Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Saturday, January 9, 2010

taking the next stage




Generally residing over an audience with a perfected resolve, commanding a perfected spotlight with a flick of my wrist I could warp the light around me to cover myself with shadows, I could disappear. It worked with such a perfection that through the refraction of light, there was no reflection, instead staring straight through being and nothingness to only truthfulness:

"What I once thought was my reflection of a better half, if not an equal of parts, turned only to be a bitter half. Staring down the shadow of myself in all this proved its disappearance."

I reflected upon this, in fair realization of the feigned pain left soaking into the soil below, speaking out loud with an inflection that conveyed the mightiest of misty eyed heat, the moisture from my breath carried away like ovens of convection, its currents to pour out onto humid shores:

"There are warmer places than this, sand filled spaces in between the toes, places that are hard to reach because it takes time to get their (but not what they own), flash floods overwhelm the needy fauna. It is the millennia stream that erodes the grandest of canyons to reach its ultimate gravitational goal of eroding untrodden grounds with new feet to place on hidden beaches; There are warmer people than this, shouting from the tops of spires, of steeples, whilst the mired and wicked, mucked masses of misery lie tucked in blanket-less sleep"

Two-tossing their mimicking mouths to make the sounds and syllables your fathers would hold with such despair. In shock and utter dis-repair as they realize they have sold their daughters into unbound servitude, lacking dotted signed lines of pre conceived nuptials. It is not about making your happiness your own anymore, you are not yourself, you are the collective wishes, hopes, and dreams of lost love forged years before your birth. An abortion sold at the collective joining of the gametes, never surging into existence to define your own, but left right inside nothing, marching the vapid vacuous void of hate like an unfinished portrait, wishing for god to fill the lines.

Is each generation truly of such decadence? Each aged with year decay lacking a creed, the command to careen their lost sails into winds able to carry, alone in this lie I will bury, no. I am no longer alone, and there is no burden or lie I carry, but instead a history lesson past learned, present forgotten, and a future that won't be repeated.

"Fool me once, shame on me, fool me twice, shame on me, with this the realization that the worst of my own, I am, and this is thine enemy."


Taking the next stage.