I look to the horizon so confident am I that my goal lies there, along with the satisfaction that surely must come with a job well done but as I move towards that beacon of hope and completion, it moves with me, never allowing me the opportunity to reach what I consider to be my destination and so, head down, I double my efforts and hope for the best, fully knowing that I am destined to fail, for the goalposts have been moved, if they were ever there but what other choice do I have but to trudge ever onward towards that which I will never reach, towards that which will always be transitory and elusive? so, rationale in hand and strengthened resolve in my heart I take another step, and then another, so confident am I in my journey towards the horizon.
I will sometimes sit and stare at something that's not really there and pull, fully formed, out of thin air a morning wish, an evening prayer I will sometimes sit and gaze at relationships I have set ablaze or, if you'll allow me to rephrase I wallow in my dark malaise I will sometimes sit and wonder at all the opportunities I've squandered at all the love I've torn asunder staring off into the wild blue yonder I will sometimes sit and question the hidden geometric progression of transgression and my indiscretion the difficulty of true expression I will sometimes sit and scheme desires stacked on a balance beam while all my hope just loses steam and becomes subservient to the dream I will sometimes sit and stare at apparitions not really there and all this psychological warfare was that the point of the whole affair?
changing nothing is the cowards way, content to wallow in the familiarity of what has come before and what is yet to come but what if and hear me out what if that were not the case? changing nothing costs nothing and is worth nothing for we are defined by our actions, and the opportunity to grow, to experience, to live is priceless is invaluable it costs nothing it is worth everything haunted by desire and yearning for more, more, the ghost of desperation and need for validation in the face of silence, aspiring for that which is worthwhile and true and the painful realization that the only one who can slake this thirst is me.
if I could make one change it would be to change everything and it would start with changing nothing followed by making the hard choice to stop to be satisfied with the now to be content with the here the ultimate sophistication it has been said is nothing more than simplicity is nothing less than clarity the mind roars to fulfill the petty desires of the heart and mind and the cacophony is deafening but to be still and mindful to breathe in and listen to breathe out and hear to embrace the stillness to rise above the overbearing desire to have and to hold to possess and to grasp to cling to the poison even when letting go is so much easier than clenching my fist around the shifting, sifting sands and when the hourglass is empty and I am spent I would rather have lived than to have just thought about living
the problem with insomnia aside from the obvious lack of sleep sluggish, lethargic sleep-filled eyes headache is that my brain finds every little thing to obsess over every little mistake misstep, miscalculation misalignment and how I wish I could focus on something other than the errors I've made whilst snatching defeat from the jaws of victory and oh, how happy I'd be! if only I could take back what I said or did and replace those with the correct answer and oh, how content I'd be! if only I could make you see that everything tends towards chaos and disorder except for us and oh, how rich I'd be! if only I could capture a portion of the money I am losing by letting you live in my head rent free.
we move at different speeds you and I I'm full speed ahead and damn the torpedos you're wait-and-see, bide your time, reluctant you want to be sure this time cautious I don't see the point - when you know, you know so which is it? I can't help but wonder am I too ready, are you not ready enough? is there some middle ground we're missing? is it wrong to throw caution to the wind? is it right to give it the time you require? what you see is what you get I said and if feels like that's not good enough are you waiting for something more? are you waiting for the other shoe to drop? are you cautious by nature or is it just me? so we take it at your pace dilatory you say you need time to be sure but what is it you want to be sure of? what confirmation are you expecting? a sign from god isn't in the cards sometimes you just have to say (in the immortal words of Miles) what the fuck, make your move time waits for no man, no woman you miss 100% of the shots you don't take am I impatient or just over confident? a little of both, I suppose as usual because it feels like a slight, as if to say you're good, but not quite good enough and what if I can actually do better? I can't answer those questions for you (actually I can, but that's another discussion) all I can tell you is what I've said all along everything changes, everything stays the same and I'm the same man now as I will be then.
your eyes even across the miles through the screen on my phone are slightly puffy and you've given it a lot of thought and I believe you why wouldn't I? how could I not? your soul bared to me although you had no reason to you owe me nothing two strangers who connected across the spectrum for the briefest of moments your words at once hurt even as they heal and it becomes clear to me that you would care if the circumstances were different but they are not and you don't and the irony is that I've used this very same lie myself
I give you take I look to the pigeon or is it a butterfly "is this compromise?" you ask I tell you are non-plussed duly unimpressed "why do I even bother?" we stop we start we are consistent in our inconsistency "what are we, exactly?" you're closed or is it me? I can no longer tell who's driving this train "where to now, babe?" we look but don't see and where do we get off trusting each other to care? "do I even know you?" you give I take but what you've given is not enough, never is "is this all there is?"
Man, what I wouldn't give to live the life of my dog, or for that matter, to live the life of my cat is what I think as I look at Zeus curled up on his bed over in the corner by the TV his only care in the world when will breakfast be served? is what I think as I listen to Snuggles mewing incessantly demanding breakfast, his only care in the world why haven't you served me breakfast? is what I think as I hear Mac stirring upstairs, getting up to walk circles around her bed shaking her collar, tags rattling oblivious to it almost being breakfast time. is what I say aloud to no one Zeus asleep Snuggles hangry Mac sleeping in Me, starving, with no one to make me breakfast
I wonder how others are able to read what they've written days or months or years ago and not cringe uncontrollably did I really think that? was that how I felt? what was I thinking then? jesus fucking christ I read and reread my favorite authors and am always moved by their ability to capture a feeling in a given moment and I wonder, do they respond to their own work as I respond to the words I have committed to this great, vast cloud in the sky? do they realize the profound effect they have on the reader? Is that what separates the great writers from hacks like me? or do I judge myself too harshly, does familiarity breed contempt? am I able to tap into the zeitgeist or am I tilting at word-shaped windmills? and in the end, when I say what I have to say and tap "publish" do I get lost in the meaningless cacophony of the electronic void? or are my words lying in wait for their next unsuspecting victim ready to pounce with all the force of a thousand crouching tigers? I don't imagine I will every truly know.
how often I am the hypocrite in the name of keeping the peace in the name of not wanting to offend in the name of avoiding conflict is honesty always black and white? is there no little grey area? is there no room for twisting? there can be no place for hypocrisy there is a fine line between being honest and being a hypocrite is a little white lie a sin? can such a thing even exist? is it fair to mislead someone if the lie is close enough to the truth (from a certain point of view) so as to be indistinguishable? which holds more value? do we really want unabashed honesty when it will only serve to deflate our too-sensitive egos? we are all living a lie to a certain extent (some more so than others, of course) and our lives are always in danger of being punctured by the harsh light of truth do we play along, or do we have an obligation to serve the greater truth regardless of what...oh, wait... ...my coffee is finally ready.
flow is like that river that runs through the gorge the white water gurgling and splashing as you firmly grip the sides of your raft flow is like holding on to the feeling that churns your guts and fills your heart with an indescribable need to relish it and let go flow is like that moment you gaze into her eyes and her face lights up like a little child and right then you know her flow is like the endless dance of being decisive and allowing the universe to come to you and show you what it intends for you flow is like letting go of what you thought it was supposed to be and giving yourself over to what it is meant to be