Who truly idolizes the king? Himself of course. But who is it that falls to a knee, head bowed in reverence? The one who aspires to take such a flush seat. The one who sees himself as deserving of all believed to be a kings right. The power to denounce all that does not serve his reign. The power to obtain whatever his fleshy eyes desire. This is who lays his lips close to the ground without the least bit of hesitation.
We will ultimately never know, because reason always seems to fall short in many who say they put it first.
Spend a lot of time on the floor of the ocean,
looking for pearls so that I can throw them back in – Did you read that one?
If it can’t be read, then it can’t be wrong.
But how well does that get the message along?
I’m sad, and life believes me.
I’m hungry, and art feeds me.
I’ve taken my time and one glimpse should be convincing.
You start listening to yourself, and you feel invincible.
If the vibes grow distant, maybe you should change position.
Hard to hear on the bottom of the ocean,
At least it’s calm unlike most of the surface.
How much did you swallow before you realized the objective;
To open your eyes and not your mouth
Isn’t that a funny twist on life?
To survive, always be looking out;
To live, look in the place where the eyes don’t step
And to them both, I intend to draw them out to the perfect moment,
“She’s a catastrophe with a pretty mind and a dirty mouth” – but that’s just how you like it
(Not sure who wrote this, but I saw it on some picture) ^
We’re all over the place, but in the way you’d want to be. Touched down in the land of promises by the time everyone else is opening their eyes – and not a soul knows the things we’ve left all over the eastern seaboard. No one will ever know, because we’ve left no discerning marks, no material trace – Only the ephemeral scent of an ideal, a dream for only one night. She thinks about art all day, but not in the way you’d think about it. I mean, she looks in that mirror and I don’t think she sees herself. I don’t know what I see anymore; Or even who! I look through a lot of it. It takes a great deal for me to focus back in on all the minuscule meanderings of conversation, if we can call it conversing, that has diluted the creativity in this place.
She wants the original, she wants to feel what there is for the first time; And we all know that it definitely gets harder – The things we start writing up get more intricate, get more wild, and go far deeper. We drown for a time. Yes, it seems like a trip. It’s all phantasmagorical but this, this isn’t it.
Lady, how long have you been wading here?
You of all should know that it’s the perfect spot.
“I felt very tired and vague in the head.” – Ernest Hemingway, from A Farewell To Arms
Have I been there? Of course, you know I’m well traveled for where I started out. Looking about, I began to wonder if all this hadn’t just been a long lasting dream in need of closure; In need of a stark grip on the rope of reality, you know that realization and acceptance that the ideals are far off, and all you can do is work to bring them closer to someone else. The end was never meant for me, I’m just a point along the map for the next day.
You see, I more often than not pour myself something strong. No, I don’t think I need it, I don’t feel like I need it – But I have this theory: As we go on we fill up, we fill up our infinite vessel, and experience it both as filling, filled, and not filled enough. Sometimes we are filled, and in order to really feel we require a lot more because quite honestly we are experiencing dilution; Overburdened perhaps, cloudy, in need of a great reflection and a massaging of our mental cosmos.
It is a great task to become
The problem was becoming for anything else! At times we feel the fabric of it all ready to break. You want to become for something else, but her selflessness taught me that my selfishness was necessary – To do away with it would do away with my own vessel. Yes, I said her selflessness, although we know better, it was the lack there of that taught me about my own short comings. I learned, it took me many lessons, but I did begin to break from the dirt and towards the fire.
“She showed up, tragic and beautiful, with a kind of necessity for which I was grateful to her. She was wearing a dark red dress, and a very pretty black hat with a net, which gave her a fateful look – the look of a woman still young but already marked by life.” – Simone de Beauvoir, from Letters to Sartre
A look to the sky and my eyes could not tell the difference between the light that stood before me, and the one that hovers above all our days. I stood immediately in awe of the rise that comes in rays through the blinds: My mind quickened, “She must like tea, why have I not readied tea already.” She could read my elated spirit, for I basically spoke to her of it from the doorway as I sent out the telegram about how she got me reflecting on the way I stood, and checking my breathing to make sure I was doing that still. She laughed and said, “I know you only get this disheveled at the start, you’re really much cooler than you know.” At this time I could feel my Amygdala pulling on my color, what a good read – I settled in to myself and shot her a smile, “Dear you do know me better than most, let me get you a cuppa.” As I turned and motioned her to come with me I realized that this is as far as we’d ever come. Never did she go further than the foyer, no, she had always been content with standing in my doorway; Playing me like Philip Glass’ Metamorphosis I – And then heading off before II-V could be wrung out – What audience could go on content after such a whetting of tongue? She came to a soft halt, “Dirty, won’t you take my hand for such a momentous occasion as this? “Tea?” I wryly remarked as I turned my gaze to her. Twitterpated, she shot me some quick sarcasm, “Yes, tea; All the tea in China.” Now isn’t it, “Not for all of the tea in China? Laughing as she tugged my arm, she gave me a look that to this day is crystal clear, one of those “You won’t pass this up, not for all the tea in China,” looks.
Now hold on, hold on, hold on.
What is it?
Are you kidding me right now?
I don’t kid.
You are completely off the wall.
I really am.
You know what I meant mate.
Oh, I read?
That is not a look you can read.
I swear it.
Yes, tea; All the tea in China.
I didn’t pass.
I bet you sure as hell wouldn’t
Well I did say.
Not for all of the tea in China.
Come on now!
Hold no jealousy over a nap that lends no rest for it is as empty as the gesture of closing my eyes to sleep these days. She walked in on me in a dark place
“Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being “in love” which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.” – Louis de Bernières
You feel it, you felt it, you know this.
Erupting; You ring loudly, and after a time you settle in:
There is nothing to be ashamed of,
What was you were, and you have more breaths to take.
Know that even the Sun will stop burning one day – It is not a failure, but the way of things.
“The gods did not reveal, from the beginning, all things to us, but in the course of time through seeking we may learn and know things better. But as for certain truth, no man has known it, nor shall he know it, neither of the gods nor yet of all things of which I speak. For even if by chance he was to utter the final truth, he would himself not know it: For all is but a woven web of guesses.”
– Xenophanes of Colophon, 500BCE
You ever try to piece it all together clear as crystal? Look at you Sherlock, sure you still do. It’s inherent of existence that we viscerally will to describe the way the current of the river took us. In doing this though we describe exactly that! We tell of how it took us, in our own mind; How it tugged on our senses, and perhaps how we pushed back a little bit just to know how friction would feel against resistance – The river would be of no interest if it didn’t give us something to move against.
I’ll follow my cords, and you follow yours. Whenever they cross we can try to explain to one another the mysteries of what we saw. It will never be true North; No matter how scrutinizing we are, we’ll either leave something out or put too much in. And although we may have been born with it at the source, everything is the initial moment – Something we don’t come to make complete sense of for ourselves until we take a far look back – Even then, complete sense to ourselves is merely an illusion
You think you know why the river moves as it does?