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.

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.

limitation

suddenly, the flute seems like a limitation; a case of glass around a greater creativity trying to shatter through.
the limits of tone and sound bounded by this invisible barrier, muting a beauty bashing its head on the transparent solid, feeling the endless smoothness mask it's explosive - but inert - possibilities.

revert inside

after any big party with excessively loud, sensory-exploding music, I feel a desire to curl up inside and be more reflective. it's the calm, quiet tunes that flow more regularly - the small enjoyments that piece together such a happy life. I like variation from time to time, but really - the flashing lights and booming bass amid meaningless yelps of 'yeah!' 'put your hands up!' or some other stupid content... really? excitement and thrill is good now and then, but put you can do that without having superficial banter. can't the world have a deep conversation?

it does have deep conversations. there are definitely communities like that. but what community am I striving to create?

--

how do we share fragments of our minds to the right people with just the perfect level of connection/intimacy? that would be a great thing to build a community around. like the private tumblr of yours - quickthots.tumblr.com - some slivers of thoughts (many inappropriate), but what purpose do they serve if they are completely private?

one reality is people don't care so much about others' rambling thoughts - or do they? they care about select people.

perhaps, you can make a game out of it. let the user leave a trail of breadcrumbs, a sequence of puzzles, that only someone who knew you in person and someone curious about your thoughts would go through. then, if they made it through, they'd be rewarded with the password to your private blog - where they can hence see private thoughts, musings, lalala.

an interesting product idea^^.

but who would be so vain? who would be so curious about another? am I? I would be curious about another friend - my good friends, mainly.

would anyone try me? probably not. but I can leave a trail anyway, and that'd be fun.

is this a viable community? is this a community that you would want to create?

stretch the mesh

the usual emotion: a tremor, a sea of waves, soaking up after a nice story.

I want to do something with stories.

train hopping.

--

it's important to exercise this habit of blending words together to quake the groundings of knowledge tied up in knots in your brain, in hopes of undoing some loose ends, perhaps unraveling some startling breakthrough.

exercise, stretch the mesh of words dangling from the ceiling, ready to drop onto the floor for you to grab like apples for newton.

that soft touch, that faint inspiration; it's lurking inside you. I think it will never leave, not till your last breath. maybe even then it will stick with your spirit.

that little person inside you is unraveling a scroll that's too big for his arms to hold wide. poor guy - he can't see the whole thing at once. he has to internalize parts of it; really feel the meaning reaching and spreading through every fiber of his being.

breakthrough in our cultural times - it's lurking there, inside you, ready to come out... just keep questioning, keep looking, searching, feeling that firewood burn and burn away...

--

when you can't feel it all
the fire lurks and cuts away
your solid molds in faint and fall
crisp mornings flaked insane

the message to burn out, out
in your heart ache's doubt, doubt
the reality quakes the ground beneath
you hold on tight: it's more, release

This is the message you want to hear
to end your rage and let it fly
This is the message you want to hear
to snap off the light and dive to rise

This is the message you want to hear
to end your search and call for tran-
quickly -quility comes to race
feel the heartflakes fall in place