Final Words.

In typical fashion, and after 51 consecutive weeks, I managed to somehow forget to write entries for this final week of the year. I say typical because spacing out on something that has up until now been routine for just shy of a year does not surprise me. In my defense, I've been distracted; vacations tend to do that. But there's really no excuse. I'm more than slightly disappointed in myself for failing this close to the end. I could have gone back and tried to fabricate entries, but that would have been disingenuous and a waste of time. No, instead I'll leave them blank and hope to learn from my "mistake." This blog has taught me a lot over this past year, mainly that if I decide to keep to a schedule of something I can (more or less) follow through. Perhaps it was asking too much, but as I made it 51/52 weeks, I don't really see that it was a goal beyond my grasp. 2012 will be an exciting and productive year filled with more writing than I've done to date, and even more growth. On the whole, I'm happy with the way this blog has progressed. From what I can remember, it had a difficult start, but I pushed through and managed to make writing a part of my weekday routine. Now the focus shifts slightly, and though I plan on keeping some form of blog during the rapidly approaching new year, the majority of my writing energy will be channeled into creative projects intent on advancing my professional career. Now is the time. I am more than prepared. The levee breaks at the coming of the new dawn.

Breaking Tradition.

A chirping in the darkness cuts the silence of the morning. It's early on the eve of Christmas Eve, a day constructed of anticipation. And lying here in consideration of all that's come to pass, the serenity I feel resonates in a low vibrational tone. It's a long and hollow buzz that warms me in a way that I've never felt before. Reassurance and comfort, before they were just concepts I understood to exist in an abstract. But now I have them wholly by my side, sleeping next to me, and stealing more of my heart each day. I guess you could say Christmas came early, for she's all I've ever wanted.

Shift a pair of dimes.

A ray of sun breaks through the curtain, a tell-tale sign of things to come. Clear blue skies work their deceit this, the first day after the winter solstice. And now the days grow longer, and the perception of more time becomes harder to ignore, as those rays of sun grow stronger. It's opportunity, and while everyone has their struggles to face, it is those with the positive outlook who will overcome the obstacles. How can one win if the mind is already filled with defeat? No, the possibility of victory increases with the conviction that a positive outcome is certain. Perception informs reality, fill the first half full and watch the other half appear.

Tinkering.

The tendency for disassembling mechanisms chatters like an obsessed goblin in my mind. Pouring over possibilities with logic and reason in an attempt to discover the secret of genesis, the constant desire to understand formation circles the brink of madness. For the purpose of this dismantling is reverse-engineering, and though it uncovers many an amazing discovery, its fundamental flaw is that it's backwards. A new system must be pioneered, one of organic growth. There is only so much study one can do until it comes time to build, to play, to learn through the natural evolution of artistic process.

Quantum Longing

Molecular motion, set in play by the simplest of understandings that this truth is real. For possibilities become realities when they are believed to be, as groups and individuals all come to the same conclusion about the group hallucination known as reality. What benefit or edge does this knowledge provide? For most, it is simply enough to know that we aren't alone in all of this, that together we have influence over the situation. If only we all believed we could help each other, what a beautiful world that would be.

That nagging voice.

A night of restless sleep and a bed of twisted sheets are all a racing mind has to show for itself. No telltale dreams of fantasy, no musings on the greater scope of life, just a bland acceptance of another day come to pass. It's hard to know how to answer the question, "what do you want to be when you grow up?" I've never wanted to grow up in my life.

...and over again.

Surrounded on all sides by resistance, I push forward to no avail. With no motivation or enthusiasm to speak of, I'm left to calculate my next moves alone. A simple realization and declaration of intent would be enough to save me, but for reasons unknown to me I sit idle while life whips by me in sheets of gusty wind. What am I waiting for? Even if I could say, it would be but another excuse in a long list. Only when I accept my situation and rise to the challenge will I find the paths which lead to freedom.

Stained glass.

Paralyzed by over-thought, I sit in the cold of winter's air. Encumbered by the weight of different projects and ideas, I've slowly grown immobile. The only way out from under it all is to cease being precious about creations, and let them live or die on their own merit. And though I'm worried that some will fail, all I can do is create with honesty, for conviction creates voice, and present the world with what I view as truth.

jail break

Sometimes words escape me.

On the importance of preparation.

As the year winds down, a certain level of self-reflection becomes necessary to assess the level of growth that has occurred over time. Growth can be defined in many ways, but to me it's about what processes have been integrated into my life, and how they have improved or hindered my development as a person. Looking back on this year, so far, I feel progress has been made; I am the closest to where I want to be than I have ever been, but I've yet to achieve many goals. This is okay, however, for it gives me the opportunity to prepare for the next year, and develop and implement new ideas and processess into my routine with the intention of breaking through multiple thresholds and transcending my adolescent self.

Rain delay.

Cradled by the white noise of the raindrops as they fall, I curl up beneath the soft warm armor of my blankets and rest. The cool air caresses my exposed face like the other side of the pillow. I stare at the grey sky through my window, a monochrome expanse of precipitation, and I breath it in. A long, rejuvenating sigh releases tension from my addled body, and I can feel myself go limp. I haven't yet risen for the day and it's already time to nap.

Is enough enough?

The northern fog, so lonely in its spreading creep, grasps tightly the terrain beneath it. A misunderstood elemental, it seeks companionship. But the way in which its cloudy feet spill over as it walks frightens many of those nearby. Afraid of being swallowed whole, and losing individuality within that cool grey beast, they turn up their collars and rush off to find warmth. And looking out into the early morning, the condensation on the window drips the tears of the weeping phantom.

[broth]ers

Set and reset, a reconnection with the base self. A harsh reality of blown-off steam, rising in smokey twirls of inspiration. The dull ache of a meeting of minds come quickly. Eager and childish excitement mixed with the rationale of men. A confusing soup of ideology mixing, as this trial by fire proceeds to boil over.

}';'{

True Love is the dream from which you don't awake.

Wonder Winterland

The last month of the year always brings about introspection. In preparation for a winter of hibernation, my body and mind begin the process of evaluating and shutting down the behaviors of the past eleven months. Those that have served a positive function shall remain in the cycle, while those that have proven troublesome are adjusted or removed. December is not a sprint to the finish, but a rest up for the next stage, the new year. It's about planning a new assault, preparing for the implementation of new ideas. December can be melancholy, darker and colder, and not without the pain of loss as defining characteristics are often shed. Ultimately, though, it's about burning through the fat reserves, trimming waste to be lean and ready for a productive start.

Mourning Sleep

Shadowed by a medicated haze, this veil before me all at once so thick yet so flimsy. Iron aprons cover the backs of my eyes, protection from the radiation of the early morning light. The fight for consciousness struggles around me to the tune of morning birds and a snoring dog; deviously soothing in their suggestion that a bit of a snooze may not be such a bad idea after all.

A freeing feeling

Facing fear is frightening at first, for finding fault feels formal. But beneath the broken barriers of bitterness breathes a bit of betterment. It's about allocation; allowing anonymity to arise and addressing it. Naming nerves and nearsightedness, noise and neurosis. Gratitude gives goals grace, so live with love and learn the lesson that loses limitations.

Gutsy gusts

A night of tortured wind awakes. Tired and whipped, the air insits, thrashing itself throughout the branches of the trees. To what end? The answer remains a mystery, tossed about inside the breeze. Even in the moments of calm that punctuate the regular outbursts, one still has the sense that this invisible tantrum has yet to be resolved. So for the meantime, enjoy the clarity.

Stand off.

Confusion. Citizens armed with a feeling of duty, spurned by an unclear injustice, and standing against the phalanx of black-clad intimidators. Their shouts are loud, but the message mixed. So many with so little, wanting to be a part of so much. To see first hand, however, the dark shadow of authority, with their coordinated movements and militarized stance, it is a frightening feeling to be fearful of one's protectors.

home[in]stead

The steadfast rhythm of a heartbeat unafraid. Wrapped in the security of arms entwined, the vulnerable breathes easy. Assured of the grand scheme, yet unsure of the particulars, the general motion is utterly positive, knowing full well the direction of the future. With such a weight relieved, which of the many advantages of this freedom will be advantaged first? It doesn't matter. There is an atmosphere to breathe, and a place to build a home; all that is necessary for lasting happiness.

Wor{ship}

Humbled before the altar of expression, I sit, mind outstretched in a penitent pose. Balanced on the razor's edge between knowledge and action, it is a seat of both comfort and danger. The gravity of procrastination will drag you down if you wait, cleaving one's idea from its source like flesh from bone. Such is the risk of idleness. Creativity demands attention, or its intensity will fade along with the frequency of its visits. One must keep the ship up and running, sails at the ready, for when that wind blows, it will take you to your destination and beyond.

A given thanks.

Serenity fills me, comforted by the meal of merriment. The leftovers of my memory smell and taste so delicious, I could reminisce for days. But I must go forward and do my best to let the experience of friendship and love live on through each new day.

This and every day

Love and Gratitude.

Hibernation

It's the season when the sun goes down so soon and leaves long lines of light along the land. The illuminating half light casts its sleepy rays, but the thin hue of gold does little to warm my chilly bones. Energy and excitement have flown south, and I'm left to walk within a world without wonder.

[you] n [I] ted

An exhaustion of emotion felt for the first time in a decade. The resonating ache of crumbling walls. It's a painful process, compromise. Breaking down and revealing vulnerability is necessary to progress to a stronger understanding, and though I feel drained by it all, I know it's worth it in the end.

Morning Air

The skies have cleared, clouds no longer weep their sorrow, and the cool, fresh air reminds me that I must get outside and enjoy life.

sleeping in

A cool blanket of clouds casts its gray across the horizon as I lay tucked inside my bed of silver linings. The comfort of a peaceful mind cradles my head like a pillow as my eyes drift in and out of focus. The world goes blurry and I pause, dipping back into subconsciousness. "Waking up" has never meant "stop dreaming."

Building Castles

Time flows into my hands and spills through the cracks between my fingers. Like grasping sand, I attempt to hold so tightly to something without definite form or shape. The arrogance of this futility, however, goes unnoticed by my self-awareness, choosing instead to think that I'm doing more good than harm. The reality is that time's intangibility is precisely the quality that makes it useful. Until I realize the extent of its abundance, I will not be able to see the beach for the sand.

A spoonful of sugar.

The disease of distraction can be the most pleasant of infections. Symptoms may vary from case to case, but procrastination is often the most insidious side effect. It comes with a false sense of security that "things will get done eventually." That may or may not come true, but up until the point of failure, it remains convinced of its ability to pull out a victory in the end. There isn't a magic bullet cure for this malady, rather, it's a long and arduous dosing regimen of hard, consistent work.

Target Acquired

A renewed sense of purpose surges through me like the shivering arc of lightning. In an instant, my outlook changes from amorphous to focused, as the constraints of a goal-oriented deadline make themselves apparent. While there is potential for something greater, this is ultimately only another exercise in defining my creative expression. Regardless of outcome, I must recognize this as another opportunity to learn more about my craft and grow as a writer. There is always another step to take.

Nodding Off

Emerging from this lethargic fantasy, this hope of constant sleep, I find myself weakened by the allure of forgetful sleep. While the plusses of reality are many, they are not without their drama. To exist as an observer on the astral plane, however, is to objectively see the quantum. The seduction of the conscious mind greets me with such affection that it is impossible not to take its hand and drown once more amidst the rising tide.

[Master] Number

A day of six or eight. Summations of date combine into intrinsic meaning, yet are slathered in projections of varying degree. Whether natural or a product of some artifice, such an occurrence has meaning to those who choose to recognize it as such. Such is the same with any other instance in life. Meaning is a choice, born from the irrationality of reaction and the dreams of expectation, and the more desired an outcome, the easier the psyche bends to accommodate that perception. Today will always be today, however special you decide to make it.

Tranquil Intentions

I close my eyes and look inside myself. Nothing is there. No thoughts rush to greet me, no emotions pull at my attention. My mind has emptied of all motivation, want and desire. It's the closest to Zen as I've been without flirting with apathy. Still, I'm concerned. While the opportunities for such a blank slate could be exciting, I feel no desire to create. I am at peace in this state of non-being. Naturally, I begin to look for explanation as to why I feel this way, as if it were a problem. I can see a path of reasoning here which would lead me to worry and anxiety, and refuse to explore it. I know I will move eventually, and at some point during the day be influenced into opinion, motion, or emotion, however, for the betterment of my person, I must stay mindful of my natural state of mind.

tight rope

The shadow of responsibility looms over my shoulder, an ever-present guest whose welcome has been overstayed. The wish for freedom, foolish in my mind's eye, longs for the days when consequence was optional. Such creativity blossomed in that sunlight, saturated by nourishing rays that knew no wrong. But such is life that those times give way to the present struggle: balancing the duties of man and the desires of child. A task made more difficult by the intertwining of these two into an artist's life.

focal points

The drift of the unfocused floats aloft the everyday, and soars even over dreams and desires. For in that fuzzy ring, that circle of confusion, simple goals are lost in an ever-blending haze. To relax within that weightless, imageless expanse is an inviting danger. Though necessary to recuperate valuable energies, the flow of that lazy river overwhelms with its tranquility; placation through relaxation. Stop to cool your heels, quench your thirst but move on. Perspective is not found herein.

5-7-5

she said, "write haikus" so i tried, but failed at it; they weren't exciting.

night rainger

The drowning hush of rain, so cooling in its cover, divulges drunken secrets late into the night. Awakening from the haze, soaking wet but refreshingly clean.

conspired desire

The remainder of reminders, the founder of the finders. The cognate comes with corpulence and manages the minders. A free man frames his friends for crimes they cannot have committed, as agents aim their arms against those whom they are pitted.

digestion

Exhausted, but accomplished. The nearly insurmountable task has been overcome, but at some expense. Both art and artist suffered, and though much greatness comes at the hands of limitations, this experiment in discovering process has uncovered the values of the upper and lower boundaries of comfort and constraint. The cycle shall repeat again, and the process will refine. All I can do is continue to feed the machine.

due date

An unheralded arrival. More morose and melancholy than expected, as the sheer weight of the remainder doubles its gravity. But somewhere inside that unwelcome fog hums the serenity and grace of acceptance. It has been an emotional experience, to say the least. No doubt that relief will come by day's end, and all this manufactured stress will have no choice but to leave. Until then, it's one foot in front of the other, as I finish the race amongst the mist.

pen | ultimate

The last day to work and approaching exhaustion, motivation lays alongside me, still snoozing past the morning's alarm. I lie here too, mentally preparing for the final onslaught, the last push which will undoubtedly drain me completely. However, the dance is delicate. I must let flow the creative desires and then sail them without second thought or hesitation. Now is the time for greatness.

firewild

The logic and structure of the editorial self battles the free-form expressionism of the creative mind, a taxing strain resulting in excessive sleep. Now a step behind in pace of progress, I must press forward with greater determination in order to equalize. Feeding the fire of mania with this dry desire in hopes of burning out in a blaze of greatness.

The Glide v2

Sprinting along the cliff, the safety of the ground beneath me, the freedom of the air just out of reach. The wind blows encouragement, nudging me along without regard to consequence, and little by little, I let myself veer off until I am leaning heavily into the wind, supported only by its capricious gusts. This is the trust I place in creativity. To let go and understand the influence of invisible forces is to know true freedom. Controlling fate is as impotent an idea as influencing the course of a thermal. Greatness is harnessing that energy to create something beautiful.

Pangs.

Elixir of rejuvenate, these thick, dark drops of sleep have stained perspective with a clarifying hue. Washing away the confusion, and leaving the fresh taste of jubilee, it is with an excited and happy mind that I wake. Now roused, the craving for creation rumbles in my belly, a hunger that can only I can satisfy. And so my task lies set before me. All I must do is answer the call.

sleep[in]

building on the success of madness, but taking a necessary moment to recharge, i've come to realize this is an endurance race run in intervals. though rest can be deceiving, i took my chance. Let's hope it pays off...

made of madness

And here begins the decent into the insanity that is creativity. Spurred on by the violence of a deadline, yet giddy with excitement, this mixed bag of emotions sits nervously upon the seat of my soul. This less than ideal situation is intended to subconsciously draw out the honesty from the situations by eliminating the time for worry and second guessing. Here upon the doorstep of my own adventure, it is but a series of gut-check decisions that separates me from my intended creation.

leaky

The final stage of daydreaming, where the visions of the night bleed effortlessly across the conscious plane. Delightful distractions fade in and out like dissipating cloud formations, disappearing just before one can make out their shape. These peripheral pioneers, dewy imaginations which condense and drop, splattering in the mind's eye as color, shape, and sound. Creation, pure and simple. Like blood it flows and nourishes us all. Without it, the world regresses into a monochromatic pale. So I will never stop.

Choice Decisions

There is a fear unlike others, in that it is benevolent and guiding. It is the fear that comes with new endeavors, the chill which shakes our insides with nervous excitement. Come to me as a result of decisive change, I'm now bolstered by the threat of failure. Gravity and consequence give me a boundary, and the fear of falling keeps me on the path. These are the constraints of progress; how I know it's right.

eyes of the storm

The undercurrent of tension sizzles in an electric wavelength. Peaks and valleys, distorted by the pressure of expectation, compress and flatten, squeal and pop without regard for pitch or purpose. Lost amongst the buzz, the calm mind sits surrounded, threatened on all fronts by the impending onslaught of the banal and trite. Perspective, it seems, is a must have utility; the ability to see beyond the present superficialities and into the heart of the matter. It is with a clear conscience, and without any notion of fear, that the truth will manifest itself.

Search/Party

It does not sit on obvious steps, awaiting discovery. Enjoyment comes from a true understanding of the heart's desire, and satisfying it in whatever ways possible. Sometimes finding the balance of satisfaction means digging through old wounds, or uncovering buried secrets. But the operative thought behind it all is to "do what must be done." Creativity cannot be questioned if it's meant to thrive. It must grow unhindered in the light of acceptance. Enjoyment means finding the fun in something miserable, making bearable that which is decidedly not, not because one wants to, but because one has to.

f[un]comfortable

Lethargy grips my thoughts; so strong a hold for such a weakening force. The will to move forward strains and shouts its desire, but blanketed by this comfortable fog, I cannot hear the cries. I'm wrapped in the safety of myself. A false security, as it's also the most dangerous place to be, prone to panic, criticism, and seemingly always on the verge of self-loathing. But interruption knocks, and in the moment there is purpose. It isn't much, but it's enough to get me started.

As the crow flies.

Sapped, the majesty collapsing. Entwined within the tale of another's debt. But as society's realization grows, it is the carriage of concession which must grease its squeaky wheels, for awareness stands in marked disillusion, the treasure map in tatters at its feet. No more dreams of riches rumble openly through the turgid air. It is an unchained reaction, an inevitable end.

Thermo | meter

Heat's arrival on the scene so late sweats nervousness through the arid air. Fertile landscape, lost in preparations of the dormant months, stands confused by such degrees. Highs in triple digits signals an unruly shift, and apologies trickle in slowly if at all. Catastrophe's only a shiver away, a short shake of a faulty spine to bring this city to its knees. The oddness of it all does not bode well.

sleep[less]

Nonsense gibberish and chatterbox lies, this is the fate of inconvenience as it waits for introspection. The tossing and turning of an unsound state of awareness ensures a pensive earthquake in the center of the mind. The hold of intuition loosens, and the understated grasp falters in the face of serene abandonment. It is a cruel and lonely ache, devoid and inert; an ill-timed frustration of the recompense.

Fragments

A disconnected rendering, alive and overshadowed, wanders through the wasteland of a superficial construct. Unaware of its surroundings, it pervades into perception, and leaks a luminance that blinds. In the face of such awareness clouds a dream of simpler times, an alternate remembrance of people and places from long ago. Yet even innocence is not safe from this ironic intimation, as visions turn corrupt with elements of the present.

No use for excuse.

Flow must come organically, as an outpouring of inspiration. Knowing that unlike so many other instances in life, this is an endeavor I want to pursue lends an ease to the difficulty of the task. Not to say it makes it easy, rather, it simply adds an enjoyability to the grueling nature of it all. But despite whatever pleasure derived, there is now a deadline, hard and fast approaching. Constraints and pressure are essential elements for success, and now I have them.

Immolation

A fool returns to the fire, hands still burnt from an over-zealous reach. Enticed by the lapping flame, again he reaches for something which he knows will hurt him, and a lesson stands unlearned. Perhaps this irony dawns on him, or perhaps he is merely overcome by the urge to belong to something greater than himself, but this moth of a man staggers forwards towards a realization, and falls into the flames. Driven by a covetous desire, the fool fuels the blaze, but consumed by the conflagration, he ends up used. Just another expired life, smoldering its last mistake.

Surf's up.

Morning brings awakenings. This underlying swell of grievance, ballooning up and airing out, spreads itself like ocean tide. A force benign on the surface, yet surging with a depth of power beneath. Crashing and flooding, the only outcomes for the shore as this movement shifts towards its inevitable conclusion. The momentum has long been underway, slowly growing at first, but now moving, only builds upon itself. It's a confusing time, but trust in the hierarchy of need to sort the priorities of the masses.

Do drops.

Thin and steady rain streams down outside the window, intent on proving gravity. The blank gray sky looks on passively, all at once there, yet absent. It seems early in the year for weather. Perhaps even the storm clouds know the end is coming soon, and merely wish to beat the rush. Whatever the reason, the moisture's welcome, at least for now. The rain whips sideways, slanted; the only other indication of the wind lies in the swaying of the tree's thin branches as it bends in the breeze. It's soothing.

Punctuated Destruction.

The jackhammer sounds as the men pound ground, carving into the hillside. In an accelerated erosion, the pneumatic rumble chips away chunks of millennia, hot with the ironic intent of building. Waves of violent sound reverberate the clash of metal and stone, singing a song of little earthquakes.

Returned to the fray.

Cast back into the shadow of the unknown, encircled by a surreptitious darkness, sight becomes an oft too leaned upon crutch. Intuition serves to illuminate a wavelength previously unnoticed, and the reliance on the heart begs questions which penetrate far deeper into the understanding of surrounding resistance. Now, dressed in explanation, that which lay previously confused stands erect in the face of inquisition. It resolves itself in choice and the decision to habituate, making sense from rationalized emotion.

cripp[led]

failure from exhaustion, I am the body used.

weak effort

the strain of stranding still pervades my weakened body. Like flimsy paper in the wind, I quiver, even supine. Another long day begins today, and even as sore as I am, somehow I will make it through. Even as tired as I am, I will stay awake. The human body is an amazing thing.

early

overwhelmed by darkness and uneasy sleep, my body aches, and my mind sits frozen in a stupor.

costly focus

Paying with this currency called time, all at once the most superfluous and valuable asset of my life, I must choose which parts of it to sell off and which to keep for the betterment of self. Even as I write, seconds metamorphose into words before my very eyes, and I'm left to recount their meanings one by one. The multitude of distractions within this life amount to an expensive habit, one I cannot sustain unless I mortgage my future happiness.

means to an end

Returning to the scene of the crime with a newfound sense of self. The transgressions of the past may shine in ghostly reflections, however, in their temporary disposition, they are appear as fleeting thoughts. Distractions and instances of fear-based judgements, reminders of the importance of moving on. The grass is greener here, nurtured by accomplishment and the desire to run headlong into destiny.

Zen distraction

Flashes of the lightning mind streak across the expanse, illuminating pockets of darkness as realizations come to light. Moments of clarity, so fleeting in their comprehension, bring to life a fading truth - one which seems to disappear under further scrutiny. The choices of this storm dictate the details of its precipitation, as each moment saturates the ground with conviction. Such dangerous thoughts ramble across the horizon, catching themselves on barbed wire logic, and tearing open gaps in reason. Salvation lies in focus, the ability to concentrate all energy on the present task.

achey

Full phantom featherweight fails to flow freely, now knowing newfound knowledge, and nearly needing none. Such strange strains still speak so sure, softly shivering in silent shouts.

[ob]literate

Prior restraint, alive in its illusion, ushers forth a new understanding of what it means to breathe. The opinions of the marginalized lie skinny on the roadside, withering from lack of agreement. The two-toned revelation which sprouts from the desiccating body spirals upwards and outwards, a thorny vine so gorgeous in its peril. But against such sheepish landscapes, only secrets last. As if the entirety of the malcontents clung in anticipation to the razor's edge.

Snooze Button

Arrested by the manefestation of mental fog outside the window, the oppressive air hangs thick with mist. Cool to the touch, they gray blanket shivers in the sky a justification and a warning not to leave the warmth of slumber. Such sly and dangerous reasoning designed to drag emotion to despair under the guise of rest and comfort, yet it's a temptation given into more often than not. Will the defenses of this conscious mind withstand the onslaught? Or will weakness undermine the good intentions of the day?

Look, a way

Distraction consumes the observer, possessing the obsessed. Any excuse to free the mind from the painful focus of the reality at hand. But the situation stands alone as a defined ideal; not some passing fancy, rather the aim of all desire. To avoid it is to spit in the face of destiny, shying away in the motions of cowardice. Tighten the screws, put on the blinders. Shift attention to the real, and let that obsession define you.

Walking Wounded

Couched within the morning fog, inspired dreamlets seep like tears from tired eyes, and the ache of work drips dull from hollow bones. Longing for rest and respite, yet all too aware that neither are destined for today. Labor waits in the wings, work to stage thereafter. It is one thing to understand what must be done, and quite another to do it.

Sunrise shivers

In the earliest of mornings, the darkness fills the air before the dawn. Awakening to an unfamiliar chill, this body trembles, unaware that just beyond the horizon lies a sun-soaked salvation. Shivering for warmth and the hopes that friction sparks a fire, the heavy sky lifts it's head the the graying twilight. Even the world must contemplate the snooze button. But spinning on its surface, subjected to the resulting circadian influence, we too must make a final bow, shake the weariness from our eyes, and face the coming day.

[this]appointment

Cracked resolve smiles wide under the scrutiny of the everyday. This magnified understanding of man's weakness, presented so enticingly, supports decisions with temptation. Resolve inside the sepulcher; as if the certainty of death knows its own undertakings, infamous for more than just the extinguishing of light. Against such an array, only an alignment with the rising sun can straighten out the refracted pieces of visible magnitude. It is there in the clarity that the truth is found. Fresh mist from burning dew rises and twirls, gilding its edges in the morning gold. Breathe this smoke to clear out the residue of the prior day's intoxication, and allow missteps to be corrected. The transition back must be balanced as wel.

friendly reminders

Sand and opulence paste together in the carving of an icon. A monolithic castle in the sand knows the beauty of impermanence, for the sculpter removes the excess to reveal the shape and structure, only so another can weather the rest away. Rubbing my eyes and coming to grips with the fresh blood of reality, I see stars. And like the gleaming grains of sand, my vision blinds me. Consternation, worry, and the frantic pace of life around me overwhelms the peaceful mind. But it is in the remembrance of the immutable laws that refills my faith. I am not in, I am of, and as such, I am.

Back to Form

The barrage of vibrations assaults my ears and upsets the calm to which I've grown accustomed. The pace of this city, so overwhelmingly frenetic in its distractions gives me pause for concern. It will be harder to focus here than I thought. But that difficulty is merely something that must be handled in due time. This is my home, and I must find a balance here. Already I've been bombarded by negativity and reactionary thought, and despite being able to catch it and recognize it as such, I stil was affected by it. I must give myself time to settle back into the rhythm of my life. I have goals and direction, and with them comes purpose. I can only strive to better myself each day and accept that which has come my way with grace and humility.

Hand holds

Gripping tightly to this final moment, knowing how soon it will become the past, it is the silence I will miss most. The surrounding serenity I hope to take with me, as I'm steeped in so much tranquility. my pace is my own, and that which will come to me will come in it's own time as well. And so, as the seconds turn to minutes,and each one burns through my fingertips like matchsticks, I must face this final morning with the same humility and joy, and be thankful that I still have this day. I will always have this day and these moments. They are of me and in me, and I leave here a changed man.

Taste of Vapor.

Mind flight low over the jagged ground, more like swimming than soaring. Pushing through the icy clouds and eating them like snow. Controlled in the understanding, accepted knowledge of this secret ability. Now with open eyes and clear skies, the thought are different in their placation. Metaphors and meanings now. Interpretations come at last with their own dialogue on how the future should unfold. Now whether dreaming or awake, I am but buoy, free to float in the expanse of possibility.

fixed focus

Glory does not wait. It has no patience for the unfocused mind. It moves at an apparition's pace, skirting the edge of fantasy and reality. One must run towards it, vaulting headlong into the fog. Good and bad exist inside the phantom. The well-intentioned find their way to success, while the distracted become lost. Routine can make a madman or a friend, only he who commits to the lifestyle can determine which.

On departure

A forgiving morning yawns and strokes my cheek in reassurance. Though soon the comfort and care will depart from my embrace, I know that sooner still it shall return. She who is my wonderful. Bittersweet of thankful, I am torn. Happy to have had this experience and shared these moments, sad that I must wake and return. But perhaps it's necessary. For the first time in so long I feel the pangs of longing, in and of themselves indicative of a deeper connection. One I've not had the pleasure of meeting before. Mature in its understanding that all things must grow and be nurtured if they are to live a healthy life, relationships are no exception.

Thank You.

The day of my beginnings, the time when the cycle comes around. It is my birthday, and like the ebbing tide that's been replenished, I'm again made whole by the elements around me. This the 29th orbit of mine, these parts of the sun so dear to me with their long shadows and changing leaves. The summer fades as I age, but this time marks the return of saturn. I've so much left to return to, to learn and be reminded of. I welcome this year with open heart and mind. Facing the day with happiness and gratitude. Love surrounding me. Life of the greatest kind.

Itching to scratch

Anticipation scratches at the back of my throat a sickness as unfamiliar to me as the reasons why it's there. Unknowing as I wake to the beginning of such a malady, I wonder why now? On the verge of lovely visits, and after so many days of health, why does it creep back on the morning of my break? Surely the question will be answered in the coming days, but until then my focus must remain on positive terms. The belief in health is enough to heal, so now I must go on.

re:sounding

The clamor of the malcontent rings out across the silent valley. Windy chatter fills the air with misunderstandings. But as if to signal a new clairvoyance, the sun rises in the favored month. The wheels of the universe move in perpetuity, unaware of man's desires. And so with calm and simple mind, and filled with even breath, one begins the floating journey. Swept along at the pace of what it is, a runaway train at peace with its terminal destination. A ride unlike any before, tailored by intent. And with a resounding call, a new voice echoes from the valley, one of positive acceptance. Gratitude for all that is and will be. A strange and guttural call, but truer than any before.

Kindling

Too awake to dream, yet still too sick with sleep to rouse in me the fire of my mind. Smoldering and finding there's nothing left to burn. I must push on. Give into the rhythm and flow that lies beyond me, and let the letters fall as words in sentence sequence, hoping that the guiding hand behind them has good penmanship. Art is a risk. A journey of exploration in which, if done correctly, destroys what came before. The artist, immolated like a Phoenix at it's end, reduced to ashes and coal; a new medium in which to work.

search party

Elusive passion hunts its own source, lost in the tangles of self-consciousness. Freedom knows the boundaries, preaching the possibilities which lie inside the migrator pattern of word and deed. Such dogged pursuit, yet the results of such a strenuous search yield naught but exhaustion. The worry of the sand-filled glass trickles out in measured increments, filling the void with nothing but the absence of time. It is not a gift, but a lifestyle change: wresting control from the ego and transferring it to the self. Becoming not who one wants, but who one is meant to be. Acceptance.

making snowflakes

Illuminated arguments the kind whose point lies skewed within the confusion of the conflict, the only way of understanding is to rearrange the words to reflect in positive light. The truth understands that a sunset made of purple means that beauty comes even at the end. But time still has a plan; the resistance of comfort is alluring, but one must learn that though it is possible to build on the drive of pressing circumstance, it is the pattern which emerges naturally which lasts throughout the years.

The great return

Crystal lear advancement of an irate beauty, the haze begins to clear in the wash of setting sunlight. Like a storm that's gone so long, the weeping finally cases, and with a cry less like thunder than ever before we move on. It's an epiphany, red and bright and out of place in the encroaching night, but it stands there, reckoning nonetheless. There is spring in the step once more, a sense of purpose once thought lost amongst the confusion. And despite an interruption, the clarity remains, understanding that all things move towards their opposite, and we now come back to love.

Wash[ed] Up

The world of flash and glamour fades room my periphery. Walls of falseness evaporate like phantoms in receding fog, and I'm left with a new found calm. Outside the machine it's all so simple. The wilderness sounds wash through my ears and cleanse mind. It's been so long since I've heard the symphony of silence. Too many years spent lost in the vibrations of artifice, it's as if each doubtful buzz clings to me like caking mud. And though still slothful, the sludge is cracking under the warm sun. Soon it shall crack and fall from me, and as I shed the skin of former self, I will make my way to the water's edge. Without fanfare, the lake of rain shall wash me clean.

The Horseless Rider

Fighting to attain a sense of self inside this freeform fantasy. The given limits exist to guide journey, though so far little in the way of promises has been kept. Yestereve I asked for the gift of passion to be bestowed upon this numbness called my life. For quite some time now I have floated through this life in imitation, matching the movements of those around me, but failing to feel the connection to anything. It is this void in my emotions which reflects in my creations. Shells of ideas withouts hearts or souls. I've lost my way as I've lost myself. My only hope is that direction lies somewhere within.

phantom friends

I awake from a time when a half-forgotten friendship had turned into the blossom of romance. A real life former friend and neighbor sat troubled in my mind. And as dreams are apt to do, this one brought us together, and for a few confused moments, we kissed while I slept. Something about her wounded nature pulled me in; whatever situation I was able to project upon her seemed to make sense at the time, but waking up I'm left to wonder why so much energy went into a vision of a person I no longer see.

What comes from endings

The death of things, even as they fall down inside a dream, should not be looked upon with a sad eye, rather remembered with a fondness that allows for further growth. For it is always that way in the cycle of existence, as endings serve to mark the moments when beginnings sprout anew. Today it is the death of fear that we celebrate, watching as its anxiety crumbles before the promise of fresh ideas. We have journeyed to this moment, and though we are weary, our quest has just begun.

The scent of taste.

The fiery tingle in my mouth signals the spice has touched my taste. Such flavor tied to long-past memories skips across my tongue as if to speak these dark remembrances. The first of many sensory reminders, reasons for return; rejuvenation through sight and sound and touch and taste. Proceeding forward with an eye in the rear view, it's hard not to grow distracted by reminiscence. Let the past inform the present, and go out into the new. The amorphous expanse of current life has room enough to grow, so long as the edges remain just slightly out of view.

Laid up

Sinus pressure, the old and unwelcome enemy strikes out again in another attempt to bend my will to his. Too much rides on my ability to function at this time, therefore I refuse to budge from my position. Just so long as my position is resting in bed. Anyone want to bring me tea?

Leaving town.

The winds which urge me onward, teased by the notion of the new, swirl in a forward vortex. The progression towards the new and exciting stands as an intimate and ultimate; all things move to an end, even as their just beginning. Thusly I'm incensed against the weariness which hangs at the corner of my eyes, and nearing the 7 year anniversary of my Westward venture, I head Southwest. Back to the roots of my inception and the core of my inspiration for a refresher course on what it means to be me. Without the artifice of internet avatar, and faced with the mirror of true self, I will purge the impurities and come back a better me.

allergic contraction

Fighting against a malady in a bad time for a battle. So much to do and so little time to do it leaves no room for recuperation. But it must get done, apparently at the expense of health and comfort.

Clearance granted.

Fantasy becomes reality when learning to fly, an act so fraught with falling that only a flailing of limbs will generate lift. It is the moment before the plunge that holds such tension. The decision made upon the precipice to surrender oneself to the greater understanding of purpose. To scream into the void, "this is my life," and be answered back with the advice, "then live it." For as easy as it is to dream, it is just as easy to live that dream once the idea of its feasibility is accepted. Make up your mind, put yourself in a future place, and then do all things that lead you there.

Be careful what you wish for.

The fear of failure runs deep inside of me, barking dark doubts at every turn. I've grown used to its frightened abuse, accepted it as a necessary evil on most accounts. A new fear, however, has crept up, camouflaged by the goodwill of accomplishment, the fear of success. It's a strange and shivering feeling, to be afraid of achievement. Will I be able to manage, cope, handle all that comes my way as a result? Living up to my potential happens to be a terrifying goal, mostly because I have such high expectations of myself. I must take it day by day, and focus on being productive.

Be Prepared.

As the old scout saying intimates, anything can happen. My mind turns its focus to an end game scenario, and strangely I am calm. My thoughts race from one survival tactic to the next, but overall I am at peace with the notion that soon I may have to defend myself, my property, and those I love. Something is coming, even if it is just a shift in thinking, no more radical than a change of mind, I must be ready. It's funny how similar the preparations are for a camping trip and those for a global economic collapse. Good thing I like the woods.

flecks able

The lesson of flexibility stretches through my world in a long-legged change of plans. Uncontrollable forces rearrange days and I'm left to deal with the new situation, but perhaps this is part of the learning experience. Even in an open system rules apply, and it becomes important to understand that the illusion and comfort of "control" come from the supplication of acceptance. Strapped to the seat of a roller coaster, one can painfully strain to resist the turns, or accept the path and enjoy it. As for me? Look ma, no hands.

crunch (time)

It's the pressure cooker effect, an exponential increase in productivity forced into existence by the removal of excess time. It's the spice of added urgency, the sighting of the checkpoint; never underestimate the power of a milestone. The balance is shifting, and inside the hunger grows. Wealth depletes along with time, and with it goes the stale comfort, flaking off like char from firewood. The embers are glowing, almost ready. Soon the crucible will reach high enough temperature to forge new expressions, and from that heat creativity will radiate new life.

Let's get down to business.

Sloth seeps from my pours in an oozing lethargy, onset by the tedium of forced relaxation. With the intention of growing disillusioned by the freedom of vacation, I've rested now to the point of sickness, tired from too much sleep. An excited tremor grows inside of me and buzzes with the knowledge that soon this binge will turn to purge, and the stagnation shall flow out in a tidal wave of productivity.

Bass fishing

Looking for the bass line amidst the rhythmic shuffle I listen to hope as it noodles through the scale, but within the depths of the pocket I feel no resonance and hear no inspired argument to give me cause to deviate from my path. As much as it is the musical backbone, it is a distinct voice which has the responsibility of guiding change, and it's just not there. So we play on, despite the erratic knee-jerk dissonance associated with a lacking understanding. And, like dining on lukewarm food, the satiation is all but pleasurable. The beat and search goes on.

The final countdown

One week left before I set out on adventure. One week left to organize and get in order the life to which I shall return. One week left to laze about and soak in the indulgences of idle hands. The grip of vice holds loosely to me, knowing that its days are numbered. We spent spring amongst the meadow, and summered in the shadow of the tree line. This fall, however, marks the beginning of the focused and defined effort to summit the mountain before me.

Role models

This gratitude comes freely to a life so blessed with guidance and support. It is truly with grace that I thank the chain of events that has led me to where I stand today. Not that I have reached some pinnacle or achievement, rather I have merely stayed upon the path on which I initially set out when I set my goals. When you give yourself no other options, success becomes imminent, however you choose to define it. For me, success is defined by follow-through and achievement of will. Most often it comes from within, but not usually before heeding the advice of those around me. It pays to listen to others, if only to know what to expect when living the experience yourself.

the best, by:

The currency of time spends itself so easily in the company of such a welcomed guest. Unlike so many moments before, every second builds upon the next to weave a tapestry of beautiful memory. These are days worth remembering, filled with light-hearted laughter and the warmth of summer sun.

Arc of the coveted.

As time passes, the lesson of character steeps further into the folds of my understanding and I'm able to see the importance of interconnectedness. In the same dualistic sense of macrocosm and microcosm, we can see in every person a smaller kernel of human truth, each unique to their path in life. Realizing the imperfect nature of others helps us come to terms with the flaws within ourselves. In watching another grow, we can relate to their struggle and identify on a personal level. This is true in story and in life. We are all one, reflections in a shattered mirror, individual yet the same.

de[in]cision

The bird in hand looks deep into my eyes, begging me for leniency. And while killer instinct swarms my mind, it is the fear of failure that keeps my finger off the trigger. Excuses arise to squander opportunity. They present themselves as hiding places fortified by logic, warm places to crawl inside and watch from afar. As for me, half hidden already, yet clutching this golden goose, I'm terrified that the effort required for success will be all for naught. But this is only true in a closed system where growth only happens when goals are reached. The truth of the matter is that the majority of learning takes place along the way, and happens regardless of the end result. So, it's with this realization that I set out, not to achieve but to grow, and express myself openly and artistically.

Time will tell.

An avenue to revisit an old idea presents itself before me in rewarding light. Usually of the mindset that forward progression is the only beneficial progression, I've found myself stopped at this crossroads wondering if it's worth it to excavate lessons long-learned. Perhaps there lies a kernel of inspiration off of which I can rebuild, but nothing short of a full reconstruction will give me artistic satisfaction. It was made for the market, true, but foremost it was made for me, and represents the strength of my skill. And while it's old and full of flaws, many may be excised with the tools I have uncovered since its creation.

The waiting game.

Unsure of the rules in a life of constant change, the only way I've survived is adaptation through improvisation. Perhaps that's why I shift my shape, to roll with the punches rather than drink them. It's hard being so many people, remembering who I'm supposed to be around whomever I'm with. "You're not acting like yourself" is a phrase I've heard, but never believed. The truth is, in those moments I am more myself than you may ever know. I don't know why I hide parts of my personality, even from those I care about. Maybe it's the same reason why I don't mix certain company, I'm just afraid that perceptions will change in a way that I have no control over. So I might pull back, I might hide, but know that it's more than likely a version of my psyche that you haven't met yet, peeking out its head to test the waters and see if a warm embrace awaits. While it's a cold and scary place inside my head, and full of dark and unsavory beasts, all each one wants is to be accepted.

Building Blocked.

Adrift within the boundless daydream, in search of clarity amongst the clouded mind, I ask myself questions to which the answers are already known. As if to give the quest more purpose, I allow myself to fall behind, knowing how well I respond to a challenge. I look to the weeks ahead and realize that I must fill them productively or risk a devolution at the hands of idle expression. Structure must exist as normalcy, and only then can it be balanced by relaxation.

rise and shine

In the clear of the morning clouds, the previous day's unfortunate emotion fades like the darkness succumbing to the rays of rising sun. The gentle scent of comfort that lies so close eases the tensions of the mind and gently rouses the conscious mind from dreamy slumber. A chance for new beginnings awaits summoning, knowing that such a simple request can yield the pattern of success reborn. It is the breeze of resurrection that ushers in the new week, and with it comes the anxious desire to thwart the idle threat. While it is important to be, it is equally important to do; doing defines being in this mad and busy world.

re:dedication

Cool clouds of over indulgence come to rain on my parade. The metaphoric mist hangs close to my skin, perspiring kisses to mock my dedication. Questions posed against my will bring an air of uncertainty, which, though unwelcome, freshens the debate. In the end I must rely on the confidence that got me here. Taking stock in the qualities of man and engaging in an act of planning in order to make it work. Life is a constant evolution of wants and needs; understanding the hierarchy is key the satisfaction of both.

Resting Heart Rate

Cocooned so tightly around a memory as if the slightest unwinding would mean forgetting every nuance. But awake within the comfort of this bed finds loneliness asleep nearby instead of the breath of warm inviting. The challenge stands to assimilate this new desire, but stay focused on the horizon. Time stands to do all that must be done, one must merely make the intention clear.

learning lessons

Brushed against the uncertainty of circumstance and wondering the reasons for it all, this cloud turns a temporary black in the clear blue sky. Inconvenienced to say the least, to say anything really, as all obstacles in life are moments to reflect and learn from the challenge at hand. And so, in observing the path in the context of the bigger picture comes the understanding and realization that neutrality of emotion may perhaps be the healthiest reaction to this disturbance.

London Bridge

Walls built long ago with the intention of forever fortifying against the intrusion of that barbed emotion crack and crumble around me in the wake of the new and genuine. A shiver of half excitement, half fright runs along the outer surface of my skin in a sensational reaction to the soft and gentle caress of her memory. The days go by too slowly, and I'm caught dreaming of the day when the walls have all fallen down.

best laid plans

Conjoined in a rhythmic architecture, vibrations of a constructed sound. The pervasive smile building and laughing throughout the tenement halls awakens a new understanding of possibility. Like the summer's light and breeze, warmth of sun, the dark corners clear with each caress. The flutter that takes aback knocks inside the chest of the prospective, and the resounding echo beats its own realization of souls in motion. Days and shadows grow longer, but for now it's morning in the timeline, and there's freshness in the air.

uh, flutter

Pursed lips speak in delicate embraces on an eve beset by moonlight. Intention fumbles through thought and logic before the warmth of desire takes its place as the motivating force behind the night. A reticent progression in which to savor the moment dictates pace, and the nervousness quickly fades into pecks of further conversation. And somewhere, lost under a pile of forgotten rubble, a spark.

back to the track.

Fretting as the seconds tick by like the fraying of a carpet's edge, worried that the infinity of time will not be long enough. It comes down to dedication. That resolved determinism which exists in black and white knowing there is no middle ground in progress. Comprimise may be necessary to accomodate all endeavors, but single mindedness completes tasks. When you sit in the chair and close the door, the work gets done. It's as simple as that. There's no room for excuses in the ether of creativity.

Welcome.

stunned in the wake of new life's issuance, time eddies in a contemplative backwater of reflection. To see firsthand the birth of consciousness and watch as magic fills the void with being alters my perception of existence and reality. Light behind blue eyes, searching for warmth and safety in the cold and blinding darkness. Welcomed by love, the child falls asleep in the arms of fawning family and dreams the blank slate dream of innocence.

Ami and Syd had their baby today. I was in the hospital filming the moment. Today I did not write.

Blasé

Carelessness and nonchalance encircle me, generating a dangerous cloud that blinds my reason. Doing without thinking has its benefits, but more often than not, it's my thoughts which save me from the slippery situations that plague a mind like mine. Funny, considering it's all in my head. Last night, every one was screaming to get out, and the only thought that made sense to me was happy knowing how many different perspectives I had. Returned to the voice which matters most, I understand that logic has it's purpose, and I must trust it to guide me through. There is much to do, and I've got to hustle to grab my piece.

Inspired by Clown School.

In the most reasonable understanding of Einstein's relativity, the hours went by in an ease which was not surprising. Interestingly, I could have sat on a stove that entire time and remained transfixed. No pain could distract me. How could it compete? It couldn't, the only candle to be held would be an identical flame. And so I wait until the next moments, eager to devour even the smallest seconds to feed the appetite of this starving psyche.

Big game hunter.

Like trophies these thoughts hang decapitated on my wall, pinned there for proof that they were once had. I keep them there, afraid that if I don't, I will forget them and their meaning. A worrisome braggart I stuff and mount memories, holding tightly to the values I've assigned, but all this leads to tension and I grow weary. Slowly the realization surfaces that thoughts and ideas are living, and I should not cage them, but feed and nurture them so they stay close and become part of my immediate world. The open mind is one in which the dynamism of life runs freely.

Hide, or go seek.

In a shotgun search, emotional concern falls to the rear. And while compassion remains in sight, the truest aim stands leveled at the desire of the self. The query can not yield authenticity if the wants and needs are relegated to a secondary stance. In a rare case, selfishness is vital, for it provides the connection and understanding of happiness; deferment only prolongs the inevitable collapse. And as if it were a hunt, the outcome of which determined survival, the seriousness with which it all takes place needs to vanish with the realization that it's all in good fun. The winners are those who've figured out that it's a game, and the goal is just to play.

Fire in the sky.

Lights explode like new thoughts, curious in my mind. The trepidation surrounding the moment dissipates as the initial sparkle fades into the night and all that's left is the remnant of the colored light. And as the fear fades, and the haze of smoke clears, luck swoops to force the hand that shakes with indecision. After an awkwardness, calm pervades the space between, and the blunted mind does all it can to fumble through a routine so over-thought that it's grown anxious limbs. In the end what matters most lies in the commitment of action and the introduction of something new.

Sing a Song of Sixpence

I must learn the difference between knowing the path and walking the path, and be comfortable doing so. This is not the time to hide, but the time to shine, to lead, to sing loudly the songs of life and like the pied piper bring the world along on the greatest ride of my life.

Vacation, Day 5

The beautiful shine burns through to shimmer gilded crests like gold leaf atop the rolling ocean. In the final moments, before the peak and collapse upon the sandy bank, the face swells and the gold reflection opens up like a blossom of blinding light.

Vacation, Day 4

The soothing crash of refreshing sound doubles over on itself and rolls to shore. The horizon line of blue on blue stares back as if to remind the coast that there is always more to come. The morning rays of sun warm skin, baking color into the red-surfaced layers. Wavelengths of light and waves of ocean undulate in harmony to the rotation of the Earth.

Vacation, Day 3

In the morning of my recompense, the bronze flesh parades its gleaming self across the strand. Almost a wink and nod to the naturalists as if to say, "I wish I could be you." What is it about the desire to go back to basics that allures so strongly? Perhaps the need to understand ones origins in order to gain perspective on ones current position. Or maybe it's the need to simplify in the face of technological evolution. No matter the reason, the urge is strong. Deep-seated and primal, a resonant pitch best understood by historical harmony.

Vacation, Day 2

Salt breezes like warm breath caresses my skin, and in the clouds of sunrise the rays of the morning struggle to make themselves known. All that can be seen is nowhere near all that is. Vacationing on the shoreline, so close to a disaster, but returned to that primal ground where life once struggled from sea onto land in its own effort to make itself known. And even here on another level of determination, we as a family return to reunite as generations are added. The story must be told.

Vacation, Day 1

The waves crash in indiscriminate lines, relentless against the coast. Such a calming sound for something with such a violent potential. White caps foam as they crest, and the low noise fills my head like a snowstorm. It's a quiet time, almost makes me sad. Perhaps it's just my mind getting used to all this activity. So much goes on that if you blink you'll miss something for sure. I must be cognizant of myself and find ways to remain open to all that surrounds me, and let the happiness of experience wash over me like the waves.

Much ado to do.

Simplified. Perhaps it's for the better. In whatever case, this is the hand dealt to me, so I must play. Wish me luck.

Half of a hole.

Deep inside myself I look for the source of this discontentment but I find nothing there. It's an empty cavern, the only upside to which is its potential to be filled with happiness. And then I ask myself how? How do I pretend such a gaping hole exists only for me to fill it with meaning when I know that the reason it is there in the first place is due to past trauma? It's a scary place inside, and cleaning that old wound means remembering feelings that have long since cauterized. A heart transplant can't occur without making some incisions.

Kindling

Given to passion and allowed the freedom to express my innermost desires, I find myself in search of a way to quench this enflamed desire. Yet every drop of beauty seems to smother this burning ember inside me, blinding my eyes with choking smoke. I want a love like gasoline, fluid and explosive. That way I can drench myself and not worry that it'll smolder out, but be assured that the slightest spark will consume me.

The cowardice to ante up.

Soaked in a numbing sweat, I lie here governed by a logical construct; an acceptable place to dwell, except life demands that emotion inform the action of my present state. Stuck in a situation I cannot think my way out of, I'm reluctant to engage my heart for fear that this exposure, if not ideal, will cause it to cease feeling, shrivel up, and become a useless mound of dust. So I hold that trump card close to my vest and check the river and the turn knowing the chances of me folding are greater than me going all in.

::BZZT::

The clear sky breathes a sigh of relief in the morning as my eyes adjust to the brightness. I'm grateful to be awake, though still feeling the shivering hand of electricity as if it shook me through my shadow. An understanding of vibrations came yesterday, almost at a heavy price. The lessons I'll take with me, though weigh just as much. The shocking theme that seems to follow me throughout my life is one that I must attempt to figure out. It has always been attractive to my subconscious; I am more familiar with electrocution than I should be.

open for business

Energy pulse, heartbeat strain expression. The forever glow radiates out to fingertips and beyond. possession of possibilities, new ways to do old things; to be great and grateful, a goal of humility. All things come to pass in the understated law of superposition. Whichever you choose will grow and ripen when ready. All one can do is focus on the task at hand and be ready for the harvest. The inevitability of success is a mindset; achievement depends on perception.

Billed-ing

Sparks from the machine blade fly, spewing embers as it licks the metal. Encumbered clouds perspire a patterned moisture that fills the air with a dusty smell. The particles stirred up from the daily foolishness return to Earth in a weepy apology, and fall prostrate to the ground. The coolness of the morning forgives more than it should, and those awake to work the grinder and the saw welcome the blanket as it caresses their hot skin in a breeze.

crutches

The cause for conversation flows like fire in my mind, this burn that creeps in exponential passion to create and express an inner desire. So much of me fills with the gracious feeling, that supplicating contentment, the mother's milk of ideology, and yet there's still a vacancy inside. Resounding in a hollow echo, I understand the displacement. I feel closer to any emptiness than the surrounding accomplishments. Perhaps there is another reason; a tardive effect, creeping along and leeching from me my synergistic potentiality.

Oh, shun.

Insurmountable, a claim of fame unlike the unforgiving stretch of time that lazes past my line of sight. This two-tone wave of freeform expressionism, like alabaster splashed with blossoms, echoes across the valley. A song of sorrow, crying out remembrances of tortured days, hits my ears and I'm reminded myself of those times when my stomach turned a sour note at the mention of any former lover. But now whether calmness or numbness has hold of my senses, the sea is mirror clear. A serenity so undisturbed as to cause warning for all others who'd encounter it. And yet it is my normalcy. Logic patrols those waters, and so violently that emotion has no chance of survival if it were to fall overboard. Swallowed and subdued by an inky black, never given the chance to make waves.

being

Take it as it comes, the conclusions jumped to are not worth their weight in gravity. I know much less than I think I do, and so I must remember to listen before reacting. there are a million outcomes for every iteration, to attempt to guess which one is the most likely is not only an exercise in futility, but a waste of time, for in the time spent predicting the outcome of a moment, things can change so drastically. Just be. Decide later how you feel about it.

It's hazy; I'm lazy

Shaking off the slumber of a sacrificial night, as the memories lose remembrance in this fading grey twilight.

breath of sigh

Relieved to the point of exhaustion, and in a strange circumstance, tired from achievement. But as the race has seemed to finish, now begins the long walk to the next staging area. A new event awaits and if I'm smart I will wait to catch my breath until it has begun. This is a town of villains, for the wicked do not rest.

re: building

The last minute reconstruction constitutes refinement on a level of a higher order. An understanding of betterment come not a moment too soon. The clock of preparation ticks away, and while the polish of wordsmithing remains yet to buff, the greater concept of the underlying tale stays put. Memorize through experience and focus on the comedy of a situation rather than the punch line of a joke. There is plenty left to learn, and much to do today, and with that I look forward to solidifying something great.

a_wake

And a sudden drop into the shadow below drags my energy level down. Just yesterday I was beaming in the undulating light of the Kundalini serpent and today I feel burned out. The compulsion to remain in bed, to rest and ignore that which must be achieved today is heavy, soaked in the darkness which drips languidly at my feet. But a bolt of clarity zips past me, and I'm temporarily awakened from the trance. It's easy to fall into the vortex of sloth, but it feels better to overcome than it does to give in.

Here's to hoping.

A confused evolution works its way out o chaos into order as magnetic waves wash alignment to true North. Given this direction, one could expect a pattern to emerge along the course, but the blips of difference find a way of distracting even the best laid plan. Its better to accept fault before judgement, especially in the face of beautiful uncertainty.

morning do

Awake eyes race minds down paths of no end. Chases of fancy, flights to satisfy an urge. The horizon holds a constant cup of overflowing possibility. Swim upstream to bathe in waters untainted by doubt and second thought. Like the zen mind of a salmon, undeterred by the deep-seeded understanding of the imminence of death, life purpose must be fulfilled. Achievements unlocked in the most intimate sense. A heart, a head, a body, a soul. Components of a greater composition, dying to live the life they were meant to.

forking roads...

A wealth of opportunity surrounds me, gilded reflections gleaming, and I understand the importance of choice. When faced with a decision between multiple directions, the winning strategy weaves a compromise that traverses each separate path. Maximizing potential through the inclusion of all. One would be wise to take every chance that passes by, as one measures success by doing that which you set out to do.

looked and loaded

The price of open eyes casts haze across the periphery of an ill-tuned focus. A myopic scope trained upon the minutiae of the irrelevant. Life continues far beyond our imaginations, and for the glimpses of the future I'll gladly pay with moments of conscious thought. To fill the waking dreamspace with possibilities and probabilities primes the canon for inspiration.

moving through the process

The accomplishment deserves recognition, but there is a difference in completion and a job well done. But for the situation, I can breathe easier. I have brought the material to a place where I am now able to see it play out in its entirety. It is not perfect, and never will be, but at least for now I can gaze upon its structure and see what needs improvement. I must let myself feel good about it. This is the first of many steps, and by all accounts the most difficult. The stone has been selected, dragged out, measured, planned and roughly hewn. After a few breaths, I can come back and begin detailing.

Delayed by She.

Happily in the sense am I diverted, but paying the price so high, it now becomes a test of focus. To see the distance and imagine the other side. What emotions lie beyond? For a time the world flipped over and reality felt consumed by that cheek-pinching happiness. That other time where relative sense knows no boundary. But here I stand unable to press the issue and faced with that which remains to transpire. It now truly comes to the final lap, and I've always wanted someone to shine for.

Spiral out

Lightning finds the least resistant path among the highway of my veins. Such a perilous adventure, do no let the ease fool you into a false sense of security. For even if the way is clear, it is fraught with distractions and charged electricity which strikes down without notice; blue arcs of energy cracking across the sky. But these charges crack like blue-tongued whips and drive me towards the culling. The end game where sighs are breathed and eyes are closed in relief. The hike may be ending soon, but it has only been a practice run. The true tests come in the future when we tackle the course again, this time for speed, another time for accuracy, until we know the twists and turns by heart, and each step in the dance flows freely from our subconscious mind.

breathing relief

Familiarity seeps from within its paradoxical attenuation. That feeling of comfort overwhelms me, and I find myself at ease in something wholly new. It's nice when things come easy, when the less you try the more you gain. And to experience this all with a sense of calm acceptance is to understand that time is relative. Something meant to be will always be, so focus on the obstacles and work to overcome them. Happiness will never demand attention.

rhyme time

Meld into a liquid from the solid state of mine, the ease of predilection falls faintly out of time. When one wears out a welcome and gets cast aside like clay, it's often found that no one knows the replacement on the way. And so with trappings kept so safe, with couriers afoot, the madness whips itself into a frenzy so out-put.

braking.

At a loss I spin my wheels in hopes of gaining traction in which ever direction grips first. I have not the luxury of being choosy. I've wasted time, burned it as if it were a lamp, and now it's grown so hot that it may shatter or explode. Both, if I'm lucky. For such violence would at least be something emotional. Something passionate to course through my creative consciousness. I've been dulled by repetition, ground down by routine, and if the monotony remains unbroken, then I myself might break.

circling the drain

Spinning in the undertow, long past the point of no return, I've come to understand that this frantic end is nothing more than a lead up to an exciting new beginning. Rather than resist and try to swim against this ever-increasing current, I must let go and use the energy of the spin to generate momentum that will take me through to the other side.

A trek through realization

Wandering around memories of years past, walking as I am with who I was, I stop and consider my surroundings. I must be thankful for all that has come to pass to bring me to this present moment, but a quick evaluation shows that I now belong to a different place. While it's possible to live in the past, tempting even, it's debilitating. The love I have for those loyal, who've gone through the trials alongside me is deep, however the space between us has grown to such a distance that I feel out of place among some of my closest friends. I am no better than they, simply I have moved to a different place in my life, I want different experiences. They will be my friends forever, but as I look in the direction of my future they become harder and harder to see. I will watch them on their path, and they me, but I won't be able to reach out to them, not without backtracking every step I've made.

derby days

Sleeping to recharge expenditure of the preceding days. There is an obvious importance to rest. And though writing is not necessarily physical, it's still possible to overwork the medium. The horse that wins often breaks late, and in this final turn an extra breath just might be the difference between having strength for the final lap and riding that horse into the ground.

erosion of facsimile

Style, that amorphous and fiery intangible, such a miscreant in action. Damning the river with conformist mud, you are two-faced: genuine at inception, and imitation at adoption. Perhaps your rooting in identity compels our differentiation. However, it is that attraction to the unique and beautiful that powers the gravity of homogeny. Perhaps there is no solution to your paradox other than to express and then adapt. Be oneself and then move on when the edge has dulled.

It's-a-lie -v.

This engine of imagination, driven by everything that's come before it, rolls on in plagiaristic perpetuity. Only by following the guidelines can we know when and where to stray. Imitation may be flattering, but it also knows success, so long as one realizes the importance of masking the thievery. Perhaps it's as simple as sewing together so many scraps that as a whole it becomes altogether unrecognizable, and when experienced will elicit fond memories associated with each piece.

I am Dr. Frankenstein, and this is my latest monster. My piecemeal creation, my patchwork abomination. I can only hope he's met by kinder villagers.

Water-logged

The ease of letting things be settles around me in a cooling mist of reassurance. I am calm in the face of pressure, and resolute in the understanding that all ends will be met. Buoyancy grows easier the less you try to float. So to recognize that time is the river in which we swim is one thing, but it is another more important note to understand that we must not resist the direction it takes us, for it will ultimately get us there.

horizon line

Nonchalance is deviance in the glow of impending finality. There is something to be said for exhibiting calm in the face of pressure, but this level of passivity will not bear fruit. Too much must be done for procrastination to exist. Motivation must be cultivated, encouraged and developed, then used to forge ahead. There is time for all things, however, it is he who rises to the challenge that receives first glance. And in a world where timing and luck are crucial, it is imperative to be ready. Cast off doubt and frolic in the process of creation.

my grain.

partially paralyzed, plaguing pain presently prevents proactive personal performance.

Vicarious

The desire to live another's life sparks inside my mind in an electric cloud of altruistic selfishness. Imagining just how green the grass would be coalesces and precipitates in a heavily laden voyeurism. What appears as fresh perspective rolls across the expanse of my consciousness and blots out the sun of self. It's an easy storm to hide within, its moisture warm and comforting, but it lacks reality and the flaws of truth. Mistaking imagination for compassion only leads to a loss of self, and I realize that above all weather, the sun forever shines.

No rest for the wicked.

Tired legs, and forced to stand far longer than I'd rather, I continue on the path. Ultimately, ironically, the only way to ease the strain is to prolong the stress. Muscles build by breaking down, and habits are formed no differently as the prior path gives way to the new. Development is pain, and like tempered steel I must face a thousand degrees of flame to burn away the weakness and forge my brand. You learn by doing, so I must do. And though there are infinite stairs, each one I climb prepares me for the next.

Cleaning House

Sifting through the detritus of my mind looking for a morsel, I scour the expanse of all I've ever been. perhaps there is a clue that will lead me to a new sensation. One unfelt before, or at least in ages. Possibilities are everywhere, and if given chances, they can become these wanted feelings. This isolation has grown old, and the comfort I once took in my ability to exist alone has has deteriorated into a bitter aftertaste. I just want to smile. I don't think that is too much to ask for. When time strips everything else away, it's the enjoyment of another's company that ultimately remains.

punish(me)nt

An upset tremor buzzes through fingers while an acrid stomach churns the consequence of an imbibed regret. This neurosis has to stop. Half-hearted commitments to change are fully destined to fail.

building/up

The exit of mythology leaves a vacancy; a pressurized system full of nothing. However, the brick and mortar brother lays rows of concentration underneath that absence, letting concrete truth serve as foundation to the infinity of next. Holes are made to be filled, and oftentimes falling down can be the happiest of accidents. Build support where there is none, let the riot run, the cement soon will harden in the illuminating sun.

un(full)filled.

Frustration and despondence slip into subconscious thought, filling the dreamscape with a haze. inexplicable feelings rise up, clamoring to be unheard of. irrational understanding. And it is at the mercy of this unexplainable fog that I find myself, broken but for no other reason than to finally fall apart.

I ha(d) a dream

A wounded night limps through to daybreak and bleeds across the morning sky. The interrupted narrative still plays on repeat, a fractured and twisted tale as engaging as it is non-sensical. And therein lies the appeal. While some close their eyes in exhaustion, others close them to escape, to live within a construct just as real, but more fluid and open. And yet, it's as if upon waking, illumination relegates this other experience to shadow, and it hides, ultimately disappearing, unable to breathe in the vacuum of conscious thought.

drain bed

The arbitrary awakening opens its eyes again and sees meaning within the random. Assigning feelings like so many backhanded compliments, worth inflates in the presence of hollow grandiosity. Living a straw man's life and existing without substance, it's inevitable to ponder the meaning of it all when the majority of action takes places on paths which have no joy.

The gravity of choice.

A young man grow older, shivering in indecision. Living life moment to moment, yet watching as opportunities pass him by; it's paralysis by over-analysis. It's not the decisions he fears, rather that he'll choose incorrectly. Brought up with the belief that there is always a right answer and a wrong one, he cannot see the possibilities in both or neither. His objective mind is trapped within a loop. And so in calmer moments he looks back to reflect on his achievements only to find they're far thinner than he thought they'd be. His experience of life, while extensive, has not been substantial. Like footprints in fine sand, his impression has already begun to disappear.

Sweet tooth

The good intention of the best laid plans is sweet and brittle like hard candy.  Patience, persistence and a slow determination join to experience the full range of sensory delight.  But haste and carelessness bring mistakes, and what had seemed so solid fractures with ease.  The resulting pieces are just as sweet, but now so much more dangerous, armed with sharp and jagged edges; to savor them is to risk the delicacy of taste. It's best to stay true to form, to be even and constant.  The sweetness lasts much longer when allowed the time to melt.

jade(d)

A judgmental and dismissive smirk spreads across my face like a familiar pad of butter.  Rich and salty and easy enough to hide behind, the mask allows me to make comment on all I see without the fear that the favor be returned.  But for so long has this plastic visage held shape that I have forgotten how to take it off. Either unable or unwilling, my attempts at returning to a vulnerable truth are short lived gasps that go unnoticed in the night.  This facade must be broken, and like shattered glass be collected and heated into the liquid of emotional reaction.

R&R

Rejuvenation bleeds from this long awaited rest; a gash of sleep which tore a day in half.  This body recovers quicker than the mind.  Stress scars the psyche, dulls the brain, and numbs even the well-intentioned thoughts.  Let us put faith in our ability to manufacture desire, and push ourself to the top of the smallest hill.  Success builds on previous achievement, so start small and keep moving.

I will find you (I will bring you home).

Leaping through a desert, running feet stretch and bound over the sand as freedom floats in the space between each step.  Running just to run.  No thought of destination, merely the expression of a pent up energy releasing itself in an uncoiling spring.  And when the remembrance comes, the you I find there kisses me with easy eyes, so familiar and different all the same.  It is that look exchanged which holds within it the trepidation of the initiate.  The same jitter of excitement which precedes a leap shivers through me as our lips press together in an irrational passion.

kick in the pants

Still a struggle.  The words do not flow from my fingers in the urgency of expression; not even as a force of habit.  Impeded by the formality of craft, my list of excuses grows long.  I am hard on myself, but only because I'm lazy - seemingly in all things.  Procrastination becomes the motivator.  Some come out of the gate blazing, I break late.  Sprint to the finish, my father always said.  I never realized that it helps to run fast the rest of the time too.

hustle and bustle

An unnatural oasis, life teeming in the desert, out of place and unstable.  The constant growth underpinned by a constant decline of resources desiccates the roots of civilization as if it were sucking marrow from a bone.  Steel fish swim river highways, and like every creation except the root parasite, inedible, with no place in the ecosystem except as scrap.  And this realization comes with the thought that there is no way to stop this engine.  The machine will perpetuate until is has used up every possible fuel, and the dried up paradise will remain a testament graveyard to the folly of man.

rushed strokes.

This hallucination, the nightly ride into the psyche lingers in a cloud behind my heavy eyes.  Like the current of an undertow, it pulls me back into the dark blankness of possibility.  This mental canvas, no less real than all we perceive in waking life, unfortunately washes away each morning as the turpentine of awareness pours across the mind.  The wish to keep on dreaming, perhaps that's why I write.  Unbound by the conventions and rules imposed by the group on what is and is not, I am free to think and feel whatever comes to mind.

Thomas

Surreptitious through the lens of night, focused on the illuminated distance.  A fantasy played out to one of many ends.  It is the gaze that chills, seeing privacy up close, and the thoughts that linger long after the light has faded.  In the sunrise, the spotlight washes clean and the reflections hide the harmless entry there was before.

...rats!

Shadow scratching, pulling at the fibers, giddy with the quickness of destruction.  Speculations dash like fireflies in my mind, flaring brightest before they die forever.  And my reluctance to venture into the darkness comes from the fear that I will find something I'd rather not see.  But the curiosity of open eyes will lead me to the answers; such indifference to emotional repercussions, satiable in only one way.  And so, ill-prepared, I'll wade into the unknown and draw the curtain back in hopes that what I see is something I can handle.

no pain, gain.

A fresh dawn opens and spreads the light of warmth and gratitude.  For the first time in years, that hollow pain is gone, leaving not an emptiness, but the slow sore burn of work.  The grimace has worn away, and with it went that negative anchor.  The seas of thanks swell, dusted with sunshine, rippling in gilded gold and washing up a smile.

It's nice out.

Whispers like the wind through the spear grass, the blowing green, flows and golden shine ripples across the sheaves in breezy waves.  Things are changing.  The air grows warmer, drier.  The birds sing sweeter songs, amorous and enticing.  Springtime as the coat of winter sheds, and new leaves sprout from branches absorbing light to create shade.  Energy in motion.  Harness its potential and progress to something new.

Let's try to smile more.

Resentment, frustration, and loathing are all byproducts of an unfulfilled self.  Finding faults in others is the easiest way to ignore your own.  To overcome this hurdle, one must accept imperfection and eliminate fear through love and compassion.  If you treat others with care, you will not worry whether or not they will reciprocate.  The only side you can control is the one on which you stand.  Purge this guilty habit of judgement, and accept the flaws and idiosyncrasies as the beautiful diversities that they are.  Everyone will feel a lot better, I promise.

chop chop

Help is on the way, as the deforestation in my mind rages on.  Ideas felled by the axes and saws of the unsure emotions.  While there is something to be said about the clear-cutting - that it's necessary at times to make room for the growth of the untainted and the new, however, indiscriminate logging leaves one sapped of creativity; stumped.

Sing a song of sixpence.

The caw of a raspy crow fills the morning air like a cool breeze in the spring.  It bounces off of hillsides and echoes ever so slightly, peppering the silence with its reverberating call.  Some smaller whistles spin around in the gaps of the blackbird's cadence.  High-pitched chirps ring in optimistic counterpoint.  Signs of life outside of human agenda, musical reminders that bring to light the notion that the minutiae of one's daily routine is nothing but perception.  Physical objects only move because we move them, meaning is assigned, and what we think of as reality is merely a group hallucination replete with all the joys and fears we associate with being human.  A bird is a bird, a man is a man.  Just because we can think, and therefore assign meaning to that ability, doesn't make us any more or less of anything.  From an objective perspective, we are all just chirping birds, busy ants, and curious little monkeys.

...on my way/to where the air is clean...

Delicate delirium, unwinding in the moment of a shaded cloud.  As the cotton specter passes over, the enamored feeling blushes through.  Such intimacy from a total stranger, a pure gesture of thanks, gratitude begets gratitude and makes the days last longer. So the shadow goes, and the rays of interest illuminate an honest path.  A narrow walkway of humility and thanks.  No destination, merely a happier road, a way of being attractive to fellow souls of blissful compassion.  Like attracts like, so be nice, and be happy.

FAIL

sickness caused forgetting
and this comes at time too late
for the stream of consciousness has all but dried
so till tomorrow we must wait

vulcan dreaming

The lake of magma bubbles, the steam like angry air whips upwards and outwards in a whirlwind dance.  The liquid rock flows, pyroclastic motion and it spreads itself across the plain.  Scorching pavement.  On the outskirts of this fiery river, lookers on gaze intently at the orange and red display.  One small boy among them wonders what'd it'd be like to swim, to melt and become one with the lava, reduced to elemental ash, but preserved forever in the black and ropey stone.

decongestion

Awaken to constriction and a sense of dread.  The potential of things to grow is not determined by the seed, but by the factors of cultivation.  Even the smallest inconveniences can fester.  Resist the urge for completion, and shunt the awkward instability which ensues.  Malaise is known to permeate.  Flush the systems and the mind to rid and refresh.

through the looking glass

Diamonds spill from the pressured mind like crystal teardrops.  Yet clouded by those stormy thoughts, they fall out of sight and are forgotten.  So many precious memories, true and false and mixed, left behind and washed away by pity and self-doubt.  Who knows the price they'd fetch at market?  It's trivial, however; looking through the stone, the views of the past and future are split by the myriad faces. Therein lies the value of these priceless rocks.  Frozen moments on which to build a better understanding of life.

Doppler shift.

It's calm within the storm.  Indecisive rain falls and pelts the ground with doubt.  Standing alone, penned in by such a benign onslaught, it's the gentlest of suggestions that turns moisture into frost.  Searching inwards for the flame, for that blinded passion and inspiration which burns without regard.  Find the spark to find the balance; move forward though the ensuing mist and once again live life with conviction.

The voice behind uncertainty.

 Is this what I want?  After so many years, I'm no longer sure.  This is not a good thing.

re: volution

An elegant entrenchment, this battle between want and need.  Dreaming of reality, of ways things might or should have been.  So down the road we wander, holding hands with thorny bushes, for the roses smell so sweetly and are redder stained with blood.  In the early sun the world is new, yet evenings feel like age, and the only thing that's happened is we've continued to spin.  Relative position determines everything.  From where we stand, the future appears in front of us, but it's always where we are; allow the spin to get you there.

Every point turns.

Importance treads along the horizon, each significant step another motion in the travel through choice.  The allure of stagnation comes in through the cracked window disguised as gentle breeze, and the temptation to succumb washes over laden eyes.  But the gravity of the road is greater, and its pull guides an understanding that kinetic energy begins as a process of the mind.  Intention directs action.

last lap

A blathering of proportions, the falling rain of transverse operatives.  The mismatched and terrified understatement of self-motivation.  Pull the trigger, push the button and the envelope, and watch as explosions cover the landscape in a blanket of clarity.  But before anything, stand up and step forward.

All Aboard.

Electrified, the sound sizzles in my ears, the product of an unwanted faith in something.  In what I do not know, but the feeling of foreboding rides gently alongside me like some floating wanton raft.  Lost within this feeling, this abstract sense of weightlessness, I wonder which is better: to live grounded and focused, or be free and untamed.  Perhaps the answer lies in balance.  That mode of moderation which defines the even keel.  Were I to find this level of harmony, would I miss the ups and downs?  Would the richness of emotion be lost in the rays of complacency?   Perhaps it takes something away.  Perhaps I need that for inspiration.  You'll never know if the train will keep running unless you take it off the tracks.

All play and no work.

A shift in focus, the search for illusions fades, and the bloody battlefield where emotions test their mettle seems some distant memory.  The weight of priority shuffles attention and pacifies urgency.  The heirachy of need proves true: take away a man's food, and he'll forget about love.

Clean Springing.

Sunrise before the thunderstorm, the skies glow like red-kissed harbingers.  A Chugging steam engine, billowing clouds of fire.  A rocket ship or dragon, or Apollo's golden chariot boiling through the oncoming storm.  A wall of welted shadow in the distance, yet here sits the morning's light.  Fixed upon the brightness, downpours are surprising.  But careful over-the-shoulder glances provide just enough time to find umbrellas, shut windows, or run outside with a bar of soap.

Down poor.

Pulling at intention's loose end, unraveling the fabric of space and time, I spool up thread with which to weave another tale.  Through the looking glass to see in another light the absurdities in our own world.  Excitement entertained me late into the evening, and like any guest who's over stayed his welcome, I took full advantage of the hospitality.  Even as sleep overtook my senses, i could not escape from inspiration's glow.  Even now I fight against the urge to continue the brainstorm, but it is useless.  The clouds are full.

Founded in 2011.

Success lies in trusting yourself and doing what is true to your heart.  Never attempt to please anyone but yourself or you will spend your life chasing shadows.  It really is as simple as having a goal, making a plan, and then fighting any obstacle or distraction that threatens to throw you off track.  Life does not have to be a passive experience.  I believe we all have destinies, directions we will naturally follow, but we can choose how we get there.  Now is the time.

Know fear.

Much of fear's power comes from the aspect of the unknown.  Never having been somewhere, or in a situation can be intimidating, but the best you can do is be prepared.  While life affords us with infinite choices, there are really only a few paths for us to choose from at any given moment.  By understanding the meaning behind each probable choice, we can worry less about what we should do, and focus on what is actually happening and making sure that its done right.  Wish me luck.

Fog is lazy.

The neutral grey suspends me in an air of indecision.  Slowed down and looking for excuses, my attempts at regimenting blow easily away in an unsure wind.  Without the energy to follow through, I drift confusedly along like a lotus flower floating in a stream, at the mercy of the current.  The trick will be to learn how to navigate while blindfolded, how to breathe my intention, and let my exhalation rid me of my doubts, and propel me forward through time.

Looking for a spark.

A persistent heartbeat from somewhere in the darkness.  I reach blindly out to find its source, but only grasp the air.  Forcing myself through the motion, knowing that in my own persistence I will find that thread of a thought, that emotion which drives that disembodied beat.  Daydreams run interference, as my awareness has transitioned into the realm of the awake.  However, their tangents are far too uninspired to germinate any excitement.  I've resinged myself to the notion of exercise, as practice and routine are just as important in the long run.

a( )rest

In a dust cloud of uncertainty, I wait for things to settle.  This vortex that surrounds me, embraces me and holds me in this moment, and I have no choice but to watch and see.  My body still weak, it aches for rest, but my mind, ever vigilant against the slippery slope of sloth eyes the desire cautiously.  I cannot help but submit.  To the pain, the urge, the hope that upon waking it will all have disappeared.

Grimacing constrictions.

Sapped of energy, positivity wanes in the pink smear of sunrise.  A face drawn long and sallow stares out at the radiant palette, hoping for trace rays of light to warm its cold condition.  It's hard to smile through sickness, even more so when it comes with pain.

::hack::

The acid in my throat burns with caustic words.  Confused and angry belches come from deep within my guts and I'm ashamed of what they say.  Positivity is consumed by sickness and I'm left feeling drained and helpless.  Not even sleep with its restorative powers can heal me.  But underneath it all I know I'm safe as long as I take the time to heal.

Psych-lone Morning.

Cloudy and lethargic, my dazed head groans in twilight sleep.  The after effects of a self-induced punishment disguised as stress relief pound loudly at my door.  I shutter my eyes and turn away, hoping that in darkness the pain will disappear.  But too much must be done; having the ability to relax does not make it a requisite action.  I know I must keep some semblance of routine or suffer the consequences of spinning freely.

The next first day.

A disturbance to routine, this moment a shunt to daily motion, challenged by opportunity to make this moment matter.  It's now a test.  When you ask for freedom, don't be surprised to find yourself floating.  Take it, enjoy it, and transition to the new.

It was windy last night.

Change, that notion which turns leaves over and alters states of minds, breathes down my neck a hot reminder of the dangers of stasis.  And in exhaustion I have no other choice but to submit to the will of that wind.  Blown about, there's something refreshing about the weightlessness of new beginnings.

Victory, March.

Instruction from above, this omni-present radiance of accomplishment buzzes with gratitude.  The hungry shell of what remains, drained of all but the stubborn skeletal fragments, stands shakily on triumphant ground. Battered but unbroken, the psyche bleeds from the contusion of inspiration.  The blood spilled as an offering pools below the altar of the self.  Torches cast shadows of doubt over the blessing, but they burn away on approach.  This child born of war and anguish, rests upon the throne, sleeping, dreaming of the day when he shall be king.