violins and sea breeze, sandy frustration between sole and skin, sorry to see pain and suffering, but so happy it isn’t them. which is, i suppose, why ‘i’m sorry’ has become so robotic. stilted words that point to what would be sharing, but for how it is used as buffer.     abraided by the sea shore, watching the black parade, ashes into tides… ebbing… i turn, the angry breeze whipping my hair into my eyes, blinded by bravado, i say them anyway, hoping they may sound different, hoping they may sound sincere, hoping that in them you can hear […]

time capsule.

i was trying to explain to a friend today this oddness.

symbols and logic, the chain of mind made of links and gaps, synapse firing span the abyss between knowing and death landing with feral crouch, ready hands the population count, a string of myths sigils embedded into wrinkled lobes tapping out morose morse from which one might birth radiance… or ruin cheeks pressed like children against the glass of the candy store soldered in place, form factor of life dtx, typo of the soul it should be read dx the abyss across which the mind endlessly leaps

it seems there are people who think that using an rss reader masks them. it is funny, but also sad. they still seem to think they need masks. they never did. sigh. 

a bit of a ramble on this word and the sense of it across many things.

most times, my dreams are lost to waking unless i tell myself before sleeping to remember them. i really should do that every time, that telling.

recording available: forest-king-051507.mp3   sun, moon, and stars there, restlessly rustling in the glade i feel you palsy, shudder, sigh spike in the ground hoof, horn, heedless trembling the wind catches you head upright, nostrils open spicey, laden trail stamping impatient and urgent trembling in need leaves whisper soothingly oh inflamed ear that flickers, that turns seeking location across the miles over desert, damn, and river through brush through night and day raise your head oh forest king race the impertinent wind to its source

to the point – there is a difference between a mountain and a molehill. yet there are those who spend quite a bit of time and even make careers in the pursuit of proclaiming one to be the other. it remains that such proclaimation has yet to actually effect the transformation. traditionally, it is something of a class impediment to insist upon method over message. indeed, the purpose of etiquette has ever been to allow ‘those who belong’ to quickly discover ‘those who do not’. there are a number of interesting reads that speak very pointedly to this reality, and […]