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Gone are the seconds of yesterday, somewhere in a pile of rubbish with the hopes and dreams of tomorrow. So we are left with today, which sucks because today I'm exhausted, utterly drained of every ounce of motivation, deplete of the willingness to make something, anything happen. so here I exist, making no notable impact on the world around me; using more oxygen than carbon dioxide I produce, which could turn into oxygen if it weren't for the fact that to record these thoughts I killed a tree, oh how selfish of me. Running low on fuel that smells of disappointment of those around me who simply cannot fathom my inability to make an impact. "Do something!" "I tried!" to plant a tree but I broke the shovel, so i finished the hole with my hand only to realize I forgot to bring any seeds. Fuck. So I walked backwards to my front door turned by back then the door knob right only to realize I was wrong. About what? Everything. I can make a difference. My very existence is a miracle, a moment to be remember in the cosmic timeline of existence, an occurrence to be noted in the notebooks of those who record the record. A statement: That I, me, here and now, can and will, change the world, for better or worse, good or evil; that I will bring light to the darkness, sound to the silence, and once and for all prove that I exist, if only once but to be remembered by all!
I must begin as soon as possible, so I choose tomorrow. Because today, I'm exhausted.
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And sometimes it's fun to write like a lunatic, like somebody who lost their mind but found their soul buried under a large pile of contradictions; a person who is fed up with the way life used to be and is only interested in today. Somebody who is a blurry photo of their hopes and dreams; and endless story of love, lust, and destruction. Somebody liable to leave town on a whim only to return because they forgot their charger and water bottle. "Forget it," they say after any words they speak that hold any weight. "Don't worry", when they themselves are worried about nothing and everything. About the way they look alone in a room, or the way they think alone in their heads. The future looks promising but they promised not to look. So instead they dance, and move, and shake to every worldly vibration in existence. Somebody who lives by no morals or general code of conduct. Guided only by light and sound in a silent cave, by the screams of the mute and visions of the blind. They forget to remember what they forgot, so instead they speak to those who don't listen and only listen to those who don't speak. They love to be uncomfortable but are uncomfortable by love. So when the day ends and night begins they rest their feet on a pillow and take a loose breath, for it is the darkness of the day that reveals the light of the night and only somebody who is always wrong could ever be right.
I want to be alone with you, in a dark corner of some bar; legs touching, minds melding, thoughts feeding off each other. Red Hot Conversation, electric touch, and brief but intense moments of physical affection. Lost in a world of your wildest dreams, teasing out the thoughts, beliefs, and manifestations that make you who you are.
Silent sexual tension teasing lovers lost but hoping not to be found. Lovely letters let us lose ourselves in love, lust, and everything in between. But then the realest reality sets in: we could never be friends, let alone be kin. |
About the Author: Archives
February 2020
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