She was 9.

Several steps to the right, she discovered the bolddboldepth of her constant sadness.

Those plastboldiboldc stars on the ceiling fought it out, using the plaster as a battlefield.

Shifting, every few seconds, blending cries and screams with glowing shapes.

Their pointed fiboldvboldes click-clacked as she gazed in awe.

Greenish-yellow geometry soaking up the tears.

Words she couldn't understand belted boldoboldut.

The anger was astonishingly real.

There was feaboldrbold, but also strange curiosity.

As she pondered, she drifted back to sleep.

"We must solve this puzzle before the sun finds us, this is our last boldcboldhance for hope"

And with that they disappeared.

From the skyline above her bed.

From the windows.

From hboldeboldr memory.

She was 9.

These airwaves keep speaking, enveloping my consciousness, stripping all fears and uncertainties. These are the days I strive for. The calming rhythm of life exposing itself without a care. The castaways all run to find freedom, and I run to find truth. Each and every ticking of the clock brings me closer to realization that there really is no clock. The clock is just an object, the ticking is just a sound, and time only exists because I think about it. I give the clock this amazing power to control what I do. But the clock doesn’t know that I’m conspiring against him. He watches and ticks away his seconds expecting me to act cordially towards his numerical speeches about the future. 3:45 PM and soon to change. We face this monster everyday. We watch and watch and watch, just expecting him to slow down or speed up or even stop. He has no feeling for human integrity, he just ticks and ticks until the batteries run down. Or I take the batteries out, he no longer ticks. His hands are stuck in the grime of my human intellect. And he just watches. Keystroke after keystroke, not saying a word. Good, I smile. I’ve stopped you.













"We sit and ponder on future events, not knowing, just theorizing everything. Hoping we get it right. Universal ideas become stretched into a cup of string. And lights undo themselves backwards into eternity."

-W.M. Mills

words, documents, letters all addressed to God.

I’m mining my brain, digging deep for explanation.

sthguoht sthguoht sthguoht....
ssssthguoht....
sthguoht....
thoughts?....




^^^^^­^^^^^....


--------


.. ../


**** how long have I been down here?
These words seem familiar, yet so distant..
It’s all so hazy, swirling lights shrouds vision

Communication difficult

Communicatee

Communi—st?

Com

Cmfllwm

-sig&h-;





(t he trtuh si visibiel awlyas; Focus is key)

Adjusting to the sound of the rubber tires embracing the concrete, the can-do attitude of day to day living, and constant game of social tetris, leaves one exhumed; exhausted. Sometimes the ever present “now” is lost in all our countless plans and attempts at  uprooting ourselves from what we have, to what we don’t have at the moment. It’s a never ending dance from one thing to another, and we always crave more. The way this world has evolved over the past century is indeed strange. Picture a tree that represents the dawn of  **** erectus’  way of living growing for the last million or so years on this world. From the unified trunk stemmed many branches with twigs cascading other branches and leaves extending outward toward the sun. Every tree branch is a different philosophy and/or perception of life how that group had  known. All these multitudes of how one should live his/her life standing out, yet working perfectly together with the others. There is no such idea that there is simply one correct answer to how you should live. This system of a very co-existent variety had worked for thousands, if not millions, of years. Yet, over the past century, most of these different branches and twigs and leaves have somehow just fallen off. Leaving just one conjoined branch(if you can call it that anymore) to soak up the nutrients it needs to survive. There is no more variance in how these stem outward. They all follow each other, doing the same as the one ahead of it. A very poor, inefficient strategy of keeping the whole alive. Thus leaving the entire tree malnourished of sunlight, soon it’s systems will shut down and eventually die. Too many people in this current world are all to ready to follow someone else’s idea about how they should live their life. In fact almost the entire population live this one, “right” construct. Infinitely stuck in an eternal circle of work, consume, work, consume, work, consume. Where is the humanity in this? Where is the forward propulsion of the human experience? Instead of  letting our natural curiosity take form and grab hold to evolve our knowledge of the universe, we drown out it’s cries with television and shopping malls..

I awoke to the waves of your blanket crashing over my body. The gentle sound of the morning breeze, birds singing outside your window, everything lost in a sense of calm. A serene feeling rarely felt in the normal world. Almost too still and unchanging to be recognized by the brain, like the receptors just can’t process this sort of feeling. Totally and completely relaxed.

We are the daybreak. We have everything, but have nothing. We are life. We are love.

I look over to my right and catch you at my favorite time. Still asleep, mind exploring other realms, other planets. Your body in this morning light shines with utter disdain to the evils of the world. Nothing can touch you, except me. I lean over and softly kiss your ivory skin, the blood rushing to the spot where my mouth is, leaving a soft blush under your skin. These perfect hues of beauty will always hold sway. Your freckles will guide me to your lips, the transmitters of passion. Sparking electrical currents to my heart.

We are the daybreak. We have nothing, but have everything. We are life. We are love.

Every moment here in the present seems all but too short. The conclusion arriving entirely too fast for anyone’s liking. Looking back, it seems to be a dream. Mind you, a dream worth remembering. So I fold it up and put it in my front pocket, it will come in handy for the days where life seems troubled and without hope. I will open it up and gaze like a map to the days where laughter filled our glasses to the brim and love destroyed any notion of the word “impossible”.

We are the daybreak. We feel everything, but have nothing. We are life. We are love.

Soon I’ll watch as you board that train and head up north. Watching your face through the window, you smile. You’re finally finding your path through this reckless world, and I couldn’t be more overjoyed. The only sadness lingering on my breath is from thinking about how I won’t be able to witness it. But, alas this is a selfish thought..Sometimes things just happen, things we never thought would happen. We wind up in a place and mindset where we don’t understand. So I’m glad you’re finding yourself, and I know you will be the happy and radiant girl that I fell in love with.

We are the daybreak. We have nothing, but have everything.

We are the night.

We are life.

We are love.






*-For you,   Liz.
(may this find you where the map turns blue, and salty too)

She was 9.

Several steps to the right, she discovered the depth of her constant sadness.

Those plastic stars on the ceiling fought it out, using the plaster as a battlefield.

Shifting, every few seconds, blending cries and screams with glowing shapes.

Their pointed fives click-clacked as she gazed in awe.

Greenish-yellow geometry soaking up the tears.

Words she couldn't understand beltedout.

The anger was astonishingly real.

There was fear, but also strange curiosity.

As she pondered, she drifted back to sleep.

"We must solve this puzzle before the sun finds us, this is our last chance for hope"

And with that they disappeared.

From the skyline above her bed.

From the windows.

From her memory.

She was 9.

Flowing like oceans.
Sinking like stones.
Breath like cold vapor.
We have become this.
Our will, broken.
Our silence, stolen.
Continue the fight.
Resist, no flight.
Life is simple.
The codes just un-simplify.
Shipwrecks on the coast.
Flowers on the banks.
Figures on the hill.
Beckoning for some sort of motion.
Reality sinks to the depths.
All is wrong.
All is right.
We have but one choice.
Our voice, our voice.
Change shakes the corridor.
Forget what you know.
Let it flow.