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.

A little bird told me.

A focused and absent mind, forgetting the importance of trivial things.  The way in which meaning is created, and the various feelings of invented emotion.  Truth comes from within.  From the expression of the heart's desire.  It is the mind's duty to perceive that expression, not to create it.  Living with love is not a search, or a quest, or some vision of things to come, it is accepting what is around you and being thankful for it everyday.  To have love, you must see love, and to see it, you must give it.  Love all things and be loved yourself.  Harness the power of the mind to see from all perspectives, and appreciate the world from the eyes of all others.

This message is a service of the public broadcast system.

Sorry, I forgot!

I forgot to write first thing this morning.  Here's something so I don't feel like I missed it entirely.

We are eroding.  Subjected to an elemental world, we disintegrate piece by piece.  Life is lived in regeneration, as each dead cell is replaced by a copy.  But copies of copies lose resolution.  And as time goes by the speed of erosion overtakes the rate of replication, and that's what we call aging.  Sculptures made of sand, vaulting through space.  Sweeping trails of grains, particles peeling from my face at the speed of light, yet new life lies underneath.

Watered Color.

With hesitation, the words trickle out, the stuttering brain spitting inky thoughts upon a canvass.  Dream stains still half alive in their vibrance play out like silent films, their significance fading with time.  Of all the imagery which runs through the mind, the strangest are the hardest to remember.

Dream-starved.

Images of times gone by swirl around like disintegrating autumn leaves.  Crisp and brittle, they stand delicately defined.  Moments that once held such meaning evaporate, and devoid of emotional resonance, are shelved and indexed as nothing more than reference points.  Is that the price of living in the present?  We are a rampaging amalgamation of sensory organs who never stops to enjoy the meal.