The only thing to be sure of is uncertainty.
Here’s to sleeping through the hours in which you’re awake, feet shuffling, memories blurring, feelings lost.
This is how subjective reasoning can outweigh the objective reality of the race question in the U.S. A good case will always overcome simple truths, which is the fatal flaw of ethical reasoning. Anyone can outtalk their way out of anything if you’re crafty enough, or if the other side lacks the power of persuasion. I was reading one person’s status of how they were so glad that justice finally worked with Zimmerman proven innocent, with the comments getting rather ugly. I chose to stay out of it, but his main point was the slandering of the media towards a hungry “racism” mob mentality had wronged Zimmerman. I to believe that the media is distastefully there to quench viewers’ bloodlust. But had this never picked up in the media, there would never have even been a trial. We are far from answering the race question in America, and being upset about the wrong thing is somewhat indicative of misplaced priorities. Here’s exactly how the case played out, following Facebook social advocates everywhere participating in a friends purging. America, we have a ways to go.
Today I was sitting on the metro when the train pulled up to one of the stations.
I saw an old Japanese man with glasses and a skinny frame wearing a suit jacket and suit pants that were too big for him and a long tie. Cherry blossom pedals fell all around him as the train pulled away. It was a beautiful thing.
I’m still learning whether or not patience is a virtue, because it sure is the bane of my existence. I’m finding I’m forgetting the person I had wanted to be, the pioneer piloting out through the new Great Wests. We fight and we understand that we will never quite understand each other, but it all seems to be okay when I get lost in those mood ring eyes of yours. You have the face that was once carved by ancient Athenians, and brought to this lush grey Earth to remind us, no, to remind me what true beauty is, was, will be. Such a nose and chin carved so sharply to show such definition between angles and angels.
I just need to grow and I hope you do to. I will respect the need for listlessness if you might respect my need for subtlety and solitude. I wish you weren’t so restless all the time, but that same restlessness makes for the most interesting creatures. I just hope you notice the apologies I have to make in the background as you trample the neighbors garden. Regardless, I will take care of you.
I see a hurt and I see a glow in you, I just prey I have the strength to endure them both. I will prey to that holy inverted cross to be placed amid your breast plate, three kisses, one to the left, one to the right and one atop your forehead, pleading for our safe return as we arrive into tomorrow’s dawn between sheets and tangled legs and humming ac units.
Every night I worry waiting for you, and prey that I will see that glazed smile with those sweet supple corners of your mouth that twists towards your thoughts. I hope you are on that 70 right now, six steps in upon Delafield. Is this real life, or just shadows that dance within our cave. Either way I am content.
Crazy into it about something that’s pretty combustible. But I don’t care cuz your nose was made for kissing and you help take care of me when I’m stressed because I’m late for work and pay for my taxi cabs and carry my Coke in your father’s broken book bag.
Tonight was stellar. She looked liked a tragic starlet from the movies, with all the proper prose (*poise).
Was it the lightning bugs strung up amid the trees like Christmas in July, the familiarity of deja vu, or the interest in mustache hair in her nose. Maybe the phantom eyebrow hair upon her tongue. Some questions are to be left open ended.
Watched “Never Let You Go” and I’m not sure it was a good movie, at least until the end. It did make me realize that I like Carrie Mulligan who crept out of no where. She’s a good subtle actress and definitely a babe. It’s unfortunate that The Great Gatsby will be done by the same director as “Moulin Rouge” and be a whole “production”. The movie would have been kind of cool with high profile actors and subtle acting/affair, hence Carrie Mulligan would be a good choice.
At the end the main concept was regret, and how these two thought they could suspend time with a deferral and go back and cash in on the missing time together only to *wait for it* realize life does’t work like that, and to use the time you have wisely, I guess with the things you do or the people you have. It really makes you think and feel sorry for the protagonists. But can I relate? I know things I’d superficially do: do an internship during college. Pick up a language. Get rid of some awful hobby I wasn’t good at but thought was cool. Talk to that girl on the bus. But I don’t know if there’s a relationship I’d do over again or a decision that I can pinpoint that I wish I went right instead of left.
Which is all so funny at how unfulfilled I feel. Maybe I’d tell my parent’s to prepare better, ramp up my feelings so I’m not butt hurt at the end of a relationship or make sure Hoover never left the yard. But don’t those things define me, and wouldn’t new forks with dead ends or muddy paths just present themselves anyway. Isn’t that how it works?
Well I’m kinda fine with life for the moment simply because my fickle and flighty mood/viewpoint is lifted/distracted. Can’t wait to revisit melodramatic town.
Recently I’ve been having trouble breathing, just a general anxiety that kind of grasps my body and squeezes, as the blood starts to tingle and contract. It’s an awful feeling and I just want it to go away.
I’ve also realized that my life has become so middle of the road, everything is left on repeat and I don’t even remember the dates anymore, holidays fly by or I realize new ones exist due to my dogwalking schedule (call me ignorant, but I didn’t know Emancipation Day was a federal holiday). I can tell the seasons really by how my body reacts, if it clenches due to cold or rain, violently convulses because of allergies or gets lethargic and sings in the warm summer rays. But that’s it. Nothing else registers. Birthday’s pass, new shirts loose their luster and I am exactly where I was four years ago. The doldrums.
When did I get so nihilistic, I use to have such positivity, such optimism, and such naivety. Erin pretty much borders on optimistic, pave your own destiny and you shall sew your own fruit mentality, strangely blended with a neurosis of insecurity and self-doubt that momentarily takes over her whole being, where she’s curled up on the floor. I sort of understand her need for stability then, her constant partner to help aide her self-conscious spurts which ironically help her get more stronger and bolder with her creativity. But to have such a staunch view of how things are, of your own manifest destiny, I couldn’t do it, that’s why we couldn’t work out.
Or maybe it’s cause I’m wallowing in my own self-pity and I need to stop making excuses for my own shortcomings. My foundation fell apart two years ago, my homebase and my sense of security when my parents left the country. Home, the feeling of where you came from and where you can return to, pulled right from under my feet and I’ve been crawling ever since. To move from Bakunin to Kerouac to Dostoyevsky to Starcraft 2 is telling of the person I never wanted to progress into. This transitional period has overstayed its welcome. I just need to pull down from deep inside and figure out what’s left there and make it happen.
To find life so grey and dull, my roommate Bridgette was just telling me how I need to focus on aspects that are important or create goals or change aspects of myself and work at it. It just all seems so funny, how you have to trick yourself in order to move on, to not just crumble under the weight of everything. All I’m looking for nowadays is some financial stability and a little bit of creative or professional glory. So why do I just keep turning off and accepting this daily routine, where I’m not even there, my bodies programmed to do what it needs to at certain times, and the rest of me is just withering away somewhere else. If there is a God, and you somehow delivered me from this, I’d think about believing in you.
at the fissure, an unnatural gash of lime stone and sediment and sedative, almost as if it were surgically cut into the earth by God himself. Left untended and forgotten by the divine, it has only blackened with the abyss. It grew bleaker and darker, it grew with resentment, wrapping anything that came to close in its own obscurity, as a mother snatches and cradles her sickly child. An ancient monolith, every so often I come out here and peer at it, until it awakens, glaring at this disciple of the new testament, the worshipper of concrete and not of stone; the sufferer of mind, not body. My culture and my prescriptions let me inform you of how the universe was stitched together. But here, it eats my culture and bleeds my humanity. I am naked, yet defiant. I will meet you head on I scream. Yet each time I visit, I never do. Am I a coward for refusing to jump into the void, to see what kind of life awaits me on the other side? Or am I manifest destiny, a man carving out his great walls and laughing in Satan or Gods or Buddhas face, by clinging on and not being swept to sea. Each time I step back, I let slip a nervous guffaw, and chalk up the answer to whatever “feels right” to my pathetic super-ego. Both the abyss and I know that it will always be there, waiting. I must learn not to be so rude and bring gifts for when we finally do meet.
The girl who never grew up
She never knew what she wanted
She’d whine and she’d throttle, and cry for her bottle
Spilling milk to fill it with vodka
Oh the days all grew to resent her
And left her as quickly as they came
The years took her youth, leaving bits of truth
A wrinkle for every cum stain