#streamofconscious
new light yellow dawn dew on leaves
crease in seams torn sow sow them back
glow through black glow into the night
yellow light white light bird flight owls hoo
at the party I took something that made the stars dance for me
that made the wind speak
that made my heart leap to meet my mind a stiffening spinal column
avert my gaze I’m shy I cannot hold
the connection the link of pupil to pupil dilation
annihilation the end, atoms spreading up the wall
until it’s pulled back to black to white light
plug in my night light and tuck my bed right
and sleep snooze snore softly floating into void, ceaseless night
Oct 31, 2019
Oct 31, 2019 at 2:24 PM UTC
The rain of the previous year,
Has made the sky so perfect and clear,
It’s washing away,
Our yesterday,
It’s tumbling down from above,
It’s Chicken Little on the run
Don’t choke on your sweat,
Have we made it into heaven yet?
The moment is right,
We’re up all night
And trading silly stories from the present, past, and the future
Your hair it shines,
And your smile reflects off mine,
You may think it’s bad,
The faces you had,
But now the stress is fading away
You’re ready for a new day
Oct 3, 2019
Oct 3, 2019 at 11:59 PM UTC
Frequent & repeated lines of questioning,
not limited to frequent and repeated running,
O,
your honor,
how wyd one do in the dog days should so futile an expense be paid.
Often,
though not often enough
(and
entirely too often,)
it seems
to be
repeated
to be
repeated the sayings of the elderly,
but I say,
among others,
RUN!
collapse into the whole of everything else.
Run not in the ablative sense,
but inwardly.
The Dog Days are days in the truest meaning,
Don't Hold Me To That!!!
for this will pass,
as will those and that.
That rustling will never cease
and should it,
I fear the worst.
From this cries a home
A HOME!
for want of all.
Take this, Take me, whole, unbroken, beyond dog days and frequent and repeated sayings & questions. Take me home.
May 18, 2017
May 18, 2017 at 8:12 PM UTC
A Breath of wind is wind itself,
should true and steady braided shelfs,
foraged fords from handsome lords,
prayed hopes & proper ropes,
could life and science meet the world beyond Biology?
"A home," it cried, "a home for me with trees and lakes and reverie."
I tried and cried for something else, elsewhere
I found a leaning shelf.
Should what was true and even hold nothing told or helpless here,
I cannot hide a place inside,
though I cannot say I really tried.
May 18, 2017
May 18, 2017 at 2:15 PM UTC
limited knowledge like the texture of the universe
incarnate into thunderbird till you reimburse
being human, yoga seeking union, change wave like a pitch bend
Discard the temporary factors reach the innermos,t ego rend,
rightly reach the innermost self within his or her own being, discarding on the way all temporary characteristics when asked to move do I
Move my atman or my body?
Do You own your soul like a new bugatti
Try to see it as it truly is
the body is insignificant
eternal forever ripping it.
I am the servant when I know my body
Yours when I live like atman highly
I contain without recipticol i.e
Is god different than matter, what IC..
Does it matter? knowledge
offered fresh like silver platter
that eyeB
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 1:31 PM UTC
There is no more lonely a role than the observer
We sit off to the side, and watch the world away
No promise of immortality could repay us for our duty
No material possessions could reward us for our time
When you can't part take in the wonders of the world
When you can't interact with your fellow man
When you must sit idle as time flows by
You can't help but feel jealous
As they talk
As they laugh
As they fight
As they cry
I watch from a safe distance
Still callous and jaded
Am I complaining?
Yes
Am I going to act on this?
No
Because I have embraced this role
Because I have decided that this is best for me
To remain back
To remain out of reach
To give up the warmth of touch
But I will soldier on
Relenting only to myself
As it is my duty
To observe
To take notes
Like a lecture
So I can pass on my lessons
To those who live in the world
To those who notice me
To those who ignore me
Know this
I am here
Envying the human life of intimacy
That I have given up
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 3:53 PM UTC
Try and picture something different, to what's behind the window
When the sun rose, rosy-fingered that morning
summer solstice sing-a-long, kids playing, garden gatherings
Even when the clouds gather, same scenes, new ambiance
That nostalgic smell of rain on the concrete, and you think of family
the old summer days, in Nana's back garden (and the one holiday you vaguely remember but only that smell, and the sound of wood pigeons)
So you lay on the freshly made bed in some kind of silence
And you try to sleep but it's tiring
then you start to cry and the only explanation is that you accidentally thought about your father at work and somehow that made you sad
But, and so, you wipe away the tears and sit back at the vacant desk
Gazing at the faded screen
and you log into OkCupid and scroll through an impossible list of beautiful people with interesting lives and you close the window and you close the windows
Standing there gazing through the wan window (wile old Wilde) and a bright yellow helicopter flies by to some emergency rescue and you turn away and think about your thoughts until you think you thought too much but realise you thought too little about the thoughts that matter
And you stop for a second and turn on some music but ten thousand songs is overwhelming and you turn back to the window
and the rain is easing
Your brother slams his bedroom door and tries to sleep but the light from the Xbox is enticing and so he turns on the laptop
YouTube is endlessly entertaining to a child, he messages friends between videos of people playing video games
and so his friends come online and the Xbox gets a workout if the children don't
Hours pass and the sun hides behind a sandstone structure
Snoring from the next room, where you have succumb to the loneliness of the window
You brother never sleeps, there's no time
Besides, the room is too hot and summer nights are cruel
So the window stays closed, keep the bugs away
Heavy curtains crouch on the bed and hide the seasons, hide the passing nights, hide reality
It's midnight on the street below the window and an infant is crawling on cigarette butts thinking no thoughts
There's an agent on the corner that works for the Eye, and he's watching the windows
So cars pass intermittently and kick steam from the day's rainfall into the face of homeless kids that play football all night, like so many sun drenched favelas at the rocking equator
Drunken men stumble home and **** light posts and letterboxes, collapsing on themselves before the wrong front door
But, and so, anyway the birds rise early in the summer
and the streets are dried in promising dawn light
The drunken men re-adjust their ties and head to work
and the children all fall quiet, hidden from informants
when they should be at school but instead hang around corner shops
and tell pensioners to buy them ***** and Amber Leaf
The sleeping depressed wake and make cheese on toast
fall down the stairs and sleep in a sticky heap by the letterbox
and these lives continue on ever more
but that's just what the window saw
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 11:19 AM UTC