Stay Wild

You do know how I enjoy the wild. I’m all about it, but the entire time we face to face, I’m looking to see if you’re one color; if you’re talking to me and you’ve got a different face for the situations we find ourselves in, then I can only tell you that I won’t try to keep with that. As soon as I see you acting brand new and showing me different cuts I’m going to have to tell you I’m not with it. Figure out who you are, and be that with me. You want to be royalty, then you know how to act.

I step back and listen because I think that you coming into yourself is the most magical thing I could ever hope to witness. It’s a dream, an ephemeral taste, a satisfaction that lingers with only a glow. Step down into that shadow light, tear into the cosmic night with a boundless high; squelching and more fucking howls; desire palms and digits like the maws of wolves to grip you by the throat and pour the vigour of ‘oh fuck-gasp, fuck’ down into your soul.

I bet that would wake you the fuck up, and keep you chasing lightning bugs on your back-snap, does this have your attention?

I can’t take you in the shower with me because you’ll get wet–can you get wet if you’re already wet?

The Creator’s Dilemma

I opened my eyes this morning, and determined there were many ways which I could get out of bed, and even more ways with which I could feed my heart, and spill the colorful soul I’ve got within.

All day, all day, I wanted to be me & write and laugh with the people I dig. Smiling, breathing, and looking up at the sky catching some rays and not catching anything remotely sad. So I grew my hair out and moved in ways that I thought was becoming of joy.

I did my best by waking up at 5 a.m. I’m driving over 150 miles to the city of LA which I dread with excitement – while I work on a large government contract which gives thoroughly unspecific directions ambiguous enough to discuss the teaching practices of vageuries and meditative floor sweeping in a post Pythagorean world. A younger me would have considered this as far off from my true self as possible; most likely using a semicolon much sooner in this caption.

Thus I learned that making the work light, with spirit and jokes, will help to ease life’s rough edges; that someone who comes into your office saying they are all about the money probably isn’t lacking passion – also the importance of sarcasm.

What will I make for you today? 

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So what is this dilemma? You just make and make!

In this moment I lack the capacity to mold each spark into what it deserves to become, and lack the ability to give it the autonomous initiative to complete itself. Months ago today I began to create, and did not have all the moments required to complete each sparking from me. They still exist, but as I am no longer me of that day, they no longer suit my direction. They sit without review, they survive unsatisfied, and lack the train to drive them where they ought to go.

But even fragments of gems are beautiful

Afraid to Look-

Which pixel should you look at?

I think this image speaks volumes about life. Death, at the fringe, is in the background, but not necessarily a darkness-light is part of it too; layers of colors give us the perception of shades, gradients make it cohesive.

What am I saying? Well if you’re crying, maybe you’re happy, and if you’re hurting maybe someone hugged you a little harder than you are used to. Dying, you have the opportunity to live, and if you’re happy all the time – one bad thing might put you out.

Don’t be afraid to look in the last place you want to be – the universe doesn’t ignore any door.

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Previously this was posted without the image it was intended to be paired with*
Apologies, but it has been corrected now.

Afraid To Look

Which pixel should you look at?

I think this image speaks volumes about life. Death, at the fringe, is in the background, but not necessarily a darkness-light is part of it too; layers of colors give us the perception of shades, gradients make it cohesive.

What am I saying? Well if you’re crying, maybe you’re happy, and if you’re hurting maybe someone hugged you a little harder than you are used to. Dying, you have the opportunity to live, and if you’re happy all the time – one bad thing might put you out.

Don’t be afraid to look in the last place you want to be – the universe doesn’t ignore any door.

It’s Very Hard To Be Soft

I don’t want my words to be taken as anything other than a story. But I can’t help it if these ones happen to be a list of realities, and truths that have devoured me entirely.

I love her: I admit what I’ve been lying to myself about on and off for months.
I confess it was far too easy to be more than fond of this kaleidoscopic sunrise against the grey-scale I’d begun to see the world in. I had will left; I still had things I could break open and use the insides of for pigments, but to say any of it could put color back into my eyes like this was far beyond my capable imagination. We collided, and in the aftermath of the crash I couldn’t help but see everything in a mix of vivids. When colors start growing in all the corners, and climbing up the shelves reaching for the sky, it’s mad to believe in anything not changed by the contact.

In this life we all start a degree of blank, with a few spurts of color to ensure curiosity for at least some slice of a wider world. Many of us hold our color, some see their’s run, while others take on the hues of those they touch. There are, however, those who can’t help by their own existence to concentrate, and expand colors; To experiment, and even begin to paint the things around them to be a bit more captivating. Maybe that’s all I’ll say on that. I already see things I’ll never view the same; And I know I like it that way.

How do you do it? How do you stay afloat? It’s something you just learn to do as you relax. Take it as it comes, and really forget what worrying is. Just do what you do, and eventually you’ll realize the entire time you’ve been living.

It pains me when there is nothing I can do. Seeing her welled up, when she should be light and free to dance, I like when she dances even just a step or two; She lights up, and I am taken like the crowd by prima ballerina! Yes it pains me to hear her speak of such sad things in which no mortal has power over, only power to be at peace. It’s existential, but the discomfort and discord is as real as the blood on the hands of diamond dealers. I may not cure the sick, nor give any guidance to the lost. I can only hold a flame to joy, and hope that I have not tarnished its glimmer.

What man was I before I set off to shape my spark like a craftsman style bungalow with beautiful deck and flanking trees, wrapped by troves and of course a grove of citrus and sweet fruits alike; Amidst bursting garden, from which creativity would pluck the freshest herbs and vegetables ever smelt or tasted.

What man was I before discovering that if there is one thing a woman can not stand, it is to see a man lay idle while she does not, which moved me for the beauty of seeing her ease while she labored in her tasks – Now of course I could still stand to move more – but I am more than I was before

What man was I before when I would not slow to notice the day, like a pause for the sun, or the beauty, a cat that wanted to play – Certainly not nearly one as patient as today

What man was I? The question I answer, one more lost than I have determined, Yes I have grown in many ways.

I have lived moments that have changed me forever. Five-ever it seems, I’ll be able to tell you what I since have thought of different and changed for the best.