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'Tis fierce mild out, said he to himself at 01:37
walking home from a close friend's
on a calm February night, the breeze
barely there and the atmosphere as cool as the air.

At a later date he went east, to the Big Smoke to go out
on the town for a night. The next day he thought to himself:
What a pleasant languishing the coke has left in me, though it has
tenderized the 'auld cardiac muscle some.

I woke another day, some time after noon,
And thought of how I dreamed again
during those couple months with her. Now my nightly travels
had settled back into an unremarkable and immemorable mush

of fading oneiric sensations, of hazy sleep, it'd
returned to that somnolent jumble, but
I did dream again, brief as it was,
And now that vitality is gone. This clue,
That I'd notice what has been missing from that
mental life of mine. It is a strange tiding,
I had not realized how it had gone so awry.

Isn't it gas, all the pills and trips there are
that'd help draw those things to the fore.
I know well this is the wrong attitude, the wrong tact, but sure
I know too well the ways which captivate
my soul
and have held me spellbound since youth.
Aye, there's other ways to regain what I've lost,
To recover what's missing. Our interactions in the world

should be the cause of dreams, their form and content.
It worries me some to suppose other than that. If it was
some other world or part of the soul that imbued our dreams
with meaning, that would imply something has cut me off, or out.
Even were this not the case I think the implication still stands.
I mean to say that the presence of those who are known to us
in waking life may carry over in dreaming, forms transmuted
and content apparent only as metaphor. I should think there are
too many coincidental symbols for it to be post-hoc interpretation.

The presence of persons weighs heavy
on the scales of horn and ivory.
How much of my mind have I been missing,
How much life, how much meaning,
How many people?

As we get older it's easy to become less vulnerable, yet more broken.
We must learn to do the opposite, to know when it's the right time
to be vulnerable, to heal in a way that can only relieve everyone.
The epicurean experiment is over.
The absence of pain is not happiness.
The consumption of ******* need not be
inherently bad, but for the present state of affairs.
If the condition brought about by a chemical could be
held in mind, its mindset prolonged, then redosing need not
be so gratuitous. Indeed, pharmacological determinism is false.

Indeed, all one wants is the good
(and would presume to better).

Indeed, there are faults in theories
and flaws in character.

Indeed, we are here
and by virtue of our similarities
we are all together.
He had sunk into mediocrity, the inward facing tone of his poetry over the more recent years was proof enough to convince him there was nothing great about his purported foray into post-modernism.
He longs to change.
A word my mother used
to describe my father as they separated
is now applied to me.

A fair judgement
given what you pointed
out, time and again. I see it, so

I hold onto this thought. It burns me
but if it makes a difference I will hold on, if
I can be otherwise. It would free me from history,

The next person will be safe from
those vicious little flaws
this brought out.
A word which cuts to my core.
I did not think I could be
narcissistic because
I do not love
myself;
Yet I see a
destructive narcissism
pervades my action, egocentrism.
I knew something was wrong for awhile
but never imagined as bad. I must recover my
compassion, empathy. I will not wound another like
this; I will grow up, emotionally,
I will secure my ego.
I'll be a better
human.
As I walked home, down the disreputable Church Lane
and across that ecclesiastical car park,
I yelled out to myself:
I am not afraid of anything in this town,
It's gotten boring.
Only two pints in and
my emotions had threatened
to drown me out. I try get past them,
They make me feel the worst kind of pathetic.
I rambled home from The Loft where Or:la had played
techno to move the crowd. I left early because despite the throng
of bodies, primal and proud, which moved to one beat,
I felt so alone as the alcohol wore off.
No reason to drink more,
No urge, I trained
myself too
well, have no itch to push myself farther
nor even curiosity
to tickle my soul. I worried I had made her
sick with anxiety. My thoughts weigh me down.
Of course she was not, and I had been projecting my worries
onto her; she was ill, and I was egocentric.
From within me those hidden tendrils of anxiety
had crept out and usurped my love. The cracks began
to show, they spread out like a spiderweb, the bars of a cage.
I thought maybe you could transform me but I wasn't strong enough.
I acted badly today, and
thus I was drained.
All of these passing thoughts
in my head: desire,
Love; impatience, insecurity. I was
mistaken by notions
and felt anxiety and thought my body
betrayed me; but I don't
want to be so serious about this, no, I want
to admit my failings but be
compassionate in self-judgement and do better.

I want to grow, continue
on, feel strength, confident
in my aura, improve, belong.
I am trying to change. I want
to be light, supple but strong,
To cause happiness in all.
Lilith craved Ficus carica,
Mr. Robot brandished
a branch of Olea europaea.
I doubt either would care to comment
on the state of the world, their intentions are clear.
Is it that "all the world's a stage"
or that all we are is a mirror?
Should it matter that I feel the motions of my mind, and
long to escape without the aid of their counterparts.
Subtle contrarian. Every reaction has its equal
in emotion; each moment has its fulcrum.
Quote:
Line Six from William Shakespeare's As You Like It, spoken by Jaques in Act II Scene VII.
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