Love sells.
...Just try not to end up broke, my friend.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
The Affairs of Vicissitude
Fallen are the leaves of contemplation
as unstoppable as the sun.
The familiar tastes never leave,
ever lingering as wine.
Music soothes and completes
when there is no solace to be found
from ones' own
ceaseless
stream
of
consciousness.
Relentless is the knowledge
of things preferred forgotten
Yet once the tastes were known
I could not choose to be ignorant of it again.
This I know.
and this I will always know.
Thrums of the sound waves
expand across the page
ripples ever growing
until nothingness is gained.
and I laugh.
How familiar...
how very familiar.
Fallen are the leaves of contemplation.
I catch them in my fingertips,
and never let them go.
And the tastes of wine
still linger
despite a specter's dream.
as unstoppable as the sun.
The familiar tastes never leave,
ever lingering as wine.
Music soothes and completes
when there is no solace to be found
from ones' own
ceaseless
stream
of
consciousness.
Relentless is the knowledge
of things preferred forgotten
Yet once the tastes were known
I could not choose to be ignorant of it again.
This I know.
and this I will always know.
Thrums of the sound waves
expand across the page
ripples ever growing
until nothingness is gained.
and I laugh.
How familiar...
how very familiar.
Fallen are the leaves of contemplation.
I catch them in my fingertips,
and never let them go.
And the tastes of wine
still linger
despite a specter's dream.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Cogitation
"I have thought..."
Oh the things I have thought.
That is all I can muster up today...
That is all.
Oh the things I have thought.
That is all I can muster up today...
That is all.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Metamorphosis
Ah, how the preludes come in waves, so ironically overlooked, yet more blatant than the very sun. Ever shifting is the land, moons of drought or prosperity, peace, and conflict. Even though surroundings are stripped away, and vulnerability stirs, I find comfort in these transitions- that roads are being traversed, progressions transpire, and destinations come ever closer. (If destination indeed exists in the journey of a life)
These occurances are not only happenings, but sparks, catalysts. No event is isolated from another; nothing happens without a reason, great or small. The otiose only lies in the beholding spirit that selects stagnance over embrace. I find excitement in the tumultuous, the uprooting of the status quo.
Because it just might mean metamorphosis for those who engage it.
These occurances are not only happenings, but sparks, catalysts. No event is isolated from another; nothing happens without a reason, great or small. The otiose only lies in the beholding spirit that selects stagnance over embrace. I find excitement in the tumultuous, the uprooting of the status quo.
Because it just might mean metamorphosis for those who engage it.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Anamnesis Revived
Sometimes, when I look back, even to the not-so-distant past, I wince at the person(/people) I used to be. Don’t we all? I wonder if there is a valid excuse, though, to shun the parts in our lives that we are ashamed of. I mean, aren’t the contemptible moments we experienced still just as valuable as those in which we are proud of? Subjectively, probably not, but pertaining to the individual we each happen to be, as a whole, those segments still make up a part of us whether we like it or not.
Yes, we can come to terms with those phases, yes, we can find resolution. But the fact that we were such a person in that particular chapter of our lives cannot change, and therefore there is no excuse to turn one’s back upon certain fragments of the past that are in fact, precious treasures...that is, people.
I have realized this now, and even though the page has turned, many times in fact, I know that it would make me even more so regretful to forget the people I cared about, than it does to remember them.
Yes, we can come to terms with those phases, yes, we can find resolution. But the fact that we were such a person in that particular chapter of our lives cannot change, and therefore there is no excuse to turn one’s back upon certain fragments of the past that are in fact, precious treasures...that is, people.
I have realized this now, and even though the page has turned, many times in fact, I know that it would make me even more so regretful to forget the people I cared about, than it does to remember them.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
The Fashion of Living
The atmosphere is changing, not unlike a human being..
These days of late seem to ease into a sigh; as if the summer is dying, gently fading, into a slumber never to be seen again. Autumn is waiting for its rebirth, and stirring subtly in its cool undertones in the heat of the sun.
Today I rise to another time-line, yet another frame of time struggling with my frame of mind that articulates antitheses to the rest of other things to concern itself with.
Words form upon the lips strange to myself, yet familiar, as living has turned into simply breathing for the moment; grasping upon truth as we all do, and like the rest of us, deceit as well...
The encompassing silence always lay intact, except at the thrums of a sonata… or when my own clumsiness should break it; when the record stops the shattered pieces waste no time reforming themselves into the immaculate void once again; Its sovereignty is maintained.
A glass of wine, the stillness resounds…the beautiful mysteries are never fathomed and therefore that is why they are beautiful. Awaking everyday to a grayness sparked by color on the canvas, the canvas that is life, we paint only what we want to see. And what the eyes color are indeed lovely to oneself and one alone, and no one else.
The scent of lavender and sage comes in waves, diving perception into the reflective pools of what I used to know. I don’t remember now, but the ripples bring remnants at times of those moments tasted: interrupting the present’s flow for a few seconds of brief interruption, brief darkness and brief sanctuary.
But sanctuary is relative; perhaps the paradise is simply feign?
It seems that these observations can only work themselves out in dreams, anymore.
And yet, I can’t help but wonder…
and glance o'er the things I've known all along.
These days of late seem to ease into a sigh; as if the summer is dying, gently fading, into a slumber never to be seen again. Autumn is waiting for its rebirth, and stirring subtly in its cool undertones in the heat of the sun.
Today I rise to another time-line, yet another frame of time struggling with my frame of mind that articulates antitheses to the rest of other things to concern itself with.
Words form upon the lips strange to myself, yet familiar, as living has turned into simply breathing for the moment; grasping upon truth as we all do, and like the rest of us, deceit as well...
The encompassing silence always lay intact, except at the thrums of a sonata… or when my own clumsiness should break it; when the record stops the shattered pieces waste no time reforming themselves into the immaculate void once again; Its sovereignty is maintained.
A glass of wine, the stillness resounds…the beautiful mysteries are never fathomed and therefore that is why they are beautiful. Awaking everyday to a grayness sparked by color on the canvas, the canvas that is life, we paint only what we want to see. And what the eyes color are indeed lovely to oneself and one alone, and no one else.
The scent of lavender and sage comes in waves, diving perception into the reflective pools of what I used to know. I don’t remember now, but the ripples bring remnants at times of those moments tasted: interrupting the present’s flow for a few seconds of brief interruption, brief darkness and brief sanctuary.
But sanctuary is relative; perhaps the paradise is simply feign?
It seems that these observations can only work themselves out in dreams, anymore.
And yet, I can’t help but wonder…
and glance o'er the things I've known all along.
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