A content life is looked down upon
much akin to how
a crow looks upon the ways of the moth.
'Why spend your life
chasing what eludes you
only to persih by it's hands in the end?'
asks the crow.

'It's the brightest light I have ever looked upon,
therefore the best,
and if I find myself beside the light
I shall be happy.'
retorts the moth,
it's eyes aglow.

The crow looks on at the
vain attempts of a common insect,
lusting after the blinding hand of death,
glittering, buzzing
above their heads.

'Why don't you join me, Crow?
We can chase this light together,
maybe you will find it's glory as well.'

The crow peers curiously at the moth,
addled by the enthusiasm
of chasing such an obvious,
insatiable pleasure.

'I prefer to fly.
I can see all the lights in the world
from above.'
He gestures to the window.
'I have all the fruits of the earth
spread before me.
Mine for the taking
at my leisure.'

But the moth never looked away
from the enticing, electrical bulb.
It buzzed and flew
and smacked against the hot glass.
With one final effort to enter the light,
it popped and found itself on the earthen ground,
lost in a graveyard of conformity.

The crow shivered at the sight
of life wasted on material things
and gaudy glory.
He spread out his wings
and ventured into the evening air
to watch the sun sink behind fushia hills.

I suppose
I might have liked you more
before you liked me
when you were a
castle in the sky
a faraway dream
for others to have and to hold
but not me
certainly not me
when you were a
shining vision
of unattainability
I suppose
I've always been this way
always wanted more
wanted what I can't have
bored when I get it
always wishing
always wanting
dragging myself through the pain
in order to say
"look, I survived it
look, how strong I am"
nevermind
that I caused it
so I don't know
if I can deal with
your sudden attainability
don't know
if I can coerce myself through
the boredom of
happiness

Rationality
Consistency
Integrity through time

We hold these up as ideals
Self-evident
As good
Right
Correct

While the messy inconsistency
Irrationality
Splintering of integrity
Of our common humanity
Is bad
Wrong
Meant to be overcome and
                                                 overturned

Seems straightforward

Some may acknowledge the
Unattainability
But not question
                                the correctness
Of the goal

And yet...

If I were to achieve perfect consistency
Through past, present and future
Wouldn’t that also mean
I stop learning
Stop evolving
Stop changing

Perhaps the
inconsistency
irrationality
We all feel in ourselves
from others
Is just a snapshot
Of our continual state of change
The evolutionary process
                                               unfolding
                                                       ­           in real time

I sometimes wonder
if humanity’s greatest strength is the ability
To hold
To embody
Conflicting ideas
With equal conviction

Of course
Lack of awareness of the inconsistency
of our ideas and actions can be frustrating
Infuriating
In ourselves
In others
Potentially dangerous
Especially in our leaders

But perhaps cognitive dissonance
Is not a malady to cure
Or a failing of our nature
that we must fight a losing battle to overcome

But an opportunity
To decide:
                    How will I change next?

I practice careful observance,
Which involves taking time out of my day
To sit on a park bench;
Feeling and embracing brown colors, Brown confidence.

I peeled open the **** of an Extinguished cigarette
And examined its contents,
Assessed the components
Of what makes up happiness,
And its characteristic unattainability,
And wonder why there should exist a word that's impossible to perform.
And flicked away a bug complacently.

When contentless is so often reached,
What's the difference between passion And stability?

Forever existing as the bags under my eyes,
Keep flicking until it burns out,
Or so I tell myself.

you know what can be more
depressing than symptom
of the jet-lag of melancholy?
  watching a sunset,
drinking, in June, in England,
               with a receding night.
can't ******* fathom it...
    neither the early bird,
     nor the worm...
  or the lost "conventionality"
of exchanging
         ape+ to a rat-
(ape plus, to a rat, minus);
foul speech?
****** a hog in a bottomless
pit of mud, lately?
so why prance like a
spanish pony, intimidating
pristine?
           because if hannibal
used bulls, strapped to riders...
was there enough
reason to glorify the elephants
crossing the alps?!
   bulls contra horses...
   you could almost fathom
the "unattainability"
   of using bulls in warfare...
given the "unpredictability"
of the hiroshima convention...
        ride a bull into
a herd of horses?
                          no spanish
whoop-see theater...
                        of a bull-fighting...
versus the argument:
NO, WE COULDN'T...
  and you could make cats
"funny"... and leverage the moon
as posit no. 1 to go further?!
it's like watching
a wheelchair bound invalid
say: i'll take on usain bolt...
get up...
or attempt to...
and then make a pancake
with his, its, hers (forgot the
other gender grammaticism)
           turf... off of a face.
i've never had the allowance
to become synonym of: think,
owning dogs...
the extension of domestication
invoking the leach
bothered me...
    i'm not even sure why
these two maine ***** like me...
i'm turning stasi on them...
  maybe because i don't bother
their freedom, allowing myself
to nibble on some of my own
to be, believed,
                     exercised.

Beauty; dependent on the eye
We fixate upon this state of conditional perfection
Condemning ourselves to misery and unattainability
A deeply routed manifestation of self hate,
Enforced by these damning untold rules of how we must look.
Birth - a true wonder of earth
Enriching a life and bringing a new one forward,
Potential brims and the restoration of this reality we will live in seems hopeful.
When a mother takes the first glance at her child,
She does not seek imperfection
She does not will them to change
A new life - a beauty which cannot be corrupted.
As that mother watches her baby grow,
Watches her love blossom
Rose-tinted smiles and laughter is what she meets.
Yet, as her baby looks in the mirror
The one her grandfather bought her for Christmas two years ago,
She analyses her imperfections-
She desires nothing more than to change herself.
She unravels on the sheets, a ball of sorrow
So tightly strung; she breaks.
That mother once saw the beauty in her child
Now an open casket reveals her pain.