One can only care so much

This is the truth.

One can really only care so much

Because reality won’t let you care about stupid for too long

If you do

You’ll go mad

If you think too much

You’re brain will fry

Most of the shit I see on the internet

Is nothing more than fodder

It’s trash

Basic lies created to make you feel something you shouldn’t

Ashamed

Angry

Uncomfortable

Everyone with a blog is a fucking expert now a days.

Guess that makes me brilliant

But then again, I know it doesn’t

Because at the end of the day, I know my limitations

When we spend our time caring about things

Other people think we should find important

We only waste our time

Time is precious my friend

It’s like land

There is only so much, and they’re not making more

Using it to get angry about the errant stupidity of the world

Will only lessen the amount you have

So care less, my friends

Care little

Save your energy for things that are important

Realize you are allowed to have an opinion–yet not allowed to shove it up everyone else’s butts

Life it too short for bullshit

But it’s just right for a nap

edit/machine

There are so many catch phrases or one liners out there. The same words regurgitated repeatedly until they lose their meaning.

I find I use all of them. All.

Metaphor after metaphor. Line after line. Soliloquy on a page trapped in a vacuum known as the internet; a living thing called a blog.

We all need to have our own live action digital magazines.

Editing lost out the moment we claimed ourselves writers, artists, photographers, and independently published genius. The rooms are so crowded no one can get through–we all suffocated together.

I lost my breath years ago.

…somewhere shy of midnight…

I sit, leaning back in a worn and damaged swivel chair, palms resting on the equally frayed desk. Fingers cramped–because I know better, but still don’t care.

I sit, knees pressed together pulled up into my chest–because I’m sure that’s how Dickens’ did it, too.

I sit. I sit. I sit and I write. I write. I write, because that’s was the advice I received. My feedback. My life line.

And when I’m not sitting I pray my words capture more than the one-liners and worn out metaphors. That they are like, “a light in a sea of darkness.” (see, there’s one now.) And I hope I don’t shrivel up, but secretly I know I won’t.

I haven’t before.

I won’t now.

So I close my ears, squeeze my eyes shut, and tell myself tomorrow will be better. Because it has to be. Because I said so.

And then I write some more.

Delete is the greatest key designed. Backspace is a close sentence. And cntrl X has it’s moments, too. But never around worn out metaphors, and some times when a soliloquy when it runs to long. (and you forgot why you started in the first place.)

Champion

champion

 

In the house

There is a pony

A stuffed pony

Named champion

& on that pony

Is a boy

Who will one day

Be grown

& on that day

I’ll look back

To that stuffed pony

& wonder

How time went

By so fast

& the house

Won’t be this one

& the pony

Will be gone

& I will be

Someone I’m not now

But for now

In this house

There is a pony

& a boy

Riding him

Beyond

windingroad-romeo66

Beyond

there is a life

beyond these walls

a world

a song

a light, so bright

it will blind us all

with one glace

but we hide

in the darkness

of mundane

hoping for change

wishing for it

but never wanting to

break the smallest sweat

there is a life beyond this one

& it waits in the city

& it waits in the pastures

& it waits in the gutter

on the side of the road

choices – all of them

even the ones

we pretend we never

had to make

they cry out in the night

and in the day

all hours

if only we would

stop & listen

out there

& it is not defined

by the shadow we

refuse to release

or the melodies that

illuminate favorite moments

it is pure

it is true

it is the person you forgot

you were always meant

to be

harmoniously, you

in all the glitter

and gold

there is

peace

There is a life

beyond this one

waiting, patiently

like you never knew

someone could wait

because it wants you

it wants you there

so let go of the anchors

& swim into

the abyss

always remember

that every moment is life

when you are grateful

you are free

Time Stop

Image

the rocket blasts off

in my living room

while I sit waiting

for time

misuse & mismeasured

it slips past me

as I grapple

with air

hindsight hovers

in my mind

mocking me

with how I could

have done everything

-yet didn’t-

& here I am…

 

a train barrels past

& a snail flies by

everything strewn across

the floor

heavy sighs

little voice

-time is subjective-

yet it weights on me

like a cinder block

pushing me down into 

the depths of life

drowning in a sea

of possibilities

that will look more

promising – behind me

they they ever did – in front

 

more rockets, an action figure

or two zoom by

sinister music – hummed

can only mean

pearl isn’t far off

& he jumps on me

little hugs

tiny kisses

& suddenly nothing 

matters in the

world 

naked b/c I want too

Picture 257

naked doldrums

as winter winds

strip what’s left

of nothing

& I sit

naked, because

I want to, while

belts of calm

drift around

me, feathery

& light

as the sun sets

& rises & then

sets again

& I sit

naked, because

I want to, as

the world keeps

spinning, because

I can’t stop it

not that I’d

even want to

but it’s nice to

know you have

control

over everything

over nothing

& I stand

naked, because

I want to, before

I walk forward,

alone, & even

further into, everything

alone

we make promises

& we pass them

on to the next

like a proverbial fruitcake

chalked with nuts

& holes

a sanatorium wrapped

in decorative foil

& I stand

naked, because

I want to

carry me forward

please, carry me on

past the shadows

& the dust

into what everything

nothing

should have even

been / is

& join me

naked in front

of the world

accept the doldrums

& the calms

& the crazies

& the storms

that keep the world

spinning

as we pass by

as we pass on

exposed

Hysterical

tumblr_lurce7rMwX1qggdq1

Hysterical

Don’t get pulled under

Don’t fall back

Don’t get tripped up

In the nest laid out

Intended to snag you

Don’t stop moving

Don’t think of any of it

Don’t wait & wait & wait

For whatever told you to wait

            It’s not coming back

& don’t look at me like that

don’t look at anything

don’t breath

            please

because you can’t

            & you won’t

            & I told you so

Because I knew

            & I said it

            & you didn’t listen

You never do

Don’t be surprised

Don’t act like you didn’t know

Don’t be so serious

            We all die in the end

Don’t laugh so much

Don’t cry too often

Don’t get pulled under

            It’s all a mess

Hysteria

Hysterical

Just…

Just don’t

Study of Marigolds

study-of-marigolds-1918
It’s all a bit of mayhem
Craziness wrapped in cellophane,
Crispy and see through
And we run around in circles, lost
Confused by what has happened
And what hasn’t happened at all
Then we wait for someone to guide us
What else it there to do?
The absurdity is just
We are just, aren’t we?
I am just, when I can be
And the world spins on
Befuddled, bemused, demoralized
Music swells
Everyone dances,
But the jagged coughs make my chest burn
How did we get here
Dizzied and confused
Fingers digging into the dirt
Grasping for the earth
As it spins us, like a rotor
Pasted to the wall,
The floor falls out from under our feet
We hang, groundless
Helplessly waiting for the something
The one thing, that should rescue us
From calamity and woes
Never realizing we have our own capes
We are our own heroes
Rise above the fraudulent imagery
Move past the intricately placed words
And we find, life
Spun into the duality of a cocoon
Warm and comforting
Hot and suffocating
Choices woven into the silken threads
We over look for we think should be
The something that never was
Rest, or panic
Meditate, or run
Stand alone, but stand strong
As you look to them, they look to you
The earth will spin, and they will dance
And the burning will fade with time
Is it real, or is it a dream?
It’s before you, for you to decide
What will become of what was
And what will never be at all?
Inside the mayhem are the marigolds
Puffs of beauty and color
And in their simplicity, the answers lie
But you  must sit and listen to the nothing
For as long as it my take
Minutes, hours, years
And then the answers will appear
Put on your blinders, then you will see

1-Up

 

 

cathycracks-704850

It’s all a game, isn’t it… this life we have.

Waking up, running until we drop; taking a moment here and there, wondering how we got this old;

How this became the life we have.

Not that it’s a bad life.

It’s not.

But repetition can agitated even the quietest souls.

I look out the window and see this big old world,

And my heart is still so very young and I want, and I want, and I want,

All the dreams I’ve always wanted.

Let it begin – my mind screams,

Let it all begin, and let the world swirl around my feet,

Lifting my hair, a tornado above my head – a human bullet.

But my feet are firmly planted,

And I keep moving forward, following this stream I chose a while back,

Hoping it is the right one, knowing I should doubt myself less.

Seriously, it’s annoying.

The doubting doubters and the negative thought process.

There’s a band name for you.

Life keeps coming, and moving, and passing by;

And I watch people fade into memory.

Time almost forgotten, save for a few laughs that look more like a movie clip, than my past.

So, this is this life.

The world I now live.

Knowing, it will also pass by, pushing me to the next level of the game.

Life, with it’s beauty and disease – hopes and fears.

Life, with it’s music and it’s words.

Life – and we dance.

Around the stagnation;

Past, and over the potholes;

Under everything else, as we play, and play, and play some more.

Frustration lost in the lyrical movements of time.

Time, that eases the fingers of doubt free.

Freedom that brings the perspective we need to get past ourselves.

We set the traps subconsciously.

Shuffle, ball, change.

Hoping we won’t trip, and if we do, that we will get back up and keep going.

Because that’s what is all is, what it means, what we need to do –

Keep moving

Because death isn’t when we die – we die when we stop playing.

Leaving us to sit in perdition,

With a goose egg, when all we really ever wanted,

Was 1-up.

 

 

 

thought process

Atomic-bomb-attack-on-Nagasaki

To over think
every thought
would be a waste of time
yet here I am
thinking
about everything
so much
it swirls
around
and around
and around
pulling me past
myself
alone
Most certainly lost
in the sea disdain
a lack of trust
and the lack of
control
for myself
with myself
a butterfly effect
chaos at
its best
as the pretty pictures
storm the gate
leaving me
a pile of wreckage.