Sunday, December 25, 2016

Inconclusive thoughts, repeatedly

The walls here are thin enough. But I have to feel safe enough to pierce through. It's not a coming-in.

It's a coming-out. The walls are my own. The skin is my own. Every growth into a new form takes a new kind of pain.

Sometimes I rip open.
  Sometimes I bite through.
    Sometimes I punch my way.

I want to talk to you, but each layer unlocked and opened is a different language, each new form of life

is a different person new even to myself, my selves, my family of feelings and routines.

 The fantasy is to be a machine. A machine on his own, taking no sides but survival. Fighting when fought. Seeking challenges to his programming.

  The fantasy is to be a monster. A monster of menace, violence and anger and snarling hatred. Fighting when fought. Seeking revenge for his injustices.

   The fantasy is to be a man. A man of kindness, seeking to love resolutely and passionately. Loving when asked. Seeking partners in his dancing.

    The fantasy is to be a moral. A moral for a story, telling itself to inspire its readers. Loving when read. Seeking readers with his understanding.

So many fantasies, each a reality for a different angle, each an angel for a different reality.

Different combinations of pieces and parts, flavors and moods, habits and actions, come together under different configurations, and the unfolding fractal combinations return to form a person for a moment, an encounter for a time.

 Sadness, joy, romance, erotics; humor, mirth, calumny, praise; sunshine, windows, the chimes, the birds.
 The world's heat is on. The Georgia sky is grey. The Christmas Day is ours at peace.

I finished your last journal. The not yet beginning not to be an ending of the ending of the beginning. Do you think about these moments, too? Do you feel the flow in its backwards eddies and see the bow shocks of future waves, tidal and galactic, soulful and erotic? What do any of us know? What don't any of us know? What can we find out? What can we feel?

No matter how many buildings will crumble,
 No matter how many bodies will pile,
  No matter how many clouds will fall,
   No matter how many stars will scream,
   No matter how many mountains will burn,
  No matter how many rivers will jump,
 No matter how many thrones will stand,
No matter how many homes will empty,

All the same, we will endure in the mix of things
All changed,
   all changed,
         all changed

No comments:

Post a Comment

Is this wise?
Is this yours?
Is this love?

Real Time Web Analytics