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.
“You're the best friend i've ever had”
was what the boy had said
words which filled me up
that feel like skateboard wheels
crunching over sidewalk
that smell like sea salt
kites flying haphazardly through
early spring light
“You're the sweetest, kindest man”
was what the bride had said
through moist eyes and smiling lips
flowers draped around the room
dancing close, the world shut out
our hearts beating in terror
at a world that we would build
just starting out
“You're the best dad ever
was what the little girl said
As air changes away from summer
cool wisps of fall
autumn colored hair
back and forth on the swing
hazel eyes paired with smiling lips
laughter and innocence
“You were the world to me, mom”
I said as I heard her voice fade from the phone
The sounds of the machines scream
Footfalls, are the last thing I hear as the line goes dim
a weight blooms over my chest
pushing down on a world
that till now only thought it had
known what it was to be threatened
Thinking back on those phrases that built me
phrases and moments that others planted deep inside
seeds I've nurtured, watered to keep growing
make me smile even as my body turns a little cold
Looking into your eyes, my once small girls
today at last, is my turn
“You're the best daughters a father could ask for
please love and never be ashamed by it”
Lost a pet today and I got to bury it. This was my youngest first time really dealing with something dying she really cared about. It took me back to when I was around her age. To when Id seen my cat dead on the walkway.
I wish it hadn't happened today but the universe can be just as cold as it is kind.
The mind is like an imaginative record player
Bound to eyes which act as a needle
That yearn to read words on course paper
Walking down words which
snake into sentences
That find paragraphs that
turn into pages
Those words are captivating,
coalesce,
awaken a new world
imagination breathes fantasy
following the rails of an author whim
we ride to the ending
It's been another interesting week. Got a lot of reading done, work had a lot of ups and downs and the kids had a cold. Based on the symptoms (runny nose and no fever) we didn't elect to have them tested for covid. But elected to keep them home from school. Which turned out to be a lucky break for the kids.
Turned out that about 45% of the staff got infected/exposed to covid and the emails came out Saturday that the school is closing till Jan/Feb. Im enjoying the kids being back home and I like knowing they are safe. Just damn, got lucky on that front.
We stay up observing snow fall
together wrapped warmly in a blanket
silent fairies dance to Earth
prodded by hungry winds
send flecks
skyward
Lightning arches across the livid sky
A low growl chases soon after
I feel you edge yourself closer
Another ripple fulminates
the window turns opaque
I can see your face, turned towards me
So I move mine to meet yours
The thunder shakes the house
My heart leaps
At once your head is on my shoulder, watching
blizzard of dancing crystals
shapes manifest
waves of fallen icy stars
howling wind
raise pillars of glass
wind and snow
thunder and lightning
natures unfocused
uncaring
presence
watching the window
seeing you watch out
pixies playfully dance
in your eyes
Got to enjoy the first snowfall in awhile and although the show didn't occur quite as poetically. I like to think that most memories can be playfully rewrote to be a bit more exciting. Not that having kids trashing your house isn't a fun time, most days.
Sometimes for my own health its nice to take a mental voyage to a place where a moment is as easy as sitting watching the snow fall.