Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Grinning, bare.

I'd resolved some time ago to write every day. Holding true to this self made promise as a college student hasn't been difficult, it's only been unproductive.

Line by line.
Bit by bit.

I regurgitate words that belong in a dustless place. Active voices screaming from the inside of a white washed fence, perfectly manicured lawn, solitary tulips springing up, equally spaced, four feet apart, in a most ridiculous grid formation.

In two weeks this ends. I feel as though I've already taken a plow to the earth beneath this charade and begun uprooting the raw burial ground of self below. True enough, my return has been hindered by too many sleepless nights of academic nonsense.

Soon, and very soon, the invisible hand forcing me into this state of complacent conformity will lift, and my hair, shining purple in the sunlight and magenta by the moon, will flow freely in the western winds again.

I can already taste the thrill of the chase of those delighted states as they dance playfully across the corners of my mind. Transforming a misery carried in the weight of an overwhelming, undesired dream into the sort of ecstatic intent associated with abundantly living.

Terms that might cause me to shudder if not carefully kept shut within the framework of my westernized reality. Too much fairy dust makes me sneeze, but there's a fair amount of the stuff used every time I decide to fly.

Saturday, April 7, 2012

I am Jack's inflated sense of self

Always there waiting, deferred, forgotten, dormant, benign, unwavering: Thoughts, ideas, darkness, demons. Waiting to creep up like the earliest buds of spring, yellow with frost bite, dismembered, severed, but hopeful. Waiting for that moment when the streams of falling rain across swollen cheeks, pouring forth from the dark cloud of sore eyes, let loose the screams held back in a closed throat.

A journey through the night spawned by the beauty of life, and of pain, in the remembrance that sensitive souls make the world worth bearing. Inhumed deep in the heart of the matter the purest of love, youthful memories, but a connection that transcends time. A call to embrace, not a lover, nor an emotion, nor an event, but a mentality that my inflated sense of self holds to has my only property, fought like a cage match for a lifetime.

The drive was short to the place he is buried. Buried like the rage within me. Midnight visits are rare to this solemn place, but fists pound the grassy earth above a beloved corpse. Beating for answers, for forgiveness, for understanding. Beating like the drummer of every heartbeat in every chest but his. Frozen feet fall into slow stepping motions after the numbing chill sets in bone the same as engraved on that wretched stone. Love seeps forth from nasal sobs which subside for wishes that can not be granted.

Hold to them, like the full bodied, pregnant moon. Lighting the unknown path, the night carries onto a campground of memories. Various weather beaten tents and technological trailers hitched, fires aglow, spaced sporadically, and lights strung singing sincerity somewhere in the closest distance. Visions dance in the flame, unharmed, unscathed, untouched. Calm communion of campers shadowed only by nature's nurturing branches.

Ignition spawns an unsavory sound but the darkness is not done yet, the night has not had it's way. Making way for the heights above rushing waters that refuse to remain fenced in. Fluid escapes, at every chance. Adapting, molding, but never remembering... forsaking stagnation. Night birds stare, alert and aware. An almost kinship, hindered only by feathers and flight. Possibility. Concrete stairs start an appeal, a plea, begging for wear. Painstaking steps downward into darkness under an overpass. Overpass. Over man. Not now. Not now. Dissension, purposeful, no moonlight to guide in this shadow land, rumbling heavily only once, for another midnight traveller. Frosted mist, the awakening - biting and heavy.

Upward bound from under standing, into everywhere never been. The night carries on. The universe content to play a perfect soundtrack to the fumbling, the mess, the mistakes, and the mine shafts of my mishaps and I am here, even still, to appreciate this existence.