what do you think

silence contains my truth
but silence does as it always has - the keeper of great secrets
empty words hang
speaking around 'the thing'
bubble inside the imagination of a distant universe. . . .
is it real somewhere beyond this hubble volume?
things may never come to pass
if i think them
if we imagine them
when do they become history?

full of it

i am. . .
what is this bullshit i put out into the world
like the world cares
(maybe no one reads this)

nausea inducing - head spinning - drunken on my own bullshit
i thought that perhaps I do this as a form of self expression
what if I put my thoughts out there for someone else to happen across?

now I do it and I wonder - what am i talking about
is this really what I think about?

i am beginning to regret the beginning of this thing.

it would be the introvert - that part that hates to admit that I even exist

endlessly fascinating
observing my own insanity

inside my head

what about the rare and irresistible people who amaze and delight with every word - every action a fascination. what do you do when one of them walks in, sits down and makes themselves a part of your life?
you know what I mean - get inside my head and rattle around there for days on end.
perhaps then i forget a bit, the spell wears off and i manage to get on with my life until the next encounter.

you know what i mean. . . . i am sure this has happened to you.
maybe someone out there feels this way about me - or you.
their person is so similar to your own that you can not imagine how it is possible. it is like part of them is a part of you. here they are, showing you everything about yourself that you want to avoid.

what of the loves inexorable?

dew collects on the lips of a god and falls to earth
i breathe it in and gather it all around
cloaking myself in the pieces of you-ness

gasping in the void -
it(bright) looms above.
feeding on the secret of this thing.

words fall on dull ears
sucked into the unknown dark between us

is there a star burning brightly on the other side?
am i to burn among the gods.
(but the words - what happens if i say the words?)

certainly easier to keep the truth drowned in silent acceptance
that we never ever be this other thing

i dream of walking in the garden
bright and fresh beneath his watchful gaze
love springs forth from moist and fragrant earth

(do i love him?)
i walk away to be with someone else
the flowers wilt and rot without the sun

to be near you - this is all I have
the silence remains
there is nothing between us

dark void birthing a universe
finding a beginning beyond all knowing

the path

Wanderer, your footsteps are the road, and nothing more;
wanderer, there is no road, the road is made by walking.
By walking one makes the road, and upon glancing behind one sees the path that never will be trod again.
Wanderer, there is no road-- Only wakes upon the sea.
Antonio Machado

i think it is a beautiful idea.

this world and me in it

“The secret of life is to have a task, something you devote your entire life to, something you bring everything to, every minute of your life, and the most important thing is, it must be something you cannot possibly do.'
-British sculptor Henry Moore

the utter confusion of the human experience.
yesterday, i thought i had a pretty good idea of what is actually going on.
then today, i end up confused - turned upside down and wondering 'what was i thinking?'

and so this is why i leave my house. to be turned upside down. i dedicate myself to the human experience. i create meaning in my universe, i act and react, i laugh and rage and love. i believe and i lose that sense of knowing. with every breath my world flows through me. . . .

i dedicate myself to life and to understanding my experience.