What is man foreshortened  
What is double jeopardy
What is a guilty heart
What is bitter mercy
What is violent reprieve
What is holy war
What is warning sign
What is forgotten acknowledgement
What is typify human mind
What is angry butterflies
What is nondescript  sensation
What is confidential arrogance
What is confident ignorance
What is actual sciences
What is factual compliance
What is physical interment
What is spiritual deadening
What is absence of dreams
What is ephemeral existence
What is shackled will
What is internal inhibition
What is stagnant emotion
What is paradox in motion
What is all devoid of awe
What is this waking moment
What is what is.

It is in no way a coincidence that those who walk the path of a wandering soul will soon discover that their world does have its boundaries. They will one day stumble upon a definitive edge, a real place where space and time transcend one another to form a mere glimpse into the chronicles of eternity. For the wanderer, this slightest and most sacred instance is to become the reason for their restless instinct. Until the occurrence of this moment those of us who journeyed into the void of ceaseless unknowing that bears the title earth, have simply their raw gut to motivate a then objective-less pursuit. The frightening intimation of the young wanderer is nothing less than this pivotal fact. A kind of blind faith is required in all facets of existence however; it becomes a more literal and even physical leap for one to uproot themselves just to cast their entire worth into this most often vague idea.
For many months I was this young wanderer. A boy whom by the heal of his crooked step tripped into the life he only could hope awaited him. I cannot account for the reasons I left behind my past life. They, like most things have morphed into meager provocations when held again in the proper light. In the end it was my wide-eyed ambition and shear innocence that drove me from my home. That is reason sound enough when one is confronted by the crushing boldness of the wanderer’s theory. It is as if once the directness of this idea enters the well kempt garden of any youth’s consciousness a simple question becomes apparent. Will you heed this call or shall you forever wonder what this life may have held?
I shutter still when my mind should tarry once more to those long buried thoughts, back to the days of my constant and tepid self-reflections. I was so young and was that even long ago? This wandering life does change a man; it may even create the man.

I knew this man because I was this man
So it must be said; I was this man because I knew this man
And never did I faultier when he reached with his trusting hand
Bound by intent, his grip stowed the tension of promise and fruition
His is a lifetime laden with the cogs of internal creation
This is the summons, the congenial placement of his offer
Beckoning the self to again be rendered upon the plane of the psychotropic wood
Through this sanctified exchange the divergent union assumes singular being
A spiral of fleeting connectivity, lapsing as the hesitant tide breaks upon neither shore nor sea
So the invitation reciprocates moment to moment by way of residual eternity
The soul twists and skips in both agony and ecstasy
Bearing a jagged tolerance for lingering wait and the flash of re-entry
Thus begun my endless stroll within the confinement of mind
I am birthed each day anew in the cradling mist blanketing the forest floor
With shy eyes one surrenders to this emergent rim
Sentenced to wake beneath the towering monoliths, the fossil redwoods
Who lull my attentive ear with the ambient groans of their interned memory
Joined in chorus only by the hushed breathe of the creborus crows
These birds, these deities hung inverted from gray and rotted limbs
Whispering their imbuement to the aggregate dirge of pardon
This is the swallowing of supposed sensory
Set in impetus, this final paradigm may forever possess the gift of awareness.

Things are tasteless anymore, I thought that I would have come full circle by now; I have not. My pallet is wet and dripping with hunger for what? Yet the thought of satiating this ****** need causes a kind of reeling from somewhere deep within. There is something of a beast with holding the answer from both this page and myself. It is quite the monstrosity that I find now and again, its claws digging and tearing at the base of brain stem and spine. It softly whimpers, giving away its position for all to hear.

February 15th: This is to be a new chapter in my living narrative. With the advent of recent changes in this life I so improperly had been leading, I hope with the utmost sincerity they are lasting changes. It has come to a point in which I have called upon the aide of a deliberate force, a chemical force. And before I may continue, it need be known that chemicals are what brought me into my current state of lackluster. A risk? I should think so, however my will is seeking to purge my spirit of a cancer so piously imbued within my shivering soul. This is day one of the intervention plan Adderall. I know what this is today; I have had enough first times with the **** speed. No more need be said about what was felt other than this was the same happy high I remember.

February 16th:  Try and recall, I dare you.

February 17th: Two Adderall

We wore it like a coat that layered empathy
Brick by mason, these eyes did climb an architect’s design
Upon the stony lip coupled forms hung in dangle
Preachers of a starving theory fall bemused to this lucid void
And how could one see this garden pays no pence?
This well has no depth…
We fraying threads fabricate the bramble veil
And every visible seam that clenches shut our noble jowls
So whisper in tongues, lore of the wellspring
Passed the murky mores and any other barren state
Heed illusion with a whim, this caustic dawn forebodes all but the looming slumber
Fishing shadows, the tailor and seamstress wake upon no sea
A puddle rather with the faint breath of a jungle bog
Oh how this hallowed lens did more than mirror a final inception
It shown anomalous to each shifting breed, the moonlit scene:
An opened mouth kiss between the Narcissus –with his idle god the self-worshiping samara tree
And the Gold mouth embodied by a single rank of the fruiting pear
This is our garden, wracked with faithful dichotomy.

There are places in this world that shall always turn a deaf ear to the constant dictations of earthly law and in turn, the realism that we waking souls either greet or dismiss. Our surroundings are not so limited, in that we live among shiftless ascetics and grand pillars of stability; rather they are, as we are, living embodiments of its both former and current residents. Most settings are of an alien nature and are only trifling comparisons to the true picture in all its starkness. This vision is common as we all author the visual mosaic of life with our own keen eye geared toward a more personal understanding.