sometimes
I doubt you ever knew
that as you stole the moment
I took a piece of that too
Through life's endless contests
the validation
the invalidation
constant scoring
I endured
Listening to my work
stolen
reformed
retaken
then spewed back
anew
when last the moment is cold
I remember the sunset
I've been working hard this week at waking up at 7am. Hopefully I can get that down to 6am, but currently stopping myself from going to be before 11 most nights is a pipe dream. Honestly wish I could remember just how I was able to get in bed at 10pm when I was a teen (years.... ago). I mean, I would rush home before my 9pm curfew, write, get high and plan my next day in the course of an hour. Not sure what happened to those skills, but im blaming the night cap.
Also I paid the 50 dollars for a medium membership ( I didnt research them much but im hoping they aren't evil) and have been digesting so much click bait.
All stars shine brightly
They illuminate the black void
defy the never ending
deep
with no regard
They repel.
They brightly stand against the dark
Which I see at night
Thousands
Millions
of glittering souls reaching out to me
Im reminded
What it means..
What it means to
Exist
here and Now
when your only comforts are
dots envied
from afar
Had a writing prompt a few years back that I had started. Since it wasn't doing anyone any good. I rewrote it into a poem! Take that endless writing prompts i've left lying around.
When I was a boy
my alarm clock was a watch
that played a rooster crow
at 5:30 in the morning
Id always wake up
groggily make my way to the window
watching the sunlight break through
the clouds would always be grey
the world would be asleep
id watch each blade of grass
watch the world take on color
it was meaningful
Watched “soul” this week. Kinda puts a lot of living into perspective. Sometimes it's not all about politics, pandemics or all the static around daily life. Sometimes its remembering that sitting down and appreciating just being here. It's not a bad thing.
I find the lies I tell myself
are all together too convincing
truth as fractured fiction
glows just as bright within
its shadow not as revealing
simply mindlessly reflecting
real truths, harder fought truths
over time
are sung loudly
than forgotten
but where does honesty sit
when every moment
can be muddled
when every fact
takes a knee to debate
what becomes of the center
the little copy of this world
i keep deep inside
corrupted by simple malice
Was listening to the podcast “Your Undivided Attention”, specifically the episode about planning the internet like you would a city. Some of the topics, the one about creating a space so that political rhetoric isn't constantly ouroborosing (im making that a verb now) because of high click/view rates seemed fantastic.
In the horizon, is a snowy mountain
With creamy white clouds filling the sky
The sun begins to peek over the eastern edge
as an explosion of colors chases the sunlight
this is the prismatic mountain range
With light as a catalyst against the snow and rocks
The trees are suddenly orange
the flowers purple and blue
the white sky above becomes
a canvas of every hue
Nothing changed between night and day
the range was only sleeping
now awake, alive
it is brilliant
far away
we sat watching the sunrise
thinking nothing of the scene far away
only that a new day had started
only that we were excited for what the day would bring
—
It began snowing today, just enough to pepper the ground. The air feels really crisp and id run today if not for the fact my shoes would forsake me.
The rain drops flickered
hues of plum and azure
Tapping roughly off a neon sign
onto the dark road below
The pool of water beating out patterns
of semi colliding rings
Flickering to the pulsating sign
breathing in and out against the light
Above the rain continues falling
Below the sign continues blinking
Illuminating the pools of rain water
The gentle pound and receding waves
are crashing in the distance
Been reading a lot more lately. Was really saddened to find out “The beginning after the end” artist had a heart attack last week. It was one of my favorite web comics / manga. Reminds me of when I was really into Minus and that artist just dropped off the face of the Earth.
The ancient tower
contains a clock
that raps softly
like a beating heart
The tower stands tall
on ancient lands
where people seldom
could come to stand
This clock was
said to be
the only way for
humans to be free
for if it stops
then all would pay
a true cost
for immortality
No longer would
any die
in each person would be a seed
a seed of never ending life
never ending greed
a chance to truly look at ourselves
and accept the ugly
a seed of endless hope
to realize our shared beauty
a chance to look up
and spread humanities wings
I really believe if we lived to be 200 years old that people would get over themselves. It would give a person the chance to really understand the teather we all have to this Earth. Im sure many would disagree, that the 1% of the population that is so incredibly rich would just keep earning and that families from those people would covet. But if you lived 200 years I would hope at some point you'd see the strings back to roots of the world. You would become more than some dragon laying on there clutch of gold. I would hope the best and id live to watch you fulfill that promise.
It is hard to be bright
As more color is added to the canvas
until at last
the color that sticks out brightest
is darkness
the brush holds a moment
The paper is peaceful
until white droplets
fall and stain
then spirals of
pink
purple
pulsate from the edges
More lines, primitive shapes emerge
colors strewn
my canvas, a disorganized mess
disgusted, I keep painting
letting my emotions crawl
until the creation
is pitch dark again
Had a fun week so far. Got to play a game with an old friend last night and catch up on some reading. A friend has me reading “stranger from a strange land”, it is really a fun read. Lots of things to think about.
I read a book once
whose title ive forgotten
lose binding
held fast by two small hands
read too fast
by much too novice eyes
this book wasn't about heros
nor about villians
it was a book about life
a book about things that can happen
ideas of Sunday mornings meeting the sun rise
of being alone in an apartment listening to the sprinklers coming on
awful attempts to find community and purpose
in each chapter I found more of life
than I knew what to do with at that young an age
yet I hungered to know it
to feel it for myself
the problem with books
aren't that they show you
what could be
its the pyre they ignite
whose light pours into every inch of oneself
never satisfiable wanderlust
a life lived but never fully realized
It has been a lonely day and I'm not sure why. It's like you know something is off but can't quite put your finger on why you feel a certain way. I always like to stay positive, but something feels off. Hoping that a night of playing video games or doing more writing cheers things up. Otherwise I'm just going to have to go overboard and find 80's commercials to feel nostalgia again.