3.21.2014
the sideways man.
the sideways man. looks at you straight on askew. is always catching catching it peripherally. speaks naturally out the corner of his mouth. tries to look around reflections to freeze the world in two dimensions. slips like a sheet of paper with weight through-dropped down. but when he's alone he sucks in his cheeks to the bone and wonders whether the pain will leave his neck in public sees out of both eyes exhales out of both nostrils in an attempt to be skinny as possible and when he closes his eyes the negative afterimages come out of darkness and fly away. it's hard to get help when you're standing at ninety degrees to all appearances. you're not in line. running counter would be much easier. to look your foes in the face as they stab your back. to think against. to be anti-easy as polar opposites. the backwards looking man next in line.
3.19.2014
the backwards looking man.
the backwards looking man. falling down softly into a throw back of wasted time spent dizzy. and the updraft of disappointment buoys and on the regretful, seen. somewhere there are signs printed on skin and laughter that doesn't end. listening in a straight line behind the path he least resisted. and the stench of her perfume is killing flowers invading the cilia state. stench hangs in midair too. the future tapped him on the shoulder but only lower body turned eyes glued on eyes, thoughts zipped in an old army jacket. how robotically we can all step forward on a moving sidewalk standing on the right letting others walk by pulling luggage. and his future phone is a window to the past. and forward thinking cannot escape the event horizon. his care is spaghetti strings. but his frozen gaze was a mask that aligned sometimes with mine even though he did not blink. i passed on into other phases, returning only when he seemed happier.
3.05.2014
Aletheia Gone
Aletheia Gone
my personalities splayed out like water between my fingers the tighter that i tried to hold them together down low.
shattered glass reflecting each other's faces the slipped carelessly to the ground.
only now do I try to get them back to pull them together into a whole puddle that might fill a bowl.
the laughing sad sobbing of a throat that doesn't know if it wants to go up or down and the painful less-ness of crushing
nothing between fingers. the ground soaks me up, the air dissipates and the water makes me featureless.
out here i am shape and form unfilled working harder and harder without a goal.
what happened to my questioning self? did I slip out first? poked the holes and lead the others through?
they leave me with a thirst to drink the ocean salt and for being-in-the-world
my personalities splayed out like water between my fingers the tighter that i tried to hold them together down low.
shattered glass reflecting each other's faces the slipped carelessly to the ground.
only now do I try to get them back to pull them together into a whole puddle that might fill a bowl.
the laughing sad sobbing of a throat that doesn't know if it wants to go up or down and the painful less-ness of crushing
nothing between fingers. the ground soaks me up, the air dissipates and the water makes me featureless.
out here i am shape and form unfilled working harder and harder without a goal.
what happened to my questioning self? did I slip out first? poked the holes and lead the others through?
they leave me with a thirst to drink the ocean salt and for being-in-the-world
12.03.2013
Because I want to see people and I want to see life
it was through the ear that the idea came to create and i looked you up and down and couldn't figure out what it was that was different about you. but there she looked back at me and I couldn't believe it I was amazed. this isn't the first time that we've thought the same thing at the same time unfortunately far apart from the way that we used to be.
I was a sailing ship's captain on lookout duty I spied it moving over the waves drawing ever closer and smiling with winks up and down below the waves up and down and up and down and below it disappeared but still could feel it rushing towards me and my small boat capsizing
alive.
these were the idiot sounds that i listened to going to an idiot's job. i stood stupidly among the books wondering at their titles, feeling journals combined into volumes of years. deaf hands fell on photocopied pages that someone else would eventually make sense of. If only i stapled them the right way.
Those were also the days of dark boots on city streets, running to catch trains, threading my way through teachers and students.
the past is a metaphor-dead. but
luckily lifetimes were only years ago because we've moved on into the world of
refrigerator cleanouts and
friendly reminders.
I was a sailing ship's captain on lookout duty I spied it moving over the waves drawing ever closer and smiling with winks up and down below the waves up and down and up and down and below it disappeared but still could feel it rushing towards me and my small boat capsizing
alive.
these were the idiot sounds that i listened to going to an idiot's job. i stood stupidly among the books wondering at their titles, feeling journals combined into volumes of years. deaf hands fell on photocopied pages that someone else would eventually make sense of. If only i stapled them the right way.
Those were also the days of dark boots on city streets, running to catch trains, threading my way through teachers and students.
the past is a metaphor-dead. but
luckily lifetimes were only years ago because we've moved on into the world of
refrigerator cleanouts and
friendly reminders.
10.31.2013
this is how the draining of rain sounds
listen to a slow plodding sound. footsteps on a pine needle forest floor. sloe gin clouds fuzzing by, blurring the atmosphere with amorphous movement. it was me pressing through the syrup of days, all dried out and looking. breathing steam rising up hairy. taste the way that it moves like grass growing down your tongue and through your throat. but this will never do.
Run. run through the next frame. Plod no more as you search and search and let it go while your fingers blur and the toes can barely grip a thought before you're landing on the next. there's a lightness that comes from moving this quickly like an outstripping of the thoughts that hold us down, a blur that others can't pin, a sound that's too loud to hear by those who think rationally. running quickly and out of control we laugh down the hillside as the ground turns over our heads and the rocks and soil leave their mark on skin that's torn and ragged. but even though our teeth fall out and our tongues dry up it doesn't matter as our spirit slips free from confinement.
it feels like chocolate chip cookies in here.
and my knee hitches.
Run. run through the next frame. Plod no more as you search and search and let it go while your fingers blur and the toes can barely grip a thought before you're landing on the next. there's a lightness that comes from moving this quickly like an outstripping of the thoughts that hold us down, a blur that others can't pin, a sound that's too loud to hear by those who think rationally. running quickly and out of control we laugh down the hillside as the ground turns over our heads and the rocks and soil leave their mark on skin that's torn and ragged. but even though our teeth fall out and our tongues dry up it doesn't matter as our spirit slips free from confinement.
it feels like chocolate chip cookies in here.
and my knee hitches.
10.25.2013
No-Where Man
and so it was that he truly was a No-Where Man who didn't have friends to lose or places he recognized. It had been a long time and the ground had cracked as the weeds tangled with the words withered and died leaving them to bake in the nowhere space that didn't exist unless you found it. But with these few drops of water seeping down to kiss the legs of plants buried deep in the sand-dust colored life began to seep again.
Trundled through snow into staircases warm with life the No-Where Man stirred up his own emotions. This was once a place where my shadow chased me down three flights of stairs pursued by me into the lamp light. This was where the door had slammed in my face when I had made my one attempt to seek human contact, where my attempt had failed, where I'm not even sure if the door had opened since I'm pretty sure that I hadn't knocked. Shut doors slammed the loudest.
Yes it's happening all over again the rampant overgrowth of the undergrowth swallowing all consciousness and leaving only its form to bear on the wasteland of untraveled distances. Where thousands of survivors stood up and looked around wondering what had knocked them down, where trees fell into the oblivious. Will you print this out and frame it on your wall? I didn't think so. Will you take this down and use it for shoes? Because where will this take you when the leader is led by the fingers in the mud?
Yes it's fitting to end on the questions that so often make their appearance when wandering. Questions that lead to nowhere. Questions left behind unanswered like bread crumbs that no bird will eat by the No-Where Man. Listen, you can hear him tip tapping his way among the lettered. Remembrances of plastic and the smell of PVC molded into representations. There's that feeling again as the fuzzy notes trill three times down and up, over and over again.
This was the No-Where Man peeking out through the curtains to make sure that the theater was empty, that the flood lights were off, that the room was cold and bare, removed of seats and rows before making the first leap out onto the stage and dancing his lightest steps in elegance only he could bear. The applause was felt loudly through the muscles that hadn't exercised in years as every fiber smiled.
Trundled through snow into staircases warm with life the No-Where Man stirred up his own emotions. This was once a place where my shadow chased me down three flights of stairs pursued by me into the lamp light. This was where the door had slammed in my face when I had made my one attempt to seek human contact, where my attempt had failed, where I'm not even sure if the door had opened since I'm pretty sure that I hadn't knocked. Shut doors slammed the loudest.
Yes it's happening all over again the rampant overgrowth of the undergrowth swallowing all consciousness and leaving only its form to bear on the wasteland of untraveled distances. Where thousands of survivors stood up and looked around wondering what had knocked them down, where trees fell into the oblivious. Will you print this out and frame it on your wall? I didn't think so. Will you take this down and use it for shoes? Because where will this take you when the leader is led by the fingers in the mud?
Yes it's fitting to end on the questions that so often make their appearance when wandering. Questions that lead to nowhere. Questions left behind unanswered like bread crumbs that no bird will eat by the No-Where Man. Listen, you can hear him tip tapping his way among the lettered. Remembrances of plastic and the smell of PVC molded into representations. There's that feeling again as the fuzzy notes trill three times down and up, over and over again.
This was the No-Where Man peeking out through the curtains to make sure that the theater was empty, that the flood lights were off, that the room was cold and bare, removed of seats and rows before making the first leap out onto the stage and dancing his lightest steps in elegance only he could bear. The applause was felt loudly through the muscles that hadn't exercised in years as every fiber smiled.
2.04.2011
Startled Dismay
How is it that we find ourselves separated from beings so throughly that we are wrapped around them again and realize them as beings? Why is the separation from things necessary to realize that they are things, that they have existence, that they are? When in normal use and everyday views we do not realize that the keyboard we are typing on exists, that the monitor we view is, that the words that appear on the screen and the letters that make them up are real. It is a conduit format through which our Beings flow.
Making sense of the world does not require the analytic objective classification of all things before us. In fact the opposite is true and holds sway when the world makes the most sense. Let's take something apart to understand its function that it can no longer do. This is the insanity of scientists. Clearly suggesting that the parts exist yet the whole is fractured and meaningless in their hands. Yet there are times when we are forced into this display of things, and in these moments we are overcome with the fear of losing all around us even though we are getting it all back.
Falling into the world is normal and true and should not be reviled and derrided as it so often is. Once again, no matter which stance we adopt, we find ourselves again in the circular contradiction.
Making sense of the world does not require the analytic objective classification of all things before us. In fact the opposite is true and holds sway when the world makes the most sense. Let's take something apart to understand its function that it can no longer do. This is the insanity of scientists. Clearly suggesting that the parts exist yet the whole is fractured and meaningless in their hands. Yet there are times when we are forced into this display of things, and in these moments we are overcome with the fear of losing all around us even though we are getting it all back.
Falling into the world is normal and true and should not be reviled and derrided as it so often is. Once again, no matter which stance we adopt, we find ourselves again in the circular contradiction.
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