The Darkness

Under the cover of night and many dark shadows we go out into the world as the nocturnal animals our habits have created us to be. The clanking silverware against the clay plates sent chills up your spine. You were quiet, holding your peace for a few moments more, then unleashed.

The dishes were cleaned, the apartment was vacuumed. I took out the trash, you made the bed. You locked up while I fetched the car. Two blocks down and to the left, three flights up and on the right. We drove miles away and with each mile, buried our past. I did not argue any longer. I had no energy. I did not know. I was blinded by naivety as you knew.

As I fall asleep I see our hide-out on Lamar. It's not far, but enough for you to get your mind off the people that hold you back. There's a psychedelic Jimi hovering over as you order the same as many times before. All I do is watch and smile. All I can do is watch and smile. The table between us is hardly what stops me. Your fear of others opinions pushes my back roughly up against the vintage 70's pleather. I am pinned by your vigilant thoughts of those around us.

Blind. We talk, we jest, we make it a pleasant moment for a difficult situation. I kiss you on your soft sensual lips and tear myself apart from you, leaving just a frayed edge. You retreat back to your forest of concrete and steel, the wolves are waiting. I leave but am alone. I am in darkness and alone.

Deliverance

[---] is whoever you want him to be, because apparently being me isn't neat. I don't know you. I don't know me. But every time I try, I get beat.

I want to be free, I want to be free, I want to be free.

But the words don't place themselves and the motions don't take control.

Society is cruel indeed. Love and trees are all I need.

Love love love and trees are all I need.

Keep me rooted in the organic, keep me far away from the panic.

All I need from you is to be my little growing liberty seed.

Love

The most universal language. It is spoken in every continent, beautiful in every form. Yet so few individuals succeed to articulate.

Love is a lost tongue in a fast world. It takes a slow tongue to speak to the world.

Until we learn to speak with clarity, I shall pray for our posterity.

I Thought About What You Said

I've decided to leave it all behind, as a testament. I will still capture these moments in life for history, as you said we are to do, I will just do it with other tools.

I am leaving this behind to show that this is not being done selfishly. It is being done as everyone has a time to move and a time to settle. Inside you will find many hidden and well kept secrets. Some will be secret gardens, others will be limbo. I am who I am.

I have scars and I have beauty marks, all imperfections, all perceived differently. I ask that you listen for a moment. Explore what I have left for you to find. I hope you find much more than what you see.

Wants and Needs

As it is clearly known, wants and needs are broadly different. 

However, sometimes I feel that my wants often become my needs... or at least provide the essentials for my needs. But now that I think of it... what defines a need?

Then - it was food, shelter, and companionship.

Now - not much has changed.

Often times we forget our most crucial needs... which are our mental necessities. We must feel that we are in control of our minds, that we have self-esteem, that we are loved, and that we, both physically and mentally, feel safe.

I really don't know where I'm going with this... but I guess if all those needs are met by something that I want then... I should really get that thing. Ok then, it's settled... I'm getting a motorcycle, iPhone, tattoo, Into the Wild, and Fight Club. Right now in my life, that's all I really feel I need to want.

Drip Drop

Drip drop. Drip drop, but nothing else. No one talks about the other part. Where is the splash, where is the clash, where is the end?

The drip. A birth of uncertainty. Falling into this world with a view of optimism. By nature optimism is all we are offered. A view of green and blue, anything is possible.

The drop. Our possibilities are quickly limited to wind and wear. We control but where our focus is directed, whether our scope is honed in or not is in the hands of destiny.

The splash crash catastrophe. We spend all our time focused on our promises and possibilities of the future. We never really reach a destination of satisfaction, just the end. We don't realize, the future has been staring us dead in the eyes since the beginning, just at a distance.

Our only real promise is the uncertainty throughout it all. When you're uncertain, the possibilities are truly as small or as big as you make them. And that's where you'll find the splash.

My Nightly Shower

I think about possibilities. Ideas cascade my thoughts like the hot water does to my face. I breath in a deep resonant steam as if for weight so that I don't float away. Nothing to cloud me, only vapor, I am open to new and wonderful beginnings.

I am brilliant, to write a book. A book of many pages to be announced a novel. But the pages have few words. They are simple. A novel is not written with verbose diction. It is written with words. Words are all I have to offer.

I am intricate, to follow the path into the woods. I have deep scars of things written on me from long ago like a tree through the years of young lust and old love. These scars are not painful unless they are ignored. When I do, they cause a great deal of white noise that I can not shake. As if to rattle residual water out of my ear, I violently thrash my head only to be found a fool and water still remaining. However, when I encourage my roots I can feel the sun warming my future as I grow closer to my past, to our past, to nature.

I am profound, to sing a song. The overwhelming power of melody and harmony. A wave of sound and soul crash down on tightly wound heart strings only to play along with the cadence of the symphony.

I am bound. These are only thoughts, these are only ideas, these are only words, and this is only a shower. The towel works in a way to dry up my ideas and to crack my thoughts. I quickly dehydrate into a withered realistic man. My clothes assure a safe keeping as if in some way doing me a favor.

How do I present myself naked to the world without becoming callas and scabbed by the rough grounds of criticism and scorn? The answer surely inhabits Utopia.