Chalk dusted finger tips with an adrenaline jolt, zip-lined neuroses adjudicated by the moment. Lost in torn pants with a carabiner thread, socially anxious and awkward but alone and without the dread. Gripping on with rubber soles to shaky rock faces that feel so full. Flashback moment to a Tinsel strewn river, if I could take it back I wouldn’t pause though time chases me forward and I don’t know how to abscond from it’s endless quiver. I’m still fletched after return though I know somewhere I missed a target, if wishes were fishes I would have at least saw it. Easier to murmur the words to myself, ride the curve up where it’s simpler to stare down at the gulch. I know that it’s basic to stay on a track, ask not the questions that are staring right back.
Creature comforts exchanged for a soul, I suppose that’s one lesson I never learned right when I was out in the cold. It’s wicked out there, in the beauty and grease. Amidst all the foragers of life, love and what to wear while we bleat. If the greatest of tokens was untouchable sadness with no way to atone, then here on a hillside covered in muck, I’d whisper to the shadows that flicker “thanks for giving a fuck.” Without their whistled movements to cast contrast to light, the trees would feel lifeless, faded out, make for a lackluster sight.
Baby, give me gasping galaxies of infernal heat to warm the vacuum where once I lay. Cut dusted fragments of the stars from my body and my mind–it think find its soul which till remembers the last whisper and caress out there where we made our nests in nebulae, powdered our faces in fractal fission and wept at the insane beauty that stretched to the unknowable ends. Give me whetstone tones of tenderness to grind on down these rough edges, I know you will. Fine tune my harmony to match the orchestra, I know you will. Love me gentle and love me brutal, I’ll do same. But, on the nights I go to bathe in the shimmer and glimmer of dead Giants birthing monstrous infinities while listening to shadows hum their lonesome shaded songs….on those nights, I am forever free.
If there was a way to show that the entanglement in my mind was not a reflection of anything other than a deep loathsome impatience with my distorted logic and irrational spontaneity that would somehow absolve you of your pain, frustration – somehow dispel the notion that I am the lesser portion of a loving man who is incapable of expressing consistently a pure message of true love in their actions – if there were then I would take it.
Since there’s not, I am torn between cowardice and veracity in my sentiment, though precluded by that peculiar mental twist all addicts have at one point or another, that the dichotomous personalites of nurturing sweetness and indifference with callous disrespect are both real and actual versions of me.
Instead, the quagmire expands, I feel the split become as a divisive creature vibrant and devilish in its behaviors. A lunatic butterfly erupting with shades of misanthropic flailing across the personalities and care of the beautiful shapes all around. Whiplashing with infantile purification of all that is and was ever to be good.
Give me back the good ole’ days, when I didn’t know I had been a dick, before my eyes got opened wide when I didn’t know I was supposed to think that I was slick. ’cause now there’s nowhere left to run, the drugs aren’t making new connections, copper wire all stripped bare and caked in black, who knew that feeling guilty wouldn’t be so fun. When disassociation was best friend, wide-eyed ignorance was true enough shame comes boiling on like napalm from the surface of a once forgiving sun. So self-important in critique that I’m burying the good parts inside the shit convinced that its still black and white and regardless of the truth, I deserve to be punished. for the right, the wrong, the sick, that stupid mindless babble even my well-intentioned songs. Keep it all so serious now, that panic seems always at the door, instead of basking in the freedom from that monster inside that damaged so much the world. Enjoy the chance to roll again, spin through ridiculously insane normalcy, let feet hit a brand new road and leave behind insecurities, all fallacies–
Supplemental iconoclast with your vicious wizard glare, knowing nothing and everything all at once I wish you wouldn’t stare. My abject apologies, for being so slow to grow. I didn’t know the urgency and now it surely shows.
Morning music blaring songs of joy, naked in the shower washing out all that insane, Fixated on a drum beat, with a violin capping the rhythm, saying stay alive and ride the ride. Grins splitting face, and duality of sides come sliding in whole in reunion today, where happiness finds it’s home, but doesn’t demand a place. Shock to the system, when loving it all ratchets up, tightens down the sorrow, lightens the guilt, and recovers a stumbling pace. This morning, it’s all possible. This morning, the world tastes of hope. This morning, it’s time. This morning, it’s time.
Filigreed fucks with papers all Johnny-on-high, diagnose another cluck with illness so long adrift it must be because they don’t try. Embrace that soft noise make it part of your heart, believe you’re insane though it tears you apart. Now wrap up all tight into desperation and love, never feel certain and it fits like a glove. It’s not that it’s wrong, hell it’s probably right, but we dance to our own tunes, even into the shadows, coming out of the night.