I would be your anchor,
and your sea,
dear Flora.
To share those moments,
moments of song and sleep,
of sensual stares
and stolen breaths,
the ones that make you feel most alive,
and sail together on life’s beautiful ocean,
while starry skies sparkle and strobe,
and to love,
would be an awfully big adventure.
People who love
Possess a light
Everyone draws around them
Because they can see themselves and how beautiful they are
And they are warmed
It’s a beautiful thing
Embracing the light
Loving
Yourself
The you you see in others
I am most awake
when everyone sleeps.
The crepuscular hours
are when my mind begins to mature,
begins to unfold its crannied wings,
stretch out long and wide,
and leap into the darkness
where only imagination can catch me.
I prefer the blotted blackness,
muted only by light to write.
I am at home here.
It is thick,
and enduring,
the blackness.
It seeps
and sticks to everything,
making its way
into the coldest cracks,
coloring shadows
with its dull shade.
The darkness
is where imagination germinates,
where colors come to life,
where machinations shift
and shudder
and move with the mind.
I like it here.
It animates
the dull landscape
tainted with hot waves of gold.
The darkness turns you inside out,
it takes your mind
and diverts it inward,
for it has no where else to go,
no where else to explore,
but within.
I am awake,
more awake than ever before,
in the darkness.
cars buzz.
birds chirp.
my blinds let in a forray of light.
it emanates into a warm glow.
I cannot sleep.
allergies have seized my immune system.
I have much to do.
career info sessions.
angels row their glass bottom boats above
Sentiment scratches sideways,
Sylvan spirits seek solemn sweetness,
Idyllic industry.
Mechanical musings manage misery,
Cranky caverns corner curiosity,
Canvass collaboration.
Slumbering sleep surmises stargazing semblances; slowing sauntering amidst sombre skies; starless shadows.
I was walking between classes this afternoon, and I realized a tingling in my chest. I concentrated my gaze, and the world suddenly popped out at me. Colors permeated my senses. The landscape began to glint and glisten. I was fighting off the angst. I was crawling to escape its rapacious depravity. I focused my intention on the now.
The brown conglomerate path continued appearing before me in reliable fashion. My steps were automated and involuntary. I stared at the small brown pebbles embedded in the concrete, smoothed from years of wear. An abraded cigarette butt passes in the corner of my eye. Dry crinkled leaves skip in the wind. I raise my head and take notice around me. Faces everywhere. Everyone lost in their world. Their narrow microcosm of existence. Such is me. The trees shine. Humidity mixes with the suns rays and sends a wave of heat that caresses my face. I hesitate before taking a moment to reflect. Gone. The angst has subsided. My thoughts return. Freedom clothes me. Social and political philosophy class.
I have a tendency to find myself coming back to the same maxims time and time again. Maybe not maxims in the principled sense, but general truths. Focus. Focus must be the greatest asset of mankind. The ability to concentrate the minds gaze with precision, so that no peripheral object enters into consideration. Perhaps focus is none other than the will? And those with a poor focus simply lack a strong will? Whatever the case, focus allows us to eliminate distraction by keeping the attention on the specific details at hand.
I hear the word discipline and a heavy yoke comes to mind. Those who exhibit discipline, do so unknowingly until we extol their virtue. For those with focus, with a definable aim in mind, discipline is no burden. To them, there is no burden. They simply exist moment to moment with the single function of being. Burdens are distractions. Where there is no distraction, no competing force vying for your attention, there is only living. Who you decide to be takes care of all you need to do. When you fail to decide to be, you are left managing the various demands telling you what to do.
If discipline was a burden to endure, few would bother taking it up till the end.
When you fix your sight on an object, the world at large melts away, and with it, all the clouded obstacles that haze ease and clarity. What becomes paramount is the figure of your intense transfixion. Nothing else matters but what perception beholds. Problems evaporate, dilemmas melt away, and difficulty yields the aggregate joys of life. No more do you shy from being. Being triumphantly trades the multifarious pains of life in exchange for the duty to a singular calling that gives clear purpose and direction. The reward is two fold as progress yields growth as well as fruit. Character as well as achievement. Doubt and hesitation cease to ebb and flow with the tides of change. Indecision and idleness choke and die. Action swells and escapes through every corpuscle in your body.
Anyway…I’m going to bed soon. It’s late. Big MacroTheory exam tomorrow. Work in the early morn. One more chapter to study before I’m confident I’ll ace it.
I went to bed late last night. I was up reading over old journals, assessing my progress. Morning found its way to me too soon this day. As did night.
Today was good.
Automated. Routine. My heart beats. I put one foot in front of the other. I inhale cold dry sharp air. I slowly breath out steam that drifts just in front of my face. I idle. Partially in fear, partially in favor of the rewards for being patient.I lean a little to far in one direction and over commit. I reach for something to grab onto, anything to save me, but I’m already falling. It’s too late.
rolling hills. streets like hardened lava cascading between houses into intersections and into the city where they seem to spawn skyscrapers. Where the grass is fleeting and retreating where it can hide and the trees try growing as far up as they can to escape the grips of the inorganic claws of cold strangulation and meek design. but you cannot parade over the whole landscape and never for long. tufts of courageous life pry their way between the cracks. their roots dig deep into the brittle rock where soil crying out to be tapped waits patiently for sometimes hundreds of years. They pump nutrients intravenously into the green stalks and thier broad leaves above where the sun shines and energizes.
a stone was hurled into the hillside. we carved it with our hands into a dwelling place. the earth took us in and we sank comfortably and securely into her arms. mothernature wrapped her vegetation around our waist and insulated us from the elements. vines like fingers inch up the walls to hold us tight and remind us we’ve been here to long to go anywhere. we commemorated the dwelling place by erecting a steeple and marking the chapel archway with roman numerals from the year of our conception. we ring church bells to syncronize our minds with time. we sleep cooly in our dwelling knowing there is tradition. and we are established.
Confused and lost. Programming myself on a daily basis. I know too much for my own good. I don’t know what I want. I know what I don’t. I struggle daily with vices, addictions, motivating. I’m obsessed with learning, knowledge, acquiring it, putting it to use; and at the same time, totally wasting away because life is short and seemingly unfulfulling. Creativity can be practiced. You’re only as smart as you think you are. Know you are. What is my existence. It’s a cruel catch phrase. I want to catch something that will pull me along. Passions are postal stamps. You label your hobbies as cool. Nothing is filling. Negetivity will bring you nothing, show you nothing. I know nothing in the scheme of things. I think too much. I get headaches, heartaches, and stomache aches. I am conscious all the time. There is little I overlook. I say everything for a reason. But it doesn’t mean i mean it. I look past and beyond whats behind and in front of me, obstacles, you know. I realize my happiness is trivial when compared to yours. I hope your happy. Love exists only in the eyes of a blind man. Fortunately you can gouge your eyes out. I only plead with myself. Im very articulated and poigant. Picky, selective, particular but I’ll lead you to believe I’m not. I’ll please you, but your not special. Few read the credits. Who really cares about anyone but themselves. I can be your biggest fan. I believe in bliss. Lying to youself. Ignorance. I have a hard time dealing with reality. Reality is debatable. I can close my eyes. I escape too often. No ones special without a label. Power corrupts. Knowledge corrodes. Wisdom prevails. and all this means absolutely nothing.
William Dare 