in sun-burned storms

and wash away

the dripping dead

Know the call

of untamed men

and children

in glass-filled sand

Fell the earth

wilt time and love

and call to ears unheard

Leave behind no trace of us

so lost and drowned in fears

across an ocean

of thick, black mud?

Did you hear me call

from an empty

shattered window pane?

Did you hear me call

with hands outstretched

searching for your fragrant hair?

You are looking through too much glass.

Looking for people and things that just aren’t there.

Conditions of being that are like ghosts in the wind.

You gotta spend more time seeing what’s right there in front of you.

Hearing those voices that cry out in the dark for help.

Calling for you to shine and lead the way home.

Spend less time listening to the far thunder of heart-break.

or

Will there be a day when writing sad little words and making sad little drawings won’t be enough?

The desire to shed these trappings eludes me still.  To live free from the accoutrements of life.  But although they surround and consume they exist in a space of non-ownership in my mind.  They are merely borrowed, with me for the time being but never truly mine.

One day you will sit on your motorcycle, watching the sun sink below the velvet mountains of Colorado and think of today, think of the moment when you realized how alone you would be then, and how you plunged forward anyway.  Attachment is optional.

This is a post about writing.  I feel good about it.  In fact I like it quite a bit, but I have realized something, without a full command of the vocabulary of the English language I often become frustrated.  I am beginning to feel like a painter who can’t see the complete color spectrum.  The deepest blues and most vibrant violets are beyond my pallette.

This is an outrage!

So, I must remedy the situation.  How?  I am not sure.

Thus far the words I think I know have been drawn mostly from the literature and media I consume (voraciously).  Some must have been garnered through my education, but many still elude me, largely because knowing their precise meaning was not necessary to develop a complete understanding of the text they found home in.

So, I will make this a mission, an objective, a goal to pursue, a feat to accomplish, blah blah blah.  I will spend some time with the dictionary.  I will develop myself as one develops a photograph (something I pretend to know something about).

Blah blah blah, all empty words trapped in solitude, restless and alone.  Hear me words.  You are mine to command.

for you:

As I walk the street

I think of you

A Future wandering

step by step we move

closer

but unknowing

unknown

and one day

I will look into

eyes of mirror

and simply know

that each step brought us

closer.

When viewing the bones of others it is important to remember dexterity.  Remember the flexibility of the vertebrae as they rise to the mountain, remember the assumed rigidity that once supported so much disintegrated flesh.  Hopes dashed on the rocks of reality.  A sudden frailty which smacks its jaws open and closed, spittle dripping from the pitch black hunger.

When viewing the bones of others it is important to be discreet.  Tuck away those glances.  Tuck them deep into the abyss of your eyelashes and forget, just forget that they are there, always waiting to crash into another.  Grab the pole briskly, locked right elbow, drop and swing, three rotations, always toward the ground, faster, faster, faster, until the hand burns raw, scorched by shadow.

When viewing the bones of others dont forget to put your best foot forward.  Second best is less than adequate in such situations, and may cost you dearly.  Stare intently, don’t look away, stare into the void of the mind, stare into the monsters of a long-distant, partially remembered past, cast in stone, presented in cases of knowledge, steel, glass, and prestige.  Monsters which haunt the dreams of restless children, which fascinate and disturb, locked into the coincidental recesses of adult minds, struggling to narrate their existence.

In 24 hours I will no longer exist, on Facebook anyway. I will be gone. To many of you this will mean the evaporation of my existence completely, to others it will be only a minor inconvenience in your ability to reach my earthly body.

This decision was reached in time and thought, without impulse or overt dissatisfaction. I have realized that life outside of these narrow confines is better, and that is the life I wish to live. So, hello reality, hello physical society, what a nice hat, when did you become the digital afterlife?

To all of my “friends.” Some of you I knew better than others, some of you I’ve actually met. It has been wonderful, seeing your posts appear on my home page time and time again has reassured me that life goes on outside of my own screen, and that others too are experiencing and growing as much as I. Thank you for the profile updates, the brief sweet messages allowing me into your minds, if only briefly.

This life has become too heavy. To laden with longing and despair. Too long have I sat before this screen reaching out into the multitudinous void, a space of frantic and vapid activity. Too long have I felt abandoned and ignored at the hands of so many. Too long have I searched for love within this, and too often have I come back lacking.

I urge you to follow me into the blinding white light of physical reality, although I make no guarantees that it is the final peel of the onion. Step away from the screen friends, step away. Don’t denigrate an experience by relegating it to the realm of the “post” or the “status update”. Live your life without the billboard. Find new, novel ways of keeping in touch with those you love, like writing a letter! This too shall pass, and in the end our children will have forgotten how to live, how to love, or how to see one another outside of these constructs.

You may think I’m crazy, brash, over-emotional. But please accept that I am merely at a pinnacle in my rationale. Allow me to hear your words with my ears not my eyes, allow me to feel your presence right before me, allow me to be human again.

In 24 hours I will be gone. To many of you this will equate to social death. Goodbye.

to life after death,

“Ok, here we go.”

“How about this?” Pencil skewed, mid-left.

“no!”

“Good, how about this?”  Pencil parallel, top-center.

“yes!”

“Very good, how about this?”  Pencil skewed, bottom right corner.

“no!”

“Ok, then this?”  Pencil parallel, bottom-center.

“no!”

“This?”  Pencil parallel, top-center.

“yes!”

“Great, but what about this?” Pencil flies from the chalkboard to the floor.

“NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!”

I love you room 108.  With a love built of the purest sunlight.