I’ve never considered myself to be a conversationalist, in fact I’ve beat myself up for being boring, for having nothing to say at the moment when something obviously needed to be said. Yet here I am writing poems, the written form of conversation.
Sometimes I wonder how this desolation in the gut, this tiredness in the heart, is the energy that keeps me going. How is this the energy that feeds the desire to keep trying?
I subscribe to leading a life directed by a knowledge that memory is not only some place in your brain, that memory is stored in the muscles, nerves, and cells of your body and that when you learn to trust that memory you can live poetry.
Well, i was laying on my side, melting into the mattress,
liquid layers of vibrations, carrying me away.
i was listening to my aura, as subatomic
particles in mid flight; like a helicopter above and
around my head. i felt the energy created through a lifetime
my heart beats like a time bomb, everything whirring
into a directionless direction.
I could feel the anger and resentment
built up in adolescence, aimed at the world
-which didn’t care either way.
I could feel the weight of the damage done over the years
trying to punish this body
that caused so much pain
-and it turns out this body doesn’t care either.
corroded stomach lining,
eaten away by battery acid.
weakened bladder, what does it matter?
if i’d had the resolve
and the right concentration
i could’ve continued my transcendence
back into the subatomic Original vibrations
but i was distracted,
by the fear of having made
too many irreversible mistakes.
Resigned to a reality where everything and everyone is story
A lesson to be learned around every corner. Social circles. YouTube drama. Science fiction, reality TV.
My ego is my project, projected through the screen. You know what I mean?
Reflecting on a reflection of the actor acting the way I’ve seen
Kristen Bell pens the absolute sweetest note for Dax Shepard’s sobriety birthday
Is this how I’m supposed to be?
Compare, rank, evaluate.
I almost like the glow of the screen, in front of my face, tablet on belly
While I nod off to sleep, cooking my inner intestines.
Sometimes I think, I think about my self too much. I watch. I’d like to say that’s not true. But it is.
My favorite philosopher is Heraclitus.
Salted blatter on a frying pan, sizzle sizzle splatter.
I used to say the TV was how Society wants you to behave,
Now I say everyone’s glued to their screens, as I …
Kidneys stewing in a three-bean chili
I think maybe I’m not watching my own story enough. What about you?
I’d like to die laying on my side, propped up by my arm, with a compassionate deep gaze on my face.
Who am I if I don’t have the energy to be who I want to be.
Applied focus and engagement is an important step in having the energy it takes to be a parent.