Tuesday, June 3, 2014

crack, thunder, snap awake

we write so often but don't read the journeys of others closely. what comes of this then, words lost to a void...

this art; feel

what kind of people, what community, to strive for? they may never even be there to embrace each other in the same room. I may never feel their touch, so why create this community? sometimes, you don't know what you're looking for. maybe you want this peace and anonymity rather than enduring the barks and calls of the world; you're sensitive, after all.

it all comes down to the goals, the feelings you want to embody. a peaceful life could follow from working in an existing realm. only start something meaningful - better than creating a monster or a distraction. maybe games are the delicate, picturesque creation that can truly tell something meaningful about the world around you. a quiet story. the story that remains in on hearts as we live out our lives. there must he something beautiful there. text. speech. gathering experiences, words from the world. living a life of words. I think that is a cute world to create. from text. something artistically small that you can fit in a locket and carry with you around your neck.

something about reading and art. a tiny art project. cute like that.
a cute, tiny art project
gather words from the web. tell a short, quiet story of someone's. engage by having the ...

--

I finally figured out what the hell this is! It's a unifying experiment, trying to bring my unconscious and conscious together - with every word, every outlandish merging of scraps from the corners and depths of a mind, letting each thotdrop rise to the surface take whatever sculpted form it takes - whatever word it feels most nearly encloses it's identity.

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

woodwork

I'd like to know more people who make silence so enjoyable. more people who can feel their surroundings so closely, be touched by the subtleties.

prayer keeps me grounded, anchors me to this calm paradise, self-discovered. it wouldn't hurt to know someone who could also taste this peaceful quiet too, though. you must create your own happiness before others can enrich it.

--

serendipitous encounters with kind strangers who show me their condo and drive me to my place to stay.

the woodworker who puts "all his love" into his work – his amazing work that takes what we discard and turns it into masterpieces. this man, an inspiration.

--

a perfect place for quiet thoughts, reflection, independent exploration before the frenzy arrives for the summer. these next few days will be for recollection, calm, growth;

peace, subtleties, yearning, loss – it's trapped inside this container that is me, this container that grows smaller the more time I spend interacting with others, but bigger the more time I spend by myself. or is it the other way around?

kind strangers' freshly minted words bandage my bleeding cuts; but the people I know, the ones who don't say what I wish they would, that hurts the most.

Friday, May 2, 2014

going forward

probably not entirely fair, how it works – but it's over now...

a pillage of thoughts and words, green chairs on blue lawns, orange skies on white chocolate clouds and spurts of quiet. practice practice practice, and when you pause to take a breath, it's there, to relax, to calm down; to keep thoughts to yourself; there's not much..

law walks by and wonders if there's anything left. he had been training on his own while I was away for the semester. not punching numbers in a calculator, but running, stretching, juggling knives in the air, breaking spells from glares from strangers; coldness and sensitivity, trained at once.

but it's nice to find a deeper warmth glowing in fiction. the greatest friends come from anywhere, and the time you spend with them feels just right. we celebrate our quiet, independent hours in a comfort only we understand. those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind.

--

we tend to owe our greatest gratitude to those very things we take most for granted.

--

soft hums of planes overhead. I'll be on one soon, with ev and law by my side, and we'll play about and relax in the coming gardens we have. exciting. I don't feel a dark cloud overhead; actually, I feel a soft glow from the ground beneath my feet, almost making me levitate into the air. 

I dislike the smirks I sometimes see. even worse, the cold words that accompany that false but seemingly genuine smile. I saw that today, and it hurt, the viciousness, but now law is binding up the wounds and throwing knives at the invisible wall that came up to knock it down. it's none of the person's business anyway - a passive-aggressive remark on personal desires; the peace and quiet is a lot calmer with the wall come falling down on her; death, in the dark passage storm cloud kind of way. law and ev each do the genuine smile that's truly from the heart, the kind that melts barriers and draws hugs; real people that feel; relatable; not that silent arrogance that lights fires and burns corpses and makes lightning want to strike twice each time you try to leave your car.

rain falls, the ground is wet, it's safe to walk, the stream in the sky is a beacon of hope, or a foretelling of good times ahead.

Sunday, April 27, 2014

too observant

listening so carefully that I hear the rain of electricity from the headphones around my ears.

--

I could tell the interest wasn't there (or perhaps I misread it): when holding your hands up in the air felt like holding two weights that were waiting to be let free to drop; when I sat upright and pointed out the planet (star?) that was in the sky, and you inched farther away, to the point I thought you might fall off the bench, just barely sitting on it; when my adventurous spirit is blocked by mundanity or some form of emotional containment -

do people release as much as they take in? the words and spirit from the air... perhaps missed, not registered, not truly absorbed. or do some people, like black holes, swallow the brilliance – the light – from heartfelt expressions in the air, deep into the recesses of their forms, and never express free what they consumed?

--

sensitivity is the double-edged sword that lets you appreciate the fresh air of nature but feel the cutting pain of ice on skin. the suffocating feeling is not one to live with long-term. it's better to vaporize the dust before it settles, distill the foggy ghost of empty words and midnight doubt - I had no idea how someone could take away my breath the wrong way: by suffocating the expressive part, the lively part, the part that sparkles normally in sunlight, but now is flat, the fizz gone from the carbonated thirst quencher.

Sunday, April 13, 2014

aftershocks

when the book fair, which had fortified countless white tents all over campus, preparing for battle grounds as the normally calm spaces became swarmed with book lovers, yapping children and loud-drum music; when the book fair, in its literate cannon-firing glory, trumpeting (in a good way) growth and education, aspiring authors and books on how to live; when the book fair, zapping life into this weekend, magnetizing campus grounds to pull in tangled paperclip-cars jumbled about parking spots...


when the book fair finished, I found myself drawn to the after state. the sea of voices replaced by the soft scrape of a rake sweeping away trash; the background rumble of moving trucks to ship away the vast piles of white - chairs, tents, stands, decor; an odd kind of quiet that turned campus into a different kind of magnet, one that repelled the visiting bibliophiles and attracted this quiet kid from his off-campus apartment instead.

it's as though the aftershocks have awoken the reflective, serene side of this place. vibrations humming to the heart instead of the brain, unlike all those forts and forts of books.

a yawning segue.

ghostly white chairs saluting all those remaining to clean up campus: the modest workers. the chairs bow before an empty stage. a white seagull comes to pick what pickings remain.


the air is fresher.

somehow, this is more interesting than the actual fair.