Sometimes I wonder
About all these screens
Reality captured and controlled
Designed and refined
Groomed to an idealistic state of too good to be true
Making it a bit too easy to day dream

Sometimes I wonder
About all those moments
Those times so clearly photographed
With a piercing sting behind the camera
Fantasy proposing the changes that can't be made
For those moments that you can't forget

Sometimes I wonder
About all I haven't seen
Billions upon billions of molecular possibilities
Shown through animals, forests, seas, circumstances
All going on beyond the length of my perceptions
Giving me a yearning for more than before

But...
Sometimes I know
Despite all the anxieties of self perception
The hindsight consumption pressuring pointlessly
And the necessary humility in a world that is small itself
That there's a lot I can do to find contentment in life
And plenty of time to do 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.

So many of hours are compressed, drained, squeezed for all their worth
So many of our days are pressed into our skin with molten memory
So many of our years are defined by the effort, by the reward
And so it should be, such definition is gratifying

But forgive me, if forgiving is due, for valuing insignificance
For understanding a macro distinction of cells and stars and our place in between
For allowing time towards the subtle seconds of observation
And the day dream of depth that comes with it

When the leaf falls after such intense photosynthesis
When the river rushes with unfleeting certainty
When the bird calls out with definite culture
When the girl blushes with warm emotion

I hope I am around to see it

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.

Defining solitude is an interestingly malleable task
You can be one of strangers dotted randomly around a room, with the nature of your task distinctly yours
Or pressed up against 4 or more others, in the compact discomfort of a crowd that defies personal space, joining hundreds in a shared disdain
Or even with that one, in a similar change to the norms of personal space, but one that is welcomed chemically, emotionally, socially, where you test your nervous systems together, trying to get those **** little noises and faces

Amongst all this it has to be said that you are one person though, a single distinct identity, a single perception, a single source for emotional and ideological response to the blisteringly large amount of stimuli beyond counting over the course of years

With that.. comes uncertainty, especially when younger but settling still sometimes on the oldest of shoulders
An uncertainty, or an adversity, or a challenge
A challenge for some which drops down the back of sofas, or is gratefully piled under by gift after gift of shallow victory or opaque validations
For others they stand taller than the highest of towers with the most intimidating of faces, deconstructing the figurative cells of the beholder
For others still the matter is more personal and individual than two tone truths, the task, the anomaly amongst lucidity, the defining cracks in the mirror manifest in different animals, expressions and caricatures
And the singularity of existence, which is gradually being ballooned by technology convenience well, that doesn't ******* help.

So what do we do about these ******* bits of our brains? These resounding sticks putting pressure on our cogs and wheels, slowing us on our trip to the ideal
Some repress them, building them like ulcers, ulcers which burst in destructive forms or simply crush our backs till our smiles are hollow
Some indulge them, pursuing the irrationality till blood, ***** and tears surround our overwhelmed and tired doors to the world
Others.. those that I always admire, fight them, engage them with a rational or honest stand to last, and some of these ones win
I like to think of myself as one of these but..

I'm not there yet, not truly
But I see things differently, thanks to traditional private channels and a tipping see saw between healthy and really unfucking healthy approaches
The miniature disasters, the minor catastrophes, they've become different, something opaque, analysable and approachable
I can see them for what they are more than how they make me feel, and that is something I'd advice you do next time that thing, under whatever buckets or barrels of soaking context you've got going with it, that's an approach that really works for me
When it has substance, a color, a shape or a texture, when it can be really perceived for what it is, it can be dealt with
And you can be the one to deal with it, let the thing be what it is

Then grab it, squeeze what you need from it onto your plate
Or let it go and drift along to the sides of your vision, allowing you to focus and let go of what is peripheral in sight and insignificant in mind

I can't imagine what you're going through, I will never say I can, unless say, you're eating jam toast.
But I will say that I have faith in you reader, and that if I can face what my challenges have been and what my challenges will be well..

You can too.

Purpose is always a strange one
A concept that can be subjective, malleable, difficult to attain or even define
Some of us let the institutions, the societal and the familial help define it, I know I have
Some of us alter our brain chemistry, travel to new places or dive into bohemia in pursuit of it, or maybe to escape from it
Others just let themselves build purpose out of emotion, personality, english or maths, political affiliation, talents and passions
The lucky ***** who can take the abstract phantom, as familiar as the inconceivable cells that form us, and create something real and identity defining

I hope to count myself among them, picking my pursuits and examining my psychology to put myself in the right direction
I guess my purpose has been one of retribution and self examination, one which I am proud to succeed in small ways in creating
Clearing out the hoarder's den of emotional and slightly Freudian interconnection bursting uncomfortably behind my eyes
And rebuilding, the work a combination of investigation and trial and error, gradually developing a man I didn't need to hate anymore

Now I speak to you through a portrait that isn't for sale, allowing me free reign over the paints
But.. forgive me if I feel as though my journey is coming to fruition at a bad time for the world around me, a sod's ******* law that leaves a bitter taste
And forgive me if on this journey, that I realise the repression from previous years, what I see as a valid anger for enemies brief and bashful or longer present and more traitorous
An anger that in the true macro context of a global battlefield and an era of apathy and division, is irrelevant and selfish
But when someone you love ***** you over, and you know they are out there giving into a weak parasitic nature that you despise, and becoming less of the image of them you loved when you could stand the ******* sight of them
I feel like I have the right to be angry, and that anger has become a preoccupation, but.. education has taught me perspective, and my pursuit of purpose has taught me what's important - my responsibility to enjoy life and continue passed this distracting anger

I am not homeless, I am not ill, I am not under threat
I do not live in the various definitions of slavery my brothers, and more so my sisters are exposed to
I do not fear death, a fear which spreads validly throughout the global war zone, as the powerful find new and interesting ways to give up their humanity
I do not sit in the streets uncomfortable from the cold surrounded by the nicest shops unable to buy something to eat

My life is on an upward momentum and each step I take and each new friend I find reminds me that it might just be worth it
Reminds that my pursuit of purpose, while slightly less tangible than that of the doctor with a patient or the soldier with a mission, takes precedent
Contentment and health, writing the story and learning the trade, contributing both socially and through hard graft to a company I don't have any ethical issue with
And diving headlong into bohemian self indulgence and social revelry
Whilst gradually constructing a self image that can actually encourage a smile out of me
I feel like for the first time I'm doing life right

So while I may have days where the air tastes bitter, where my psychology fails at helping maintain my preferable way of being seen
And days when it's just a bit ****
I feel like I have purpose, a direction and decent image of myself
So I remember to be grateful, quit my ******* and keep going

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

How to approach something so intangible, with little cellular to describe to my nerves
How to make verbal something so emotional, based on psychology and civil construction
How to perceive myself appropriately despite the eroding drips that pierce progress and old photos I cling to with such immaturity
These questions all are for the same goal, that progression of the self, all those substantial, cerebral, sensual and societal realisations that I yearn for
And yet... I sit, making delusional dreams come true in screens, I sit, making deep intellectual arguments for causes that aren't my own, I sit, researching complicated **** ups and ****** withs the powerful inflict in their attempts to balance a system born broken and biased
Screens are our new ****** it seems, as we reject religion our screens let us forget that the world continues around us, or encourage us not to care
And I come to this self consciousness, this ironic hypocritical reprehension
Because I really enjoy what all these creative minds and years of work and beauteous ideas have given me, but with the same hypocritical tone, despise my compulsion to stare into pixels

As I indulge this self awareness, I know I will continue with the same mental obesity of consumption tomorrow
And there will be no hypocritical self evaluation, just self involved enjoyment
Until the moments come when I am left alone with my mind
Self conscious, reflective, feeling as the time has been lost, but my mind is too tranquilised with pixel and poster representations of reality to notice
This won't change but...

Maybe if I take some time to turn pages rather than press buttons, and stare at sunsets rather than screens
That self evaluative journey I've ignored and returned to sporadically in the reflective yet warm darkness would be less intimidating
And if nothing else, on those days where reality lies next to me filling my cerebral stomach with the undeniably existential
I might feel a bit better about those days lost to other people's stories

I had a long dark one last night, a heavy rush of reminders
Overwhelming sense of stationary among a network of people who move so far and foundationally
A feeling that lingers like a cold behind my primary camera to the world at the moment
I know I'll start moving again
The mechanic's on his way, the suit looks sharp and the tie dye I'm making looks comfortable
A gradually developing mess of colours and concepts, it feels good

But err..
It's amazing how flexible you are, how much momentum you can get when you feel like kicking yourself in the face
Those self indulgent destructive couple of hours, amplified by a liquid haze evaporating inhibition
After something so simple and reassuring, it's easy to crash under the weight of repression
And after all the perfectly sad songs and poisonous self indulgence, you wake to a light of relief and shame because you let yourself be weak to it to all the building *******

Uncertainties for me stem from those classic counter productives, a flashing red light of low for confidence, clarity, certainty
And that crippling feeling that all those open eyes and open hearts that have given me a chance before just won't come again, new faces, social opportunities, chances at a real deep connection just moving past as I just sit still
Watching the escapist worlds flourish, reading the corrupt cracking at our pride as a country, and seeing photos of all those new places and people surrounding their momentous lives

But.. writing such disparity... well.
As relaxing as the release is, I'm reminded that that guy in the mirror still wants the life
The validation of a finely crafted creation that exemplifies my personality and passion for creative media
The dull but reassuring letters, bricks and decorative crap that make up an owned home
The relaxing calm of attaining just that right ******* wavelength with someone, where conversation flows with the same notes and tones and can go on for as long or as short as it likes without breaking the bond between the eyes
Be it from a woman, who can dance and talk and looks good in shorts
Or.. well, from the exception to the rule in those other interests
I, like most of us dumb self involved ******* and wankers, wouldn't mind being close to someone again
Forgive my hollow faith in it, like my ambitions and the foundations of my future, I fear it'll just smash leaving glass in my toes and the same old ******* walls around me.

But that doesn't mean I can't ignore all that. Or at least help myself let it all go.
Doesn't mean I can't smile for that girl who takes my picture, giving me that look of understanding from across the hall.
Doesn't mean I can't sit in a field surrounded by friends, holding two drinks and laughing at my mistakes.
Doesn't mean I can't rattle out a few words to get this **** off my mind.

And wake up the next day, drink a cold sobering glass of optimism,
and get the **** on with it.

Strange that something so accepted should still cause self consciousness before I approach it honestly
The relative anonymity this site gives me is for some reason still not enough to stop that pressure in the back of my mind
Here's me standing between that I guess, a self evaluative expression that deep down I'm okay with who I am

I'm lucky I know that much, living in a social culture of indifference from friends and family
My heart goes out to those prisoners behind abstract bars, walls constructed by opinions, traditions, religions
Who find someone with their own body shape attractive, a subtle reinvention of their minds and eyes
A smile that is just that little bit more reassuring thanks to a comfort in the air you can't quite put into a definitive shape
After one abusive encounter that still makes me ******* teeth biting angry well, I can't imagine that towering over me every day
I've said it before, I'll say it again, I've got a lot to be grateful for

Me well.. people joke that I'm one of the greedy ones, that I can't make my mind up one way or the other
There's a certain truth to it I must admit
The day dream of another as sub consciousness fades in similarity, that person staring back at me with a sheet covering up to a profile
Either seems attractive in that figurative make believe image, something concluded in the struggles of psychology
But forgive me if a certain pessimism surfaces from the prospect of earning that image, showing real social certainty towards whoever it is I'm curious of
But that's beside the point, a daunting prospect for anyone who stares silently into a crowd with a drink in their hand
Those comfortable with it getting a silent smiling ******* for their confidence

Despite all the usual traps and speed bumps, there is a certain ease to it all though
Whoever is eating that pizza with me, on the phone to me, sharing a shower with me
I'm at that point as an adult with a clear mirror
That I know its what I want, I know its okay to want it
And if there is anyone out there, with whatever representation of reality that perceives a problem with it
The ****** can **** my ****

Again
Such a vivid yet abstract motivation, a warm sense of meaning in my gut concocted from some poignant expression
And again I'm at it
Clattering into a comfort, a comfort absent of the cellular and substantial, yet so personal and surreal

Without a definite direction, do these words have meaning?
Well... what means a lot to me right now? What clenches against my skin, burning it red with tension in pure uncomfortable distraction? What insecurities make me feel as though my bones and bits could brittle to the point of sand?

Well.. the usual. Clarity, validation, ****** release, a definitive admirable prowd sense of self, a bunch of ethereal concepts that haven't had the decency to manifest themselves and be nice enough to kick me in the face, shocking my nerves into a smile of reality. And the usual reflection on these worries reminds me of the usual image glimmering back, a response of criticism. For ****'s sake.

And it is then I say ******* to the irrational and rational growths of pressure, and try to discern, rationalise, make distinct what matters. Or I let it all go, but remind myself soon enough that the world is waiting. The usual.

I wonder if that job, career, book, **** even if that house would center the scales, but I doubt it. I wonder if the girl would massage my mind into tranquility, or if that girl will even be close enough to not notice me there. Or if a new someone will wander in, force me into a unavoidable eye contact.

Either way..
The rooms are less foggy, the words are more clear. The mirror man does look sexier. The critiques will keep coming, the work will cycle and the validation won't be felt for a while, and may not be felt at all from the sources associated. But my tongue has more words and my throat has more volume. The stigma of the eyes from a thousand people morphs from suspicion to callousness to clarity.

So yeah. The meaning here... well...

I'm fine thanks.
How are you?

The feeling doesn't come around very often
An old friend familiar footwise to different pastures fitting the fantasy
New experiences constructing strong someone's admirable psychology, fresh beauteous landscapes making up the ends of days that aren't quite taken for granted, but nonetheless become more and more common
As life becomes such an obvious thing to engage with, to fill the mind with an intangible, unnecessary to reconstruct explicability, defining reality
Where that ******* smirk just works, and is taken for granted

Forgive me for being jealous
As austerity and holding back defines our culture in recent times, suits and faces for hating, numbers and reports spurring disparagement, and sentiments of dream and realisation eroded and rained down with flu
Optimism becoming uphill, a difficult sentiment to come naturally, I try nonetheless when such metaphysical and intense psychedelia sits uncomfortably in the back of the mind
****'s sake Britain give me a break

But um..
That girl, that guy, those people, that moment in all those minds that grows from a simple glimpse of a day dream into an empowering determination, realised more and more through presences and establishments from the outside world
Those are the opportunities I'm looking for, amongst solidarity in a fluid and ****** up world
As I steal that smirk from that smug self involved person in the paradise of personality
To see into space and realise how my reflection looks good amongst such fantastical potential realisations

Yeah.. I should go to sleep, but a bit of clarity as to my direction, a little a bit of mirror monologue giving a bit of 'you're all right', well it isn't **** all to complain about.

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.

Oh its that time again isn't it
Summer, had my ticket for months, but its that time properly now
Planning brings a strange nostalgic reality to it, little multi-sense photos
An atmosphere can be difficult to really deconstruct when you just got words to go on
But its definitely one I enjoy, one that I embrace headlong

Travelling is that monotonous thing, early rising to enjoy the window of a minivan for a few hours
Watching the familiar turn to new hills and roads that represent thousands of lives and millions of cells
That I don't give two ***** about
Did somebody bring a CD? Does it work? *******.
The service station provides our group with yet another chance to take the **** out of each other
And converse in that usual way, a spontaneous collection of enjoyable media, social events and our opinionated picking apart of the world

Then we get there, I'm reminded of my sheer lack of exercise as I carry all my **** to the campsite
And after a while we're set up, the tents are out, the deck chair is under my *** and the plastic cup of *** and coke is in my hand
And here's the atmosphere again, that memorable ******* where the brits are really bohemian
We drink, we talk, we laugh, we **** take
The night develops and the spontaneity and quiet chaos cracks out of our shells
And if I've done well I've forgotten all of it, or puked it up the side of a fence

The bands come on the next day, and the drink is that usual inhibition ******* friend
As a couple misfits in black shirts and jeans surround themselves in thousands of misfits in black shirts and jeans
And the dark comes along again, I lose my crowd to immerse myself in another
That song on my mp3 player becomes four men on instruments, with bigger speakers than my house
The experience becomes completely mine as alcohol lowers my cynicism and enhances my immersion
Making that band a little more ******* awesome

I wake up with a dodgy looking beard, misplaced hair and a tent to abandon
Looking forward to a shower and a plate of chicken
But with resounding sense of success and a slight smirk
Definitely do it again next year.

So I had more than I needed to drink, enthused away the heavy
Managed to let go of it for long enough to be an approachable friend
And fall flat on my face on the dance floor, and lose my bottle and bag to London's foreign legion
It was a good night and a warm reminder of why I'm here

Forgive me though if I'm brought back to those same old nags
One is a permanent part of the programming
A variable that resculpts moments, sometimes with a lack of clarity, otherwise too intense a saturation
I'm not here to talk about it, but the context needs to be there

The other is that same old chase of the cats
Throwing yourself with arms behind you into an encounter without even realising it
Because that one took your hand and let you kiss her

I remember the moment, and nothing else, the evidence of failure only found in drunk texts and a phone that's turned off
Really hits home after a while
Weirdest thing is though.. is that I've taken a lesson from it
One that for some reason gives me a sad smile, and yet an empowering one

If I relax into life, work off the coughs and work on the plans
Ease off the deceptions and distractions, as far as I can
I.e. just carry on with this stupid self involved process
I'll have another moment like that somewhere along the way
Whether by circumstances I've put myself in or by the random roll of the dice

And this time, instead of the worst crashing in front of her in ways I don't even remember
I'll be ready to show everything that's good about me
And if that last girl's look was anything to go by

It'll be enough

It all moves out of view
This spacial slideshow of curious imagery
If you know the place, the images cast nostalgia, a padded sense of familiarity and recollections
dragged out of dusty boxes
If you don't know the place, the images leave an odd awkward sense of speculation,
the stories taken for granted behind other irises that leave you pondering
If the driver doesn't want music, the mind types itself out, fingers picking through the paperwork
The hum gains its repetitive dulling thud, and you have two friends
Sleep or boredom
They both ****

If the driver wants music, boredom still looms in the air, hanging from
the rafters from coils made of dust
But the potential for the pretty little day dream to drop across your lap is something to be admired

Here's where you learn whether you respect your driver's taste
And whether your man enough to say anything about it

And so you are polite, whether you like the music or not
The world outside still takes your eye between the small talk
Billions upon billions of cells joining in sweet matramony so many times over its a wonder so brilliant
that it would break the mind
Joining to form that house. Oh it's gone.

Your mind fills with your life
Two parts goals, work,  study, ambitions
One part relationships, lovers, friends, fueds
A dash of media intermission, those things you saw that were cool
All stirred for 3 hours with a touch of day dream sauce
Wait until the journey ends and you can forget all about it

Look stranger.
I have been through more **** than an elephant's stable boy.
My **** stinks up rooms sometimes, and so many are polite to ignore the smell.
I appreciate that.
One time I ate the wrong stuff, and my **** got fired across a crowd, ruining everyone's night.
They hosed me down with diarrhoea, which I carry around too.
They had the right though. I don't blame them.
I went back to that place a year a later, and the **** smell came off me. They were really polite.
I appreciated that.
So stranger.
Please tell me if the **** I've been through gets spat on your plate.
Tell me if I'm making you uncomfortable with the smell.
And thank you for being polite.

That classic cliche of a clock ticking too far
And a love that burns in the back of the mind
Scratching heat into the seams of social self control
But I'm strong enough to smile for the cameras

The tasty dabs of smiling sherbert keep me posted on the here and now
The all work and all play lifestyle brings smile from far and wide
I don't deserve forgiveness for the bitter taste in my mouth
I was the one that melted my key into the furnace
And I'm the one who can see the bridge behind him

Spit on me if you must, my love, my friends, my observant big brother
Pity is not for the imbalanced and favoured
I am strong, I am proud, and I am rolling sixes

Just allow me an occasion to mourn my mistakes
My hand feeling cold and singular again
My eyes dragging across the floor in retrospect
My lust seeping from under my fingernails with gangrenous inferiority
I want what I can't have, shouldn't have, not again

But that empowering sense of growth makes the counter productive
So appealing
Sometimes I can't take it
I would show you the nostalgic touches of the boy you've lost
And the inspiring intensity of the man I have become
Through every nerve and every word you would know why I love you

But..
Life is not that convenient
The imbalance is the nature of this evolving colossus encapsulating our species
I will learn to accept my loss
I will learn to love another
I will continue to develop my scripted status and materialistic hollows
Just know that I hate myself and you
For how much I miss you

These are odd times for us, whether we can perceive it or not
It may be that we know but knowing isn't quite as tangible an experience as we'd like

We live as overwhelmed individuals in a layered psychological and cellular construction
Or, be it better or worse, solitary insecurity clusters ignoring screen after screen
Electronics spreading root throughout our air, ground, and following us around
Reality a strange blur between the definite, clear sober now and the insistent, ageless imposition of imagery
Of pixels and posters and places we've never been
Of people that distort our perceptions, degrade our emotions, and misinform us with too many voices
Our entertainment often becoming an intellectual and perceptual tranquiliser
Or a place to inhabit and let go, when the pressures of economic stability and social conscription to labour need to be forgotten, if only for a while

I still hold onto the optimism though
I hold onto it because I have to, because I want to, because I believe in it
It is my abstract fuel, a state of mind that every now and then gives me the pick me up to plod on
The internal negativity clawing at shins reconstructed as a test of masculinity, negativity from the world a test of solidarity
I am not infallible, I move slower sometimes, get lost sometimes, can't quite make it tangible and structured sometimes
I am reminded that I'm not recession proof, that I'm still the system's ***** and sometimes my buttocks aren't raised quite high enough
But..

I keep going. Like we all do. I try to let it exemplify myself a bit more than most, but..

If I can make that girl thank me,
that guy give me a smirk,
that project go a little faster,
that day smell and feel nicer
and that anxious night seem a little more transparent

Through something as simple as trying to be optimistic and mindful of the self
I guess there's something to keeping your chin up

In this strange state of affairs where bohemia helps us ignore the great intangible house of cards that somehow keeps billions of us fed
In my own little world, made up of success after success and **** up after **** up, there's a barrier that stays the course whatever roof I'm under
While I don't attach my creativity to it anymore, it occupies the same space, creating irrational from the rational, developing natural disorder
Hollowing out the moment so I can feel it as a poison later, a fantasy of who I should of been
But despite this.. old parasite I still hold onto my optimism, still build and learn and deconstruct and can see my success in a fruit that tastes so ******* good

I don't like who it makes me, I don't like the waste of the good times, the emotional challenge it sets me, the self involved ******* who doesn't know his own mind well enough to not have the next drink or to get away from the screen for that extra hour
But.. its something that shapes who I am, and I guess I can thank for creating the desire to improve and understand the context of every cell and mental directive
I just.. its coming clear that there is a permanence attached to this, and a mystery that needs solving, habits that need changing
And if I ever want to succeed in that unattainable sense of zen I'm so ******* desperate for, or at least close enough for long enough to let someone I love know why they should feel the same way

I need to accept the uncomfortable truth of the disorder
I need to let it shape my life, to keep in mind, to take life in the context of it
And accept that I'm not done with my struggles to be the man I want to be
I guess we never are

But.. if my art is so obvious to me, if my profession is a definite thing
If the people around spark mutual smiles and every now and then a cute one wanders over for a talk despite the unwritten rules saying she shouldn't
If everything else in life can be perceived and solved
Then this can become beatable, manageable

And maybe, just maybe
I'll get a chance to really relax

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

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.

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

So...

Amongst the immersion of the externally influential
Big bright screens letting me play hero, or watch others create unreal stories
Clutter building as the forms get done forgettably, the washing gets washed, the bills get paid
I take a moment to self indulge, just a little more in this first world bohemia

But.. how do you make tangible a feeling from a song? A memory of a smile? A dream of a success you haven't constructed..

Keep chipping away the boss says
Keep your head up the friend says
Keep in contact my mother says
I do, but forgive me for feeling fraudulent spending so much time and money on mindless self indulgence.

It's the ones who do what they aren't told who create their own destinies the old ones say
It's the ones who refrain from giving their identity to icons of fame I find myself feeling, a certain hypocrisy found in my dreams of great cultural figures giving my success a piggyback
It's the one who swim among the people in natural confidence that gather gratification in bohemia and ***
And it's the ones who set up barriers through the anxiety built from our own cages, that get left behind.
At least, that's what they say, without saying anything..
I'm trying to prove them wrong, I want to say.

I'm trying to create a world that feels pure, and other times feel fraudulent
I'm trying to create people that represent something other than my misshapen perceptions of social conduct
But I'm also wasting away in front of the screen, the digital *****, and that shames me in my useless solitude
And I'm also losing ups to downs, lost in the past, lost in loss

But.
I know the baseline, the cracked open truth and the value of a smile
I know the beautiful siren call from finely picked singers whose fruit tastes better
I know the man who stands naked leaving the shower, features defined and eyes determined to become more empowered

Piece by piece, question by question I'm on my way
I hope anyway... it's very easily to lose this up to a down, to lose direction to a shattering of self
But as I draw out the baseline with more clear features, shading defining a face and words defining principles
The wild clusterfuck of falling down becomes an abstract with a tangible definable outline
The overall structure of where I'm going put together on paper and trusted digital files
So... I feel a little bit more control

Forgive me though reader, brief friend who allows me openness among strangers
If I fear that I could grow stale and fat as a manchild with too many toys
Or crash through paper floors into an old skin that burns so easily
And forgive me once more for allowing myself just a moment
To step away from this hilariously comfortable life I clatter all ****** up through

So I can have a beer, a cigarette, or a cup of tea
Sit amongst peers, incense or nature
And smile to the fact that I might be doing this right for once

Is it wrong to be preoccupied with 'What if?'
Electrons forming interpretations in tissue
Creative strives taken as eyes glaze away from what they see
The mind busy with images of preferable realities
"Sorry what was that?"

It's easy to be preoccupied I guess
Tobacco turning orange and grey and transparent
The nature around propelling hidden processes
But all the while I'm busy with what's what
and what could be

There's a man who speaks for me in these conscious dreams
He's got my face and he's got my name
But such a clean definitive tongue to touch ears with
Pity when the people are there to hear him
I bottle it

With all this preoccupation
The screens and spirits and unsolvable celluloids
I'm just going to try to settle down amongst wood and grass
Breathe deeply, think slowly, step safely
And see what happens

Disdain is developing for these boxes
Where interaction is eased but distanced and disconnected
Losing context and adding overthought
The to and fro becomes unhealthy in its uneven pacing, where our own little bubbles manifest in useless and counterproductive day dreams

This text technology isn't without its merits, if we need someone we can get hold of them quickly, if we need information we are well supplied
But for some, or.. to be frank, for me,  the information overload is deconstructing my confidence and pressurising my sense of self
A battle I fight against with fresh air, exercise and my continued relationship with pleasure
As well as the projects and positions that I pursue, the passions and paychecks, an effort about to hit full force now I'm graduating into the hostile capitalist way of things

I worry what this overdose of gratification does to me, but those that aren't self conscious of themselves under the techno-pressure worry me more
Because they are caught, fulfilled by a mundane medium that the screens provide, some adding the taste of green to exacerbate their passivity
While their lives aren't my problem, I feel for idiots, and count myself among them to whatever extent

Again I am reminded though, as my words spread naturally and find intellectual soil to dig down towards
As confident as I am of my optimism and the direction it describes
I am so very ******* fallable, and these screens and trying to connect with people through them is a process that doesn't quite seem right
That's not to say I won't be surrounded by the deceptive ******* tomorrow, in that mundane medium of 'social' existence
But it'll be the boxes of text that bug my sense of tangibility
and the efforts to shake off the cabin fever that will be most rewarding

These moans culminate in that simple little appreciation of those old norms
That no matter how incredibly interconnected our technology allows us to be
Those piles of text are a poor ******* substitute for the eye contact and the smile
So make sure you go out and find some

It's late
So late our part of the world has turned it's back on the sun
Somewhere are the crickets, filling gently the air with shaken legs

Up here
A speechless pause towards the scope of a cityscape
As everyone... are they awake?

Share with me
A sky of dotted celestial potential
And fingers of yours between fingers of mine
As busy old home winds down its business

Share with me
What curiosities and stories you can tell
What you really like about what you really like
And what we should do tomorrow

There are those people in your life
Those whose wings are getting fully exercised
Stretched out wide with the start of the day
A few feathers dropped by the end of it

Their eyes look out with a clear view of forward
Their ears receive without distorted dilution
Their mouths express with a founded opinion
And you know they are tired when they go to sleep

It's a day and age where our futures are uncertain
It's a time where perception is easier to distort than clarify
It's an age of morphing reality and multiplying divides
So them with their stretched out wings are easy to admire

Maybe your vision is idealistic
Maybe they have trouble too
Maybe they worked through what you're afraid of
But you can't help but feel a little left behind sometimes

You'll still pursue the unspoken and rarely admitted tactics
You'll still look around for the ground to begin planting
You'll still hold on to the beauteous aspects of your reflection
But I'll forgive you if you're still afraid of flying

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

As the existential transition is signed and stamped and photographed for our fathers
My little journey a little later than others, an adherence to the structure sure, but where else will we learn
As the papers are handed in, the informal formalities hit home with just enough liquor
And we are torn between insecurity and empowerment
I notice among the bread and beer and bullshitting banter
One of the girls is looking my way a little longer

Her mind draws me in to a natural respect, an intelligence clearly and frankly explored
It is a source of comedy, a source of conversation, and for me I'd be lying if not a source of attraction
Naturally her appearance doesn't hurt the situation, a compliment of warm  smiles and intense colour coupled with an honest sense of self
And a sleek silhouette to hold it in

One thing this town has taught me, by both strangers and the self
It doesn't take much to be ****
The real goal is constructed from the subtle implication of your own taste
That you find that someone who is sexually and socially engaging
And who could add more than trivial ******* to your life
Someone who compliments and compares to you, reconstructing the familiar to something more rewarding

That is not to say *** is pointless
But if you find that right one who acts as your muse, *** is another exploration of that two way empowerment
Clothed and carrying on, you can talk out the simple and fantastical, defining direction as companions who find each other's presence a motivating reassurance
And in the sweat and the snog, after the spontaneous first **** frees you, you can start to suggest new tests of sensuality and mindfucking loveliness

I wonder if all those looks mean what I feel they mean
That she respects me in a way I haven't given her openness for, that I let those compliments go deeper than rain on the wind shield
That all the natural conversation is something for which I should let go of all the defensiveness that has kept me so comfortable in these years of functional formality
That maybe I should take a chance on this one, that cute one standing tall on her identity, in the same time of transition as me
But with less lessons behind her concreting her certainty

Maybe it's worth risking that bitter old ******* rejection just one more time
Maybe I should ask her if there's something
In
That
Really
Inviting
Look.

I am curious, amongst this ocean of distortion, imagination, insecurity and cellular amazing
Where I belong

Accept a place as an animal amongst animals
Or as a son of a omnipotent father so I don't feel alone

Accept a black and white document of myself
Because the full colour painting won't sell

Accepting dreams as translucent
Because I'm so cowardly to what could be made real

As I filter the wild tornado's wreckage behind me
Into something that I can build again
The smallest scrap of paper reminds me why I bother
Two words in familiar handwriting
"Why not?"

I know my faults as something solvable
I know my perks as something valuable
And I know compassion that warms the soul

Forgive me though, my confused observer
My brother in the street who knows **** all behind my face
Forgive me as I do
Whatever this is
My way

So..
I wander back into this old room, rubbing fingertips against nostalgic surfaces and sliding them against the coloured objects
Trying to pull out the representation within them
Trying to recreate the fantasies of a younger self
Tested by their potential hollow nature, by the cabin fever creeping through skin to nerve, by the idea that I can't quite find the balance
Between a healthy optimism, a self involved day dream of self, and a destructive need to deconstruct absolutely every aspect of my interaction with others, and avoid giving in to the claustrophobic boxes of old

I wonder when I do well, am I just satisfying a need at the expense of others?
Am I ignoring what matters, am I being lazy?
I wonder when I do badly, where in the massive intense web of social deconstruction, where does the truth lie amongst such burning over analysis?
Am I as invisible in my armour during the anxiety as I am so desperate to believe?

Then.. I go to other groups I'm sure about, coast through the conversation with a distance, wondering why the **** irrational obsession became so pure
But that's just the dull day to day, I'll keep up.

As the rains and winds beat hard against our windows and coats
As our brothers from our home back in Africa suffer from capitalism's imposition of ignorance on top of nature's cruel power at a molecular level
And maybe suffer a bit because of their own sin, but.. I'm not one to judge, my lineage tarnished with the ****** backs of other cultures
As this world of ours spreads and burns outward, I wonder if I'm going the right way.

I let doubt rush shakes from my hands, and let emotion fuel words that I have no other place to say, no ears that have any ******* right to hear them

I wonder if the universe breaks my toys and soaks my clothes for a reason, or if I'm just another self important ***** in a viral infection of self important ****** consuming their way to a dissatisfied 40th birthday, or to a drowning at 30 once the climate scientists are proven right

Or if those quotes and photos with dubious association are true in their assertion that no one lives forever, so make something that does?

I give in to self indulgence, grow tired from my work, and tell everybody about the projects I'm too lazy, too distracted, too busy consuming to produce.
Maybe I've got time.. maybe I'm too ******* myself
Maybe I need to get my ******* act together, because I could be murdered tomorrow.

Every now and then though.. I go through the motions again
Look behind me, look into me, and at the macro from a distance that isn't smudged by emotion or cracked apart by the imposition of doubt
And for a while I'm reminded that I've come a long way
And whether I drown tomorrow while the climate scientists watch in boats in a hollow victory of correctness
Or continue my day quiet as my anxiety suppressing deconstruction of socialisation tells me is advisable
There's part of me remembers the empowerment and soul defining principle taken from the rise from rock bottom
It lets me know that fulfilment is out there, and that a loving optimism is the only way I have any right of living
So whether I keep losing the fight with the bitter, I keep getting up for another beating
And for those days when the bitter goes down
I can smile that warm smile again

So here I am, despite every external and internal embodiment of the contrary
My goals are being built upon and driven towards, developing tangibility cell by cell
Despite my hollow self esteem associated, they continue somehow
Which is good I suppose. I push and push and results formulate slowly across the canvas, gradually taking shape.

Forgive me if I feel like a fraud though.

Girls, old and new come to mind
I look at a photo of the first one, see a very idealistic vision, she is empowered by the life she has constructed. It makes me smile for some reason, maybe I really have let go, because.. it makes me really happy to see her married and succeeding with her little goal. She was insanity for me at one point, a fantastical representation made of old thoughts and new unreal photos, made hollow flesh through text on a screen. I was pain for her when we lived and loved together, as the impulsive decision of "us" stopped my life. She was pain for me when I left, as I sat alone and craved the fantasy of the love I once had. We grew up together, and tore each other apart on the way to adulthood.

"I'm always sorry love."

The second one well
She's just done what I did with studying, come out in to the big wide world, losing the backing of an institution. She seems surrounded by others, indulging in it, good for her. Annoys me how gorgeous her identity is, she is defined by an intelligent approach to life, a critical mind kicking *** and yet still.. humble.
I felt comfortable around her, I didn't want to gamble the brief sense of on the level for something adventurous. Sometimes I despise my lack of back bone, sometimes I perceive my talent for alienation as a factor. But I think it was more that once I tried, we could never get back to that level of conversation we enjoyed with a few drinks.
I still have her on the social network, but with the few times we met, I fear it's too late, and that she was never that interested anyway.
I hope I send her a drunken message inviting her for coffee though.

"You're awesome, I hope you know that."

The last well.. she was my recent fling. A day of intense naked closeness and getting to know one another. Lots of talking, lots of ***. She knows her bubble, which was.. superficial I fear. She was into a guy before she met me. I.. gave her my preoccupation and overwhelmed myself, an intense sense of distrust which was too early to be appropriate. I don't think she saw it through text on a screen, which is all she was to me in the end. She was nice though, honest and giving, but our conversation was always just.. trying to give each other what we weren't sure we wanted. I gave her advice at the end, new thoughts from old habits, the importance of getting that thing that feels right, in the right existential circumstances, which can be a key you need.

"Best of luck."

As I get back again to my routine, my begrudged solitude and lack of motivation, I hope that I can find someone one day who will fulfil the simple fantasy, a girl, or guy, who will wake up next to me, persuade a natural smile out of me, slap me in the face,

and say "Keep Going. :)"

Failing that, there's always tea and good work to be done.

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

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

How do I express how this feels..

Returning from adversity self imposed
From a dissatisfaction of my results perhaps
Or a sense of stagnancy
Or the clock not giving me what I want

There was old scars too, with emotion ebbing underneath
Strange how such sugar coating
Should taste so bitter in hindsight
At the old image such interconnections showed
Maybe the stain wasn't so vivid in her eyes

The week was hard
I worked hard despite the need to not to do anything at all
Each time I dragged myself away I gave myself a trivial little gift
But it was hard to keep it all in

I opened myself, just enough, to a friend
When another couldn't be there
The prowd man didn't want to, thought it weak
And he could have handled it on his own
But maybe he realises something
That he doesn't deserve pain anymore

As I see the subtle nuances of the return
Smiles from friends silently concerned
And my confidence flow in the face of juvenile *****
I'm reminded of the strength I've earned

Sometimes I fall under old truths of self
Aspects that may always be there to glue my feet
But now, with these new eyes
This new sculpture of a man
And the depths of my mind, tongue and brush
Flowing so freely
The old truths fit in a greater landscape

One where strength
And more importantly optimism
Prevails

It's funny, how such simple things can be the joys we need
Not always throwing ourselves open first into situations and hoping we'll land content, although it can be fun and necessary to do
Risk being unhealthy, but gestation and fear being more destructive
There's a middle ground for the day to day though, I find little joys from the process and the tiny prizes that I give myself
A zen fifteen minutes here, an empowered hour of engaging with my story there, before burning away however much else plugging into someone else's story, someone with a much bigger budget than me

Amongst the purposeful process is a gradually more certain ****** dormancy looking ******* at me in the mirror, and yet smiling when I take his shirt off
Vanity is a sin, but after years of being a teenage *******, this little sin is okay
A little smirk to remind me why the girls give me a stare when I hit the streets, or sit at the bar

I can't help but obsess over the need to offer that fantasy girl a drink
A nice slice of normality staring me down from across the bar, reminding me the ease with which all the social stuff I stressed over can be validated with a smile

I go into a month of bohemian benders and meeting old friends, an age where I'm far too old to feel so young and alive the cynics would tell me
Yet I also look at the boy in black who was so lost in youth, and take pride in the man I'm making him into
Forging my goal with pen and keyboard taps, whilst going through adulthood's motions in a lucky dip of a workplace
Cerebral self consciousness aside though, I think I'm in danger of being happy for once

I'm enjoying the scales of process and prizes
The routine of putting my body through it's paces and then giving it an exercise that feels like it's not there at all
And the development of something I'm really starting to feel good about
In a post studying space where I'm suppose to fear for who I am becoming in the eyes of the taxpayer,
I'm kinda fine carving my own sculpture without worrying who'll see it

I just need to stay away from shy, from doubt
Because if I put myself in the right position, and take the simple step with all that abstract weight
I might find someone to share this forward momentum with

It may be the oxygenated blood talking
Or the recently relaxed mental state
Or maybe the calculating chunk looking over things ahead
Whatever it is, I can't complain.
I'm feeling ******* great today.

What to touch on now..

I could explore the clash of release
And the continued pressure that comes with it
Where openness and strength
Seem at odds and intrinsic

A strange little paradox there
What can I say for the connotations
That breach quietly into life
Hidden *** notes in the song

I notice one thing when I'm not self involved
As can be true of all of us
There's a new adversity
Adversity without adversity in that sweet little irony

As safety and security become thematic
As the glaring tunnel vision of problems disperses
We are faced with stagnation
And the new guilty challenges it provides

The hedonic treadmill
The thirst for more
The guilt of less in others
And discontentment, when we should know better

Though adversity can be intrinsic to me
Though my growth has created colourful threads
I still empathise as I sit in sameness
And burst out of it with the need for more

Because we aren't meant to sit still
We have legs for a reason

Its fleeting for most of us
A cluster of subtley sweet tasting minutes
That special treat that takes off your stiff shoes and lets you off the hook
As the juggling act of adulthood takes over, we learn to really indulge once the crowd has clapped and thrown us a coin

Some people like conversation, a joke or a new perspective
Some people like chocolate, swimming or TV
Meditation and massage, *** and cigarettes
Or a drink and the chance to reminisce with a friend

I find as I wonder what next in this gradual development of body and mind through questions and note taking and pushing the press up and stressing and stressing that I'm just not good enough rushing and impatiently pushing towards the dream and the identity I'm obligated to chase

...


That when I'm done, I really like a good cup of tea and a sit down
Its good to relax

Let's see if I can find this
In such greyed out statues that I desperately dream what little colour is left from
These memories scorched into my sense of self, eyes and hugs and reminders that at some point I may have deserved love

Three faces come to mind
Maybe one or two more to remind me where things could have gone

Either way
I try
To let go of you
Who make me want to let go of pride and cry
But ******* I'm a man you won't take that from me
You ******* memories

The new looks I get in the blur of life's loving aesthetic
One of these days I will take a chance
On those **** ******* eyes that say
Wake up with me

****

Love's hard
Especially when you've had it before

Let's take a few days I said
Day one those eyes still impose in memory
But space is good to know what's what
Gives me a chance to write how I feel

There's a mess of feelings around you
As you clatter my routine out of shape
Change the flavour of the tea in my cup
And insist on a stretch of the legs
You know I want too

This relationship is a fresh scent in the air, true
A tangling of warm fun and playfulness
Along with deeper dissection as we pick apart our pasts
But there's something I wonder about sometimes
Something that worries me

I've kept the house of cards growing through paper triangles
Wondering whether it would ever bubble into gold
When you wander in the way of everything
I'm ready to drop it all for lightest brush of skin
Yet the house should grow for you

You seem to guide my ambition
There was a desire before, a boom and bust emotion
But you lull it into consistency, emphasise it's value
Something that becomes all the more daunting
If it's something I fail

As I try to temper the teenager who wants to touch you
With the steadfast soldier, whose desire it is to build our castle
I start to see the balance, a tranquility to my mirror image
One that you've sent exciting and scary ripples through

Such change you've made, and we've only just started
Where have you been?

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.

In the moment, the clarity of the seconds where the self exists I am wallowing
The now is a draining flow of self disrespect
I take what little dopamine I can find from the stories we build in new interactive and technologically enhanced ways
Because I can't seem to let go of when I spoiled the party, showing the people an abstract cancer inside myself
Maybe its the remnants of wine and revelry that juxtaposes against it which gives me reason to indulge in the bitter
Maybe the alcohol and carcinogens are a physical drain I should take into account
Or maybe showing these people that I still am behind, am weak against my personal struggles, maybe its something that I'm ashamed of

This is shame I'm feeling after all
Over something so stupid, and forgettable, yet..
Symbolic of a burning desire that scares me
Anger, the need to fight, shout, scream and 'win', whatever that means
Would I lose it if I stood in shorts and gloves and made the other man fall?
Or does it represent what I think it does?
An emasculating realisation of time lost, friends no longer friends, a face in the mirror that still isn't good enough
As much as I try to love him

I don't know
But now some people I respect know how pathetic my anger can sound so..
You'll have to forgive the self consciousness
I'm thankful for knowledge, friendship and the direction I've manifested out of the madness
I think after giving my body a push, my equals a Hello, my crafts an hour and a bit of a shaping
I'll be fine

I just I don't like being angry

It's so strange to be so happy right now
With adversity's bruises and cuts still burning
And old broken bones still aching through
Yet I have found clarity again
In this journey of fixing mirror cracks
Clarity gives me a lot of joy

I've been a self saboteur you see
An angry pressured worker
Pushing the rock up the hill
Wondering why it keeps falling down

I didn't understand love
Bigger and smaller
Momentary and perpetual
For what it was

I've seen love as a task
Something to be stressed over
To be controlled and analysed
To be distrusted and fought
And to torture myself over
When it disappeared

Love is not a task
It's a flow
Something natural, warm
Fun and carefree
Something to be accepted as possible
But allowed to pour where it should

I've met a lot of girls over the years
And I've gone in with the task in mind
The stress of
'Will I be successful in the task this time?'
And so I fail in the task that isn't a task again

When I've really found something fun and special
Is when I haven't working the task
When I've let myself swim in the flow with another
In conversation and dance
In revelry and smiles
In warm bed sheets I've never seen before

I know it's strange to be so joyful from pain
It's just...

I can learn to trust the flow now I can see it
So... I feel a little bit free right now

So I find myself here again reader
Having indulged in the burning of meaningful metaphors
Having decompressed a touch from the pains of the mirror
I'm once again a flux of self in the dark
Wondering in futility over all I can do nothing about

Goals, life, potential love, and the greater state of a country amongst a greater, if flawed, geopolitical river system
And everything about my identity that ****** me off

I'm going to try and let it bleed from my fingers onto my covers
So the mind can just be a mind and let me dream
And maybe the man who found those particular days so hard

Will find tomorrow a little easier

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

And so, here I am again
Self assessing
Deconstructing before

Getting the lines right on the self portrait
The colours, muscles and motion
And more importantly the mechanisms
Are clearer

When I remember what's important
My eyes aren't weighed down with disaster
Just contemplative with perspective in mind
It's okay that certain things aren't there just yet

I know ******* myself has been my normal
And the tangled ropes still need to be untied
I know my biology is challenging
And certain truths will always stay true

But thankfully, I can reassure you
The people who deserve echoing of smiles
I know my target is the framework
I know the paradox of the problem that isn't a problem
And I know that compassion creates motion more than anything else

To my wing men, don't push me to fly into those strange eyes
If I feel I can I will
To my observers, don't presume my challenges
I'm often a few moves ahead of you
And to my worried
Don't fear for my happiness
I'm doing too well not to be grateful

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

This one isn't to analyse
This one isn't to question
Or to worry

It's to appreciate what you've given me
Because I doubt I'll ever feel I've shown it enough

Life was harder before you turned up of course
Though I lived optimistically, I had my pains
Old baggage that pounded my spine with pressure
And habits that clogged my rationality

I worked through it, pushed towards the person I want to be
Intent on constructing myself in my ideal image
But I knew deep down that I would work that much harder
If I had someone to work for

What I didn't know was how amazing a person that someone would be
What a reassuring blessing I would receive
Just by offering that person dinner

I feel.. light
Empowered
Ambitious
And reassured
But most of all I'm not sure I deserve how easy everything is now

If I brought you all the world's flowers
It's money, it's chocolate and wine
And build you a record breaking skyscraper
By the labour of my hands

I would still short change you
For what you've given me

Thank you