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Unfocused and Unbound, staring, not seeing.

There is a distant space that grabs at my attention, pulling my sight towards it; through my Eyes my Soul flows. Out, flying Out to meet my vision’s gravity, pulled out of Here and Now drawn to invisibility.
My Eyes are magnetisized. Seeing; traveling so far out that I return through the back of my head. Always it is quicker to retrace the light years than pass through my mind. Inside is more distance than all of Outerspace, Innerspace is far more of a vacuum. So much empty area; floating, gently colliding and rebounding.
A dark maze with but one end: down the rabbit hole to the fields by the river Illeism to the mountains against the stars, the land of frost and forest to the tip top where the still lake is a silent mirror. Up here there is no wind, up here the only sound is the sound you bring with you. Shout and the lake shatters the stars and you fall up to meet the broken pieces of the sky to fall back again to a plain surrounded by cliff walls. You awake to where you were all along, the Here and Now, only you have been absent, on a journey light years away to the edge of the universe where it bends back on itself and you ended up lost in your own mind and only just now retraced your steps.

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I can feel it building, damming up in my head, ready to spill and thrill and destroy and, and, and… I was reading Bukowski today, probably not the best thing to be reading. He has a way of making a good day bad. Not the happiest of people but that is what makes him so compelling I think, here is somebody who has it worse than you, who can make your good day shit and you love him for it. Says something about you doesn’t it?

All these double letters in the middle of these words which are completely meaningless and what was I saying?

It happens sometimes, after a long period of no text, of a blank page and a full mind. It happens that all these thoughts build up and overflow into one-another. The girl I am fucking, the girl I used to fuck, the dog and her bad habits, the job I don’t have or the one I do. Till it becomes one big ball of dog-fuck-girl-job-fuck-etc. In my head and NOTHING makes any God Damned sense. She doesn’t like it when I say that; God Damn. It bothers her, as if God listened to me and would personally damn that which I condemn. As if I haven’t fallen out of His sight.

It’s spilling out of me now, into my fingertips and onto the page. A giant ball of damned thoughts and forgotten essays on the vulgarities of a meaningfully meaningless life. And if that makes any sense to you than you are worse off than I am and better for it too.

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I looked to the sun as it rose.

I looked to the sun as it set.

I looked to the sun and I asked of it,

“What precedes your coming and your going?”

But the sun did not answer, the sun did not know;

It’s ancient rhythm set long before it’s existence.

So I sought to chase the sun,

I went to seek  it’s resting place.

Now I am there before it rises

And there before it sets.

My own ancient rhythm set long before I existed.

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“What happens to poems and texts unwritten?” Good question. I would like to think they continue to live, they continue to flit and float and grow and change until they are pinned down, or rather penned down on page or byte. However I also beleive that even after it is penned a verse or song does not die, it continues to change and grow with each reading. Words are the onlything thing I know of that can continue to live and change and grow and become something even more powerful even after they have been housed and boxed, as long as there are eyes to read and minds to comprehend nothing ever writen can die.

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There is a stone cat who lives on my widow sill. At night I can see him silhouetted against the window. He stares inside with the self righteous judgement that only cats can express. He watches over the room; I do not think he watches over me. When the sun hits the window and illuminates the room his shadow is not there and I glance toward his place on the sill. It is empty.

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“man came from nothing and to nothing he will return.”

I do not agree with that. We are born from love and passion, and we leave behind those who’s lives we’ve touched.

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I walked along the beach tonight, that defining edge between two worlds. Instead of feeling dwarfed by the hugeness of the ocean or the vastness of space with its myriad of stars which I could not name, instead of being made small by all this enormity, I felt like a giant, a colossus.

I felt the power of God and was not afraid for it was the same power he had given us, give to Man.

I am Man and Man has conquered both the sea and the land and one day space too will fall under our husbandry. And even if I had made a single misstep and fell to the currents and the larger predators of the sea Man would still prevail. I did not feel small, as I suppose I should have, instead I laughed, not in the face of God but with Him

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