Thirteenth Thought

I wonder about this seed
Can it grow into the tree I need
Full of oranges ripe and sweet
Whose viridian leaves each morning will greet
My calloused hands as their fruit I pick
Whose sensual juices on my fingers will stick
Trace the canyons and valleys engraved in my palms
Bring me minute made ecstasy 'till I scream out in pslams
Will it grow "Like a tree planted near running water"?
and "Yield fruit in due season"
Will it give me a reason
To till the the dark earth
Will it rob me of sorrow and fill me with mirth?
Will it spiderweb shadows across my tense back?
Give reprieve from sunburns it's hardy bark lacks?

Twelveth Thought

Reaching up I undo the latch on my forehead, and flip up the top of my skull. A chattering, crackling, slidy noise erupts from the space. I tip my head to the side, and dump the contents into a basin. The glow and pulse, shiver and writhe, dark and light, dead and living, all parts mixed. Like a radioactive whirligig, entangled in itself. I cautiously put my hand into the high strung chaos, feeling around, warm pleasant bits, soft and comfortable, others cold and sharp, none of them discernible by sight, only by feeling, and trial and error. Finding the largest bit of warmth and softness, I grasp it firmly and pull. The chattering erupts into a crescendo, like screaming factory gears, and motherly hums, soothing assurances and screeches of terror. The sharp bits catch on the soft, and it becomes difficult to extract the bit I am holding from the rest. I pry at the rusty barbs in the soft pink fluff, and wriggle them out, nicking myself, drawing blood.My concentration mounts and sweat forms on my brow, under my neck, in my armpits. My eyes slide in and out of focus as my contacts become dry, from going too long without blinking. Finally, I retrieve the warm ball of joy from the cosmos in the basin. Disinfecting my fingers, I put on some band-aids, and get ready to plunge my hands back into the fray.

Breathe Chris, just breathe

Eleventh Thought

It's so easy to write of sadness, it gushes forth from pen
Glues fingers to keyboard, relentlessly typing then
It soaks into the page, like blood into cloth
Flickers on screen like a fluttering moth

It's not so easy to write of happiness, it won't leave the tip of the pen
One can hardly sit still with the feeling until they leap up from the seat and
It gleams through the air and cannot be touched
It lives only in now, only fleetingly clutched

It's so easy to sing of happiness, it bursts forth like a bird
It spread good news to one and all, uplifts all who have heard
It leaves the body, yet fills the soul
It barrels forth, and leaves you whole

It's not so easy to sing of sadness, it catches fast in throat
You struggle hard to eject the shard that was so easily wrote
It tears your tonsils, gores your gums
Until you swallow it back to the pit it came from

Tenth Thought

I plead for hope
It's mine but it's not
I'm a shadow running towards the light trying not to be lost in the dark
I have hope if you let me
Hope for love and for life
Hope for success and meaning

Hope, a little something I hold onto in my chest, hold it tight,
until my knuckles turn white

Ninth Thought

For now, I am the spirit of darkness
None can touch me, I evade all conjecture
I am as smoke, undeniable but impossible to grasp
Choke on my spite

Eigth Thought

Mind screeches and grinds in a smattering a scattering of lost thoughts, so crazy yet so static
Moving a thousand miles an hour to nowhere, worrying about every last moment
pedantic
It's a bird burst in my mind, feathers out my ears and a screaming dying sound coming out of my eyes
It's last wishes, hopes and dreams tattooed to the inside of my skull
I reach in, pull it out
No you can't die no not yet, you had so much to live for so much and yet
You burst into being and out all at once within my head and now you're dead, blood pours out my eyes sticky and red
So many places you could have gone and sang your song to those who'd listen to the stories of kings and queens and chivalry and destiny
But apparently your destiny was to die an idea within my mind
paying no mind to the ones that lived there
peacefully until you sent gory shrapnel through their bodies
Reality or the possibilities therein embedding in bone and sinew
Lying dormant until you awake in spirit haunting victims burning their scars and scalding their souls
Carving their hearts out until bloody holes

Seventh Thought

I have come to understand, that we all change
(Writing that statement frightened me alot more than I thought it would)
We are all aware that we change, but it's something like a natural disaster
We know it exists but subconsciously refuse to acknowledge it could happen to us
Or people we know
It hurts us the most when people we love change
Even if it's for the better
Maybe we're scared that we won't be able to love this new person
So instead of trying to know them, we cast them away preemptively

I was thinking today maybe I should go to school in the city, and live there
In one way or another
I might change
In fact I think I would, for worse or for better?
Would I be colder and meaner? Or maybe just smarter and more independant?
Would you still love the new me?

I realize that you changing scares me because on some level I'm trying not change
My fear is that the new you and the old me won't be compatible
The clearest solution is the hardest
I must change too
And with luck, the two new people who arise from the husks of our old selves will love eachother too
Maybe not like we love each other now, but in a different way, maybe even in a better way

Sixth Thought

Bright sunlight, twenty four hours, at all times, unrelenting
I would love this
I feel too weak to face the night
Nor do I have the energy to be busy
I still fear stagnation
I feel like I'm running from demons, can't stop, but my lungs are filling with liquid nitrogen, and my legs are cramping, am I stagnant in my movement? As crazy as it sounds?
Sometimes the will to do anything beyond being and reacting leaves me
I wonder where I was in a past life
What led me to where I am?
It's as if my body aches to finish up the to-do list of a life already lived, whose memory got left behind
Yearning without a direction

Ok I have a book here
It's called "The Life You Were Born To Live - A Guide To Finding Your Life Purpose"
By a Mr. Dan Millman
Maybe he can help me
I need to add up all the numbers in my birthday, every single digit....

Ok the total is 30, and when I add those two the resulting number is 3, so I am a "30/3".
Let's skip to that chapter.
My life theme is emotional expression *looks around at blog entries* ok so that makes sense...
Apparently 30/3's make excellent depressives.. but all of my writing is so cheerful lol
mmmmm *keeps reading*

Fifth Thought

I can't wait until it's spring again
Until I'm me again
In my entirety
When the static that sometimes wavers in the foreground
Will only flicker in the background

When the earth will burst into life again

When the birds will sing again

When my skin will glow again

I can't wait until it's spring again
Until I can see again
When I can wiggle my toes in the grass again
Will it always feel that good?

Will the air be as sweet?

Will the breeze be as soft?

Will the sun shine as bright?

I can't wait until it's spring again

Fourth Thought

Walking through a field
Paintbrush strokes of green and brown tickle my legs
Little flowers look up at me
You face in each one
Breeze ruffles my hair, like an older brother
The sun greets me, asks how my morning has been

"It's been going pretty well"

Finding a good spot i kneel, and start picking flowers
It's like reaching into the image of a kaleidoscope
Your face in each petal, each leaf and stem

One to put behind my ear
The other in my breast pocket
The other in my mouth, like a flamboyant Huck Finn

Cross legged
Indian style, they used to tell me
Though I'm sure they've never been to a reservation, to to the river ganges

It's a good morning

Third Thought

It. Bothers. Me.
I just entirely miss the point.
I see it, but I don't.
It alters you, changes you, some for worse, some for better.
But even if it's for the better, it's not you
It's you through the filter of alcohol
I don't want a version of you
I want the you in your clearest mind
Not the you when alcohol lets you borrow it's cajones for an hour
It's a shortcut to sociability
I want intimacy from the heart, and bravery from the soul, it's more difficult sober, but worth much more
I don't want to be drunk
I want to be me
I don't need poison in my system
I don't need a big red cup in my hand
Or a blunt for that matter
If can feel happy, relaxed, and sociable all on my own, and I don't need any substances to pick up the slack for me, thank you very much.

But I would be lying to say I'm not curious
I have drank before, and always responsibly
It tempts me though, to let it loosen me up
And that temptation makes me despise drunkenness all the more

Prohibition had the right idea, if people can't prevent themselves from getting drunk, someone should do it for them
It's not a private problem
It hurts those who don't drink
You're your stupidest drunk, and do things you would never dream of doing when sober
You're more susceptible to being manipulated

Are people that desperate to escape their own feelings?

Second Thought

I want to reach across the gulf of the universe and touch you
Hold you close
Take some stars, and spread them 'round like candles
We'll make love in the the pulsing light
Let the stars illuminate your body
Keep you warm with mine

We can use clouds for blankets
Sleep soundly after our exertions

I'll wake up though, to watch the moon cast shadows on your face
Watch you twitch mid-dream
In the morning I'll watch pink and purple, surf across your face
And when your eyes open, I'll kiss you good morning, and we can start a new day

First Thought

Life is an open book yet to be filled in
only the first
s
p
o
ts
of
i
n
k
kiss
the
pages
There are no instructions on where to go
None credible at least
At best, instructions on how to live once you are "there"
I figure, I'll be a social worker because
Like Harry the Auror, it can't really think of anything else
Nothing that would be within me reach, or worth it once I grasped it
Part of me wants to travel the world
Part of that part wants to travel the world, to see people live lives
different
than my own
Another part wants to travel the world
just so I'm not stuck here for the rest of my life
Some people say that New York, and NYC are the center of the world

I always felt self conscious standing in the center of a room