Isolated in a lullaby of seclusion, to what breadth have I been set to drift? Consequently, a distance equal to the hair grown upon my chin. That slow drip, sustained salt twisted through precious pepper, it became the final defense for a conquered soldier. Completely absent, was I to be pardoned for my surrender? After all, an exponential mind could not possibly disregard an endless reservoir of magical thinking. Uniquely, the driftwood of my forsake had run full circle, crashing widowerhood against what appeared to be a premature shore. It was there, in that final moment; utterly vulnerable, in which I stood. And then came you, glimmering grace through your kaleidoscope of hope; the girl with the dragon tattoo.
I wanted nothing more then to fill a thousand journals with boundless words of devotion, but Barcelona ended up a hair shy then what my dreams had pictured. The only essence that lies beyond the iron curtain now is faith. No more promises, just ideas; and ideas can be just as beautiful. Will we ever build the fallout shelter to our imaginary apocalypse? Self-numb in the lush of our own translucent exposure, then perish hand in hand? Alas my darling, we all have our crosses to bare. Mine stands slightly tilted towards the west, driven as deep as my word; pressed upon those very shores in which you found me.
Dusk is approaching, my sweet entrantress of the setting sun. Loan me your elasticity for just a little while longer, for I grow weary of bidding farewell to things I love.
Some things are better left unwritten. An introverts prospective, but courteous enough to remain silent until something of interest can be said. Although, I cannot argue the possibility of a decent argument. To remain bound and wound, tighter then a jar of flies; is unpleasantly so. Timid to the flighty final moments just before it all goes to hell in a hand basket. The secret antidote may very well be to let it all go. Notoriously, that can often be the most challenging part.
Adjustment disorder? Seems logical enough, considering the only thing I find consistent is inconsistency. I’ve learned to carelessly accept, just in case it does hold merit for enjoying the simple things. But even after all precautions have been cast aside, we eventually find ourselves humming along to yet another restless tune, “near the end and just ain’t got the time”. Sounds vaguely familiar, as I am perpetually waisted and can never find my way home.
So, what are we so petrified of? A future copious of anxieties based off of our remote past? Surely not a way to live. Uncanny to a sadistic pattern that blocks the purest existence of the present. The now, this very moment; it is the only reality we can ever exist in. All else is false, make believe; the unobtainable silver screen moment. And even that moment has just preciously pasted.
A fine-tuned instrument; this body may grow frail but if I keep my mind keen and salient, the endeavors of the kindred heart may eventually prevail.
Decisions, not a strong suit of mine. But the one to keep you alive? “Unkind” was the choice word used, resting between syllogism and veterinarial advisement. In retrospect, a thought to all the personal effects in my life that need to be euthanized; you my gentle friend, were never one of them. But short of a torturous preservation; options run scarce and limited time has been critical placed on hypothetical.
My request, remember me not as this grim personification. For I am nor judge, nor jury; merely just another executioner. And as the final drop of indigo fluid trickles through the glassy coma of pentobarbital, there won’t be the slightest of victories. Only hypocritical guilt and shame; along with the overwhelming desire to never be asked of the horrific things that I have done.
If the verve of permanence is one continuous line, then why do we fall victim to our own pre-marked intervals? Time will assiduously flow, no breath shorter than the last. A pause in this, virtually impossible. However, imagine for just a brief moment; if we could. What then? And in which space would we seize our true sanctuary; the one between the tick and the tock or the one few and far between? Consider it then, this unutilized dimension may very well occupy the most elementary of explanations. All in all along little choice, we all abide by the same physics; repeatedly collecting the milestones of our own anthropomorphic achievements. The definition of a transpicuous ego? Perhaps it is the notion of self-worth that keeps us tiptop and at our moral best.
Are we ever fully rehearsed to grow senile? Foreboding thought, but why stop now? Implied that life is an endowment, for whatever ecclesiastical reason. Think of all the beautiful things one would have missed if they started out a miscarriage. To what unknown fragrance are these mysterious roses capable? But unfortunately, there is no yin without yang; and never do hardships run sparse. Death and betrayal bares mind; enough to spawn a hatred that exudes from our turbulent skies. Perchance unjust, but a balance none the less; existing far before birth and perseverant millenniums after our demise. Half empty or full, we can always take pride within the context of our own free will.
My thoughts, howbeit absurdly obtuse; fester within the privacy of my own mind. Has the sense of self gone completely awol from sanity? I have been breaking my teeth on the ideals of a consummate life; reprehensible for chasing a heart draw in a deck full of spades. But enough dampish wallow, the brakes were purposely never installed. With linchpin securely locked, we’re off to the next decade. All the demission and even more revisions; we can’t imaginably stop now. The unappreciated privilege? Do what you will with it. For me, I feel I am just getting started.
Just in the nick of callous deadlines, a delinquent penalty would have equaled yet another unwritten year. Although, within what words would one of this stature deserve? Details graciously spared from audience, as lack of clemency was upon me. All evidence would have suggested, or even foreshadowed it; mindfully forgetting any given time in which I had ever claimed ownership. It was merely the most basic of promises, simply just be there; by heavens split, I surely was. Still and all, never would I deny the intimate right to faithfully soul search. Although strut lightly thereupon my dearness, as one may be surprised of what they might find.
All just thoughts, midst an exorbitant time of masterful gathering. I suppose a fair method of figuring things out. Inconspicuously amongst many, there is still one that eludes me. It is the validity of our own discreet and private indulgence, that I brave to question. Theories widespread, but what exactly governs them? I always liked to think it was something more than just a self-serving Darwinian instinct. Yet the frailty of being human will heedlessly do what it does, barren of any constraint or consideration. Then again, these observations come from a man living beneath the shadows of a fictitious devotion. Exhaling life and honor unto his personal Sistine; proudly painting homage to the one and only one, whom never strayed.
Have I become detached in this? Some paradoxical faulty life-way, proportionate to that of a godless priest; unfastened from biologies that spawned our very existence? With zero capacity to judge or even pardon, I unavailingly search for any ulterior. An incessant mission, furnished in scrupulous vows designed to render all else buoyant; self excluded. Is it altruistic or anarchic? One could never be too sure. Any glint of vacancy dims on reasonable thought when it comes to my Achilles heel; the tender spot in which a youthful heart once beat.
River ships, loosely wound, playfully jitter and playfully jounce. Concave in shape as lentil in color, a blind fleet surrenders to the rhythm of liquid vibrato. A pond to occupy their safe passage, all dismissed by the touch of a gentle finger. First in growing circles, as waves of expression are soon to follow; like curtains of foliage revealing all in which it has been preciously hiding.
With watery drapes fully undrawn, the new days stage is nearly set. By submerge view, image is only conceived in flicker; on the contrary to underwater silence which is always perfectly audible. Hereafter amidst bubble and foam, an anticipated audience awaits. Somewhere between the beneath and the all encompassing above, the moment has finally proven itself to be just right.
Encore to another inspiring escape? I bet you had them all captivated, even if just for a little while. For all the world’s preparation and practice could never hold candle to the naturality of your luminous artistry. Notably convinced by my own distant listeners; as they shall always graciously applaud. However in the same measure, they are apologetic all the same. Forgive me for my invisibility, as for my price of admission was not yet fully paid.
A kodak terrain for the timid, we walk and they follow. Step by step, as we crush the blacks of our playful contrast, they still follow. Through expired film, we shift landscapes of an auburn sky, and yet they still follow.
Underexposed however picturesque, apertured enough to sense their bashful presence. A mystery in motive, shadowed by the sluggish taffy of a distant past. Withal if one had to guess, perhaps it’s the aromatic trail they pursue.
The one of friendly fresh fallen cinnamon.
The most polite of inquiries, doctor. Minus formalities, is my father truly the sickest patient in your emergency room? Being that you are so absolute, one could still attempt a convincing argument. A simple redirect towards my mother’s chart may prove to be quite persuasive. Of course a jest best kept to one’s self, either falling to deaf ears or being deeply misunderstood. After all, who am I to compare a little kidney failure to pancreatic stage four?
So is that it, breakfast with friends then dinner with ancestors? A brother, a sister, both husband’s in hand, a daughter with child, and a son. What of them? Ignorant enough to ask, I’ve never been much for explanations, just a small sorrowful knack for rhetoric questions. Perhaps it’s the fear that keeps us so blinded, petrified to trickle luminance upon an answer. Even when nurturing the absence of light, it still remains the only answer I’ve know to be so aggressively true, for so very long.
Within the wake of our heritage, an ode chimes to a woman. The woman to whom I’ve know the longest. On the bright, you were always the sharpest end of the sword. Respect, honor, love; countlessly earned and always well deserved. Although our yesterday is history, tomorrow is all but a faint mystery. Will it take boundless strength? Perhaps …or maybe just enough to murmur those ever so confident words; fuck goodbyes, fuck mortality, and most of all, fuck cancer!
Shroud your precious eyes from the presence of false suns, beat this and we will meet again in the shade.