Still

Two feet standing on a principle 

Two hands longing for each others warmth

Cold smoke seeping out of colder throats 

Darkness falling leaves nowhere to go

It's spiraling down

Still -  Daughter

A Crow's Story

It's been about a moth since I've wrote something worth doing anything about. And this is even questionable, but maybe it suits some purpose...somehow. Ah words.

A crooked neck stands on an arthritic branch, and with every movement it possess, breaks the branches limbs one by one. What a tragedy I was witnessing, for within the serenity of its movements, lives silence, its long forsaken friend. Silence traced the livid noises of serenity and folded them perfectly into the compacted atmosphere. It is then when you feel the air closing in, feel it press against your skin and envelope your blood until it shatters in your sleep, and upon your lips are the cold and the lonely, only in the enlightenment of the crow’s crooked necks and breaking branches.

When the silence comes, I come. I walk to the trees that carry their broken branches and I wait. I do not necessarily wait for something – actually, I do not wait for anything at all. And I suppose that you may call it thinking or pondering what I do, but that is not correct either. I think I find myself in nothing or quite possibly that I find myself nothing. And that is alright because maybe I’m only dreaming.

These trees with their branches are inside a forest inside of a town under a giant sky. Yet, the sky within the trees does not wish to be vast; it is content with the limitations in the thick of the forest, clouds, and smoke. And whatever the sky does, it does. Who am I to question the all-powerful sky? Nothing. Or possibly I would become just a mere thought; but are we not all thoughts of God made up of our compacted atmosphere? I assume it does not matter, for maybe I’m only dreaming.

“Unless it’s mad, passionate, extraordinary love, it’s a waste of your time. There are too many mediocre things in life; Love shouldn’t be one of them.”  



Dream for an Insomniac

City Of Teeth

done by smilinglimpet



thoughts?

"Normality is a paved road: It's comfortable to walk, but no flowers grow on it."

Vincent Van Gogh

Dean Martin - Aint The A Kick In The Head

I cannot think of why swing/jazz would make one

unhappy.

I apologize for the lack of posting if anyone was wondering. Just got back from a vacation so I'm back!

What a hard concept to accept that things simply are and to let them simply be

Fire Escape - Civil Twilight

The Bench On 31st Street

12:50 A.M
Have you seen the paint chipping off of the bench outside of 31st street? I have. Not only has the paint chipped, but the wood is splintering because it's not one of those fancy metal ones. It's making me more depressed every time I walk by it. Someone should do something about it.

Yes, I have seen it. I do not think it is sad at all. What an interesting story it must have. If it was repainted, you would not see its scratches with all of it's memories attached. Do not fix what is perfectly fine, doing so is like ruining a fine piece of history.

I've got some extra paint with me, are you in for the work? Maybe we can exchange the wooden bench for a fancy metal one, one that will be sturdier to give more purpose to 31st street. The people may be happier and the rain and snow will not effect it as much and I can save the paint for the next repainting. 

What bench?

Why do you care so much? Sometimes we mustn't change things for the sake of fate. Let it be, until it's time to break or bend has come. The paint may need to be fixed or it may not, what happens will happen, and we should not feel bad because alas, it is only a bench on 31st street

Maybe our whole city could get involved. Let's paint it blue and create a park, with different benches, all painted by the citizens and anyone who lives on 31st street. It would be nice, don't you think?

 People do not notice your bench, they are too focused on where they want to be and how they're going to get there. The paint on the bench and the act of sitting on the bench crosses their minds for a millisecond until they are too late and have to continue walking.

There are many types of people

And God knows

That it's a common misconception 

That I'm the only one for you

I can take you out for breakfast 

But he can take you 'round the world

Fred Astaire's the man for you

San Cisco - Fred Astaire

The Horizon

It's funny because things end up happening and things get in the way and we do nothing but stand there on our personal roads and look over the horizon to see that it has no end, so we just start walking.
We don't know why, we don't truthfully know how (although we would like to think we do), but we just pursue what we see over the horizon. On our journey, we see different places and different people that we may meet and see and maybe visit in the future, and that is nice.

We still keep walking and running and traveling and taking pictures, yet we do this all in blinded eyes. We do not know what is in the horizon still and some of us get scared at nights because we don't know where we are going. And that's something that we feel like we can never cope with. We usually don't, and it's scary to feel lost and to feel the danger of the cold nights where the dampness of the air seems to envelope you. Lost. We become lost, but we are still wandering; just feeding our superstitions.

After awhile, those who have done nothing but walked will stop walking and stand there in front of a barren street and wait for death or possibly sink themselves waist deep into regret. These are your options if you stop walking, and these are frightening options.
They have not ran or traveled or took any pictures. They have only walked. They haven't had any fun and have not danced in the rain of had a good laugh. They have not read any books or seen any good movies. They have not tied any bows or drank any coffee or made any bonds. They've only walked.

Our first instinct is to feel sympathy for these people who have stayed like this their entire lives. But do not. They are not lost, they know who they are, and what they have done because they are the product of their own decisions and that is okay. But if you've come to the decision of awaiting death or sulking in regret, be aware of the places you've past and the nothingness you've achieved, for that is the most frightening of all.

So our conclusion is this:
When you are out there on your road, be aware of what you pass and where you run to or where you dance in the rain. The horizon will start to dwindle, but should never surpass your conscious mind, and that is alright because the subconscious mind seems to do a lot more anyways.

 The horizon, it is a vision, and the world a ghost.

How heavenly is it to be feeling alive?

"Look at your hands, look at all the smallest lines. I think that's incredible."

"It is. Where is the soul in them? Where is the soul? What does it mean that you have wrinkles in your hands and your wrists?"

"Maybe we should look at ourselves as graceful and not as the machinery that is so widely accepted. Or not. Maybe it's all dependent on the person because we all have different lines in our hands...what do you think it means?"

"I'm not sure. I just think about it, and it just makes me nuts to think that other people everywhere have they're own hands and they're experiencing everything as the center of their own universe. How different is their bodily experience from my own?"

And then I thought of the time when he said he wanted someone

to come to conclusions with. He said that coming to conclusions

in deep thought was nice alone, but to do it with another person

would be lovely. And it was lovely.

I wonder what he thought.