... there was a peace like the eye of a hurricane. All destruction and anarchy while in the center stands a sole few entities admiring the view around em'. Terrified, but in awe standing... there we are at that point, was her and I, breathing heaving from running from roof-top to roof-top... hoping over and ducking under all that comes in the way leaving a little mark, a tiny piece of mystery to passerby. Forever curious or apathetic to who or what left a little calling card, unaware to the peace amongst the grander chaos that was truly happening. While I should of had more on my mind then ever, I was just feeling the moment... and how I loved it!

She had an brutally honest with quite a bit of tact and left me baffled intellectually... but emotionally thrilled. If I was Sisyphus, I had finished and made it to the top but as soon as my mind caught up. I was back to the bottom of the hill to start all over again.

She was

The many days you'd hoped and prayed
and there you stayed; until today.
the windy city and north country blues
seen far beyond the skyline; into deep infinity
for there, was a true love of mine.

indeed, down the way... she may be gone.
I still defy the stars.
I fucked up long ago; tripped up in my trap.
You may see her on the trapeze artists road, Cadillac parked in.
for there she is,

two worlds in shots frame.
beating hearts, pacing minds, running the race...
down beat paths, laden disasters hiding away...
pounding, hitting, slapping, clawing out into frame...

but when all is said and done.
And if's and but's were candies and nuts...
wouldn't give no shits anyhow.
So trolley come on up, wasn't homeward bound anyhow.

On through

meandering, pandering along the road
from shooting star to rising sun.
passionate bursts in direction sought
into set breezes passin'

encompassing madness
prudent sense of indiscretions.
laden path set indolence
in the course of time perhaps idiotic

live recklessly young
much seen with keen eyes
Gin filled grin, from the top window in
Chaotic in flight; one to the next

this copper-eyed angel seen from afar
waving on high, to gatherers below.
This copper-eyed misery
pan-handling on-lookers; (grace)

madness flows like a stream
never ending, righteousness
holds up like a
never shaking mountain

interchanging gospel lenses
drifting towards insanity
madmen raging yelling crowing screeching
hopelessly preaching;

lending single lenses
Truth of truths, beyond all measure
socially inept, physically stature.
in the shadows Romanesque manor.

Rough around edges
Kierkegaard's withering ironic eternal flower.
Love for all it's worth
finding haystacks among the needles.

All the intently derived narratives,
vacantly speaking forward in time.
intensity high, the end is nigh.
Now gazing out, pondering so.

Rooftop of America

Beats in measures,
with prose and cons.
The draping curtains;
in light of orangish/blues,
falling around curves.
Peering down the mountain tops.

Flowing peaks of Colorado
orange/purple rooftops to the smooth grasslands.
searching the towering pillars
from top to bottoms, I've looked.
Keeping each measure,
on the rooftop of america.

-----------------------------
Rough around edges
Kierkegaard's withering eternal flowers.
Love for all it's worth
pulling hay among the needles.

colossal storm

Ponder the raging storm
what was and is to come
still calm center standing,
eying back deeply staring
inside, out this harsh dark night;
translucent in this gazing view

In the colossals sight
She's dimly dying
back to dust of which we came
tranquil colours; of lofty settings
towering down beyond high waters.
precipitations bound to fall

wishbone snapped
no luck in short ends
meek and bleak this colossus tears.
discomforting perception
caught in self-deception
of what was and is to come

peering insight
some twenty odd years.
A colossus grew
amongst the storm.
pieces laden; distraught
the maiden, aimless is she.