In the present, this old beast of internal exploration filters in
Spattering the present self with stains
A person I was sabotaging the person I am
Or at least that's how it feels

Strange how in a time filled with extroverted explosions
The real detail of the piece
The real road of the journey
Occurred internally, with none but myself to truly see it

My friends were desperate to help the friend they feel they wounded
But all they did was add to the tonnage of the explosives
It was me who was so intent on pressing the ignition
It would mean a lot if they could know that

Yet shame sinks and the proud flawed man stands tall
Making proof of strength
Achievement and philosophy
More important to show to them all
Than communication of pain

But I have a friend who helps with that
A professional relationship sure
But you can't teach honest compassion like that
She cares about me despite seeing what I'm ashamed of
And having the northern hemisphere's supply of chocolate
Delivered to her house, along with a hug and a smile
Would just about show how grateful I am

I still have work to do
I glorify the old days
Speaking of things that shook my life to the core flippantly
In denial of the depth of connotations
Maybe because when things were good, they were groundbreaking
Expansion of consciousness and a dream of how things could be
If science just proved it

It made me numb myself to the searing cancer
Infesting me for so long

When it comes to what I want to change
They're just stories
It should be simple enough to teach myself
As stream of consciousness flows
Crafting self in abstract terms through sound waves
To let go of the stories that show who I was

I know that's that not who I am anymore
It's not the person I should show

I'm already good at what I do
This vessel of what I think is right
This tool of craft in visual and intellectual forms
This telescope pointed to the things I want from life

I need to grow more and be one with the present self
But I'm sure I can do it
I'm already someone I thought it impossible to be
Making him better shouldn't be too hard

There's a metaphorical flow to it all you know
It might be spiritual, influenced by God
Or quantum molecular, matter influencing thoughtlessly
But we all see the speed of life

Sometimes life is an obstacle course
Adversity and adventure ever present
Action helping shake the dust off the bones

Sometimes the boat leads you
Water taking you to the place you planned
Your jigsaw skin fitting more comfortably

Sometimes though
The reality wraps around your feet with a binding
And the signposts only show question marks

When that happens remember how the flow works
Even at one mile an hour, a day, a week
You are still moving
You're the only one with the brake

Unstoppable is still unstoppable
No matter how fast you go

Moments come in the spreading threads of self
When effort has been expelled
Strain slackened with the epilogue
And a new oneness found

The dream intangible has been given shape
The colours seep into the paper
Never to be altered again
The reverberations from the throat and string
Have been sculpted into their destined sequence

The person who was lost in the work is now back
Here to reflect on the intangible now tangible
While the joy of accomplishment is natural
So too is the loss of what making was to you

While you wait, restless
The compass now fidgety and unhelpful
Wait for the eyes to see your picture
Ears to hear your song
Minds to connect with your story

Know its okay to feel lost right now too
Time will come when you and flow are the same again

Until then
Clear out the cobwebs that grew around you
See life in the now
Follow your gut, the itches and urges
And warm yourself with whatever feels right as a reward

Because you'll find the flow again
Don't worry

Don't worry about me
Sure, giving myself a hard time is my norm
Discontent and stressful psychology are a second skin
But I am receiving my rewards for this growing human all the time

I bathe in the social, and I hope I'm successful in my effort to connect with who I can
But it's more selfish than that, I guess people just make me smile
More than just the presentation of self, and the silly little things that tick away in them
People are stories that have been grown through DNA strains of identity, and through the circumstances the universe has webbed out around them
So getting to know them and trying to add something to their lives if I can, it's a little bit too fun to pass up

But I often distance myself from the moving matter, microscopic flows and cycles
And the individuality infused eyes that are you and me and them
Sometimes to write, but mostly just to feel good about myself
Introversion is an aspect of me that has it's value, and I feel like I can see that for what it is
It has been a curse in the past, and sometimes holds me back
But it's where what I make comes from
Weird little patterns on paper, maybe three songs from the piano by ear
And the validating obsession that is the literary form

What I believe comes from it too, this strange openness with endlessness
The attempt to make tangible the inconceivable depths of everything
Somehow the philosophy of self improvement ties into it
With a dream of humanity united to colonise the universe
Advancing ourselves to levels unrecognisable to our reality now
And maybe, if it even can be done
Breaking open that intangible enclosure that the universe is to us
And finding answers for ourselves to those questions that some of us are arrogant enough to claim they know the truth of
God, gods, or something less tangible, less in our image, and more like the universe, without need for recognition or influence
And that other question, are we a symptom of a system of electrical signals in our skulls
Or are we both body and the ethereal ghost that despite defying reason, becomes something we yearn for connection to
The souls feel right, but the universe doesn't care how you feel, it just is
Whatever the truth, if we want answers, we will have to earn them through greatness

...there I go, diving again
Soaked in the flow of analysis
This is, at least in part what's going on under the hood
You probably will have trouble understanding me
But please, you don't need to worry

Sometimes you get these little victories
A change in this little thing that bothers you, and that other thing that needs doing
Small pieces of self change the bitter taste in your mouth to a wonderful view in the mirror
And before you know it you're having a great day

And on those days
When things get a bit too annoying
When a source of disparity is exacerbated either deliberately by others or just a symptom of the natural flow
You trust in those little validations
And remember the tunnel that gives you your vision

Sometimes you've got this, and nothing will **** with that.

You think you've got what it takes green man
You're short
You're weak, your strength is only a year old
And you've been pampered by the melanin in your skin and the love around you
You think you can understand what adversity means?
The few tests of masculinity you ******* paid for left you tense and fearful when the weapons were made of plastic
When reality was there to test you, the words you should have fought against you let slide like a *****

You think you deserve a right to fight?
You may desire it, but you are too small and too stupid to fight for anything in this world
And what you desire to fight for is muddied in hypocrisy
Because democracy is built on blood and sin
A world of wolves ****** each other with claws and ***** for sheep like you
When you sheep wander into our battleground, you bleed better than us
With tears and families and a lack of skin that Darwin fought the churches to emphasise
The stupid and the sociopathic know our fight the best
Because they accept the simple truth we give them, or are willing to profit from the lie
But you just men, sheep who give up and wolves who die
You can't keep up with this

What do I say to all that?
To our history that is so muddied in the darkest greys
Bloodiest battles fought continously, so I can live under laws that I don't agree with
As much as they let me do what I want to do

I have to take the coward's way out, and defend my tribes in my ***** *** deluded little way
And despite every need to be carved out of stone as a man who is too soft to fight as hard as he wants to
That fight doesn't exist
And if it did
It wouldn't need me

There is a paradox of space for the individual in this sea of voices
An amorphous body of metaphorical sound that we avoid and ignore with our sense of selfishness and superiority
And yet we burn our civility to ashes for the sake of making sure that stranger knows we don't ******* agree with them
Here in this valley of poets, what is trending and popular, what is held dear is similar explorations of pain and adversity
Experiences of love, life, loss
And as I try and to distinguish myself by expressing my own uniqueness
I am a self indulgent hypocrit, who wants the same things as the idiots and disagreeables I try and hold myself superior to

At least here, on this little page away from the flow of superfluous information I can speak to a void of similar voices, where more come to speak than to hear, forgive me for saying

I am here to speak too
I'm no better
My voice may be different or distinct, I try to play with vocabulary and the conceptual
But you probably do the same
And art comes from pain so...
In the end, I'm still a weak ***** who holds onto to old images of love
Wishing the naked ****** friendships that took so long to build in the past will fall out of my phone when I wipe my thumb across it
And hoping the efforts to create something basic and tangible, and the efforts to create an identity worthy of societal admiration
Will deem me worthy to experience love again, part of me feels

But I'm not deluded by that. I've given up looking for something that comes when you aren't looking
The lost keys that turn up when you've looked everywhere and finally give up
Instead I am driven by the craft that I want to define me
And the satisfaction that the work gives me
It makes me happy amongst this mess of information overload and malnourishment I experience socially
By my own fault
Probably

As I let go of the catharsis of self expression now, petering out to a conclusion that has hopefully, a decent punch line
I know that I probably won't be heard, will be skipped over for stories of bitter broken hearts or tangible stories of adversity defeated
Skipped over in greater terms for the latest bag of shallow consumable ***** in the unhealthy social media world that I know you reader, hate as much as I do
The greater ocean of self expression that washes into a noisy murmur, the internet echoing the street

Who knows
You've read this haven't you
Maybe I'll get over my narcissism long enough to hear you too