Time, the malleable system of measurement
Sometimes the task at hand is so cripplingly normal that time grows so cold and grinds its way across the floor
Other times its burning up, as we stress over the burning orange outline that gradually shrinks around what little left we need
But... What I like are the moments where time doesn't exist for us at all
Moments so distinct that time is shed from our concept of reality for just a little while
And we exist in a different way

The moments come quickly from a fog of aesthetic distinction
They run cellularly transparent across your skin, triggering that extra layer
The goosebumps, the rush,  those irises of yours widening and dilating or closing shut to let your ears see instead
Time, responsibility, the worrying and the mundane dropping from your shoulders, torso and legs
There is no self, there is no calculation

There is only now
And you ******* love it

It's been a while since I've let my fingers do the talking
Subtle clattering intermittent between self consuming stares into space
Strange and conventional instrumental atmospheres driving fantastical thought
And that self indulgent need to be heard by people without discernible cells

I guess my poems are a hobby of sorts
A collection of ideas, observations and metaphors put forward (barely) structurally
Though I admit the process is more for introverted enjoyment than anything direct
What my tongue would sound blurting these words is a fantasy in itself

I try to stay optimistic in them
Holding on to my passion for the positive, despite the convoluted dysfunction of the day to day
I do it with the same eyes as speaking to others, trying to be someone who's worth being around
Ending with some ******* non-committal message about an approach towards tomorrow

I hope one day I'll get around to reading these poems
Hearing what my inner monologue sounds like in that quiet but intently occupied space
Taking the time off poor sods who'll listen, hoping that the messages mean more than just metaphor
But I'll get over it if life doesn't produce such idealistic circumstances

Thanks for reading what I've written
These white spaces have given me a quiet personal realm for exploring ideas
A place where I can explore my intelligence beyond academia
Indulge my passion for the written word by pouring out gallons of *******
And hopefully make someone, somewhere, smile in the process

I wonder what to say when it comes to us,
To define the complexity of culture and civilisation,
To pin point a sentence amongst thousands of words,
But as I learn I still hope to express while I still have a mouth and a pen.

I could talk about the things that divide us,
The comfort of sub cultures defined by skin, *** and superficiality,
The arguments over interests, principles, delusions,
Especially those divides that led to blood from skin and ghosts from brothers.

There's more comfort in the developing unity though,
Digital culture giving everybody a faceless voice at the cost of cellular perception,
Though imperfect, we know more of what we want to change every day,
Though individual, the harmony of our voices seems to reach the pitch of powerful ears.

It seems our world is figuratively closer,
Our children's eyes seem more attuned to a search for clarity amongst a reality shaped,
Our compassion grows towards the true spectrum of what makes us what we are,
Amongst the chaos of hate and hate's big ****** ******* of an industry, we know we just want to get by.

Looking back and looking forward.. I can take a few guesses as to advice.
Be open as you are becoming, or have already become, open towards well.. knowledge, opinion, change, progress. Many ******* things.
Be humble towards your insignificant self, know the sheer overwhelming scope of existence as a comfort you are a part of, and remember those souls around you that helped you grow.
Finally.. if you can go your entire life without tasting a grapefruit, you'll be better off.

I've wondered for a long time about those people
Those whose sense of self, at least outwardly, seems strong
People whose garden develops its greens high around them
People with smoke drifting from their irises with certainty
They have such fire...

As so much time of mine has been wasted like a council house ****
A youth indulged on a see saw swinging between masochism and arrogant self indulgence
The years after bringing me back to the cell formations bestowed instead of those imagined
I find myself... learning to develop, running the marathon in last place
But..
It's not the place that bothers me

What bothers me is my love of the constructions..
Seeing so much through screens and day dreams
Seeing such possibility
What I wonder is that if any of it can be..
Built. Created.
Can I put myself headlong into book after book to develop the knowledge to write my own?
Can I persuade others to be confident in me when I find so little for myself?
Can I build a lifestyle that gives me pride and routine when it seems so difficult to envision?
Can I set myself so serenely and simply into a world which worries and complicates me?
Can I reach that high bar and pull hard enough to gain the empowerment I crave?
Can I say to that person... the person who may exist or may not, who could make me happier than any other person, when the moment comes, can I say what I really want them to hear?

I wonder, worry, forget and remember these things
But I plan on letting go of the nagging analysis of insecurity
To... have a go at the now, at the work and the life
And see what happens.

So..

I am part of something
A middle class youthful bohemian playground
Where support is subtle, where communication is flourishing
Where everyone's expression and hard work is at our fingertips
And where losing your inhibitions takes a drink and a smile

For me.. it is a transitional period of the existential
Questions and day dreams clatter through the sieve of this moment now
Insecurity and the cons of being human slowing my feet

But not stopping them
By learning who I am, why I did what I did when I hated myself
Why I did what I did when I surprised myself
Why I did what I did when I adored myself
I can do more

I don't know what I will be to others
Anything more than an employee, customer, passenger, demographic to the wider society
Anything more than a statistic to those with too much money to know life like I do
Anything more than a short worrying quiet guy lost in thought to those local communities I fall into
Or anything more than a friend to those I have to admit more desire for

I do know though... that in 60 years I may be a bit dead
Whether my soul evaporates into the infinite colour and connection of the universe as a whole
Burns in a torturous eternal injustice because of what a book says on who I should ****
Or simply dissipates its abstract non-existence along with other gooey and chunky bits of me
I've only really got this perception, this body and this life now for definite

So...
While I'm not sure what the overall goal is yet
While I'm not sure who'll wake up next to me
While I'm not sure about a lot of things

I do know one thing
I've got one shot at this, so I better get on with it.

I’m not perfect. I’m far from it. A clattering engine of destructive vices, a body average under Adonis, a mind weathered by experience and paradoxical in influence.

It has taken a lot of work and luck to become who I am today, with that ****** in the mirror tripping me up plenty along the way.

But in this moment, amongst our grand but insignificant civilisation, amongst our beautiful but minute planet, in this relative scope I sit here with you in...
Somehow... things have finally worked. Fitted. Reached... some level of... peace.

As I indulge in your eyes there’s a lot to contemplate, speculate, agonise over.

There will be times between us where consequence will draw conflict, where our dividing, clashing aspects will build the intensity of how different we are, questioning whether we should know each other at all.
Moments where the reminders of the subtle magnetism amongst our personalities seem almost transparent.

Familiarity breeds contempt so they say.

What I hope, for us, for whatever this is, whatever it will become, I hope potential and positivity can develop.
Spontaneity.
Exploration.
Curiosity.

You once were... the goal personified. Amongst the trivial, the financial, the creative, a connection with you became... valuable. And now... my love, now the connection has filtered into my memories as something warm and reassuring, you have stepped from the centre of attention to a turn of my head from the perceivable forward.

In the drive of the day, you serve as a fantastical presence in my mind, a word repeating in the sentences rambling through the monologue, associated with an image that stirs a collection of emotion.
The words and images, the memories and ghostly echo of a voice straighten my back out, and knock my chin up a touch.  

We don’t depend on each other, we aren’t each other’s everything, instead we are friends in love developing ourselves in a way I can never fully express thanks for.

Life is a challenge, and at the same a beauteous opportunity and I’m glad you’re sharing it with me. The reassurance of you... helps me take it all on with pride.

So thanks.

The months ahead are meant for the living constructs around us to echo colour and depth
The air smells full, feels warm, surrounding our cellular circumferences with a relieving presence
The plants look alive, saturating their greens, showing a perceivable difference from the bricks
The animals that talk absorb their culture, using community and collective expression to enjoy well... just being

Even those that aren't sure where they'll go when the sun goes down
Forget that the night is coming for a while

Some of the animals want to live among many, be it under the sun or the moon
They talk and smile and laugh, absorbing the eyes and messages of others
They walk and ride metal boxes from place to place, drawn to experiences of shared culture
Ending their days with aching legs and fulfilling memories

Other animals want to live with those few eyes that come comfortable, extroversion less natural
They sit and read in a body of grass, sit and drink on a wooden backless table
They draw warmth from the vivid reality around them, and the presence of those they know well
Days drifting off with a cushion of contentment, sleep coming quicker

Whatever kind of animal each individual is, whatever skin or gender, personality or perception they wear
The subtle empowerment of the sun
The eyes and mouths of their brothers and sisters
The blooming coloured cells and sweet smelling transparents
And those times where the animals stand side by side on mass for something they feel drawn to
Give em a chance to breath in deep, feel the warmth
And enjoy