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Archive for the ‘Whimsy’ Category

Nothing

 

The sun beat down unforgiving on the frozen landscape. Nothing moved nothing breathed it was as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for something spectacular. Small Brown Eyes opened on this world of ice and silence, they opened and blinked, and then they closed. The Small Brown Eyes closed on the world and the world returned itself to void, to nothingness. It was a silent, gentle transition, no cataclysm just…

 

Nothing

 

Two children played in a sandbox building worlds of imagination and sand they had wars and adventures; they brought empires too their knees; turned knaves into heroes and always won the girls. Two ordinary boys on an ordinary day doing ordinary boy things. Two Brown Eyes blinked, Two Brown Eyes closed and Two Ordinary Boys disappeared into… well,

 

Nothing

 

Two people, one bed. The sex was loud messy and every teenagers wet dream. She was gorgeous passionate, he was masculine strong; both virile. She arched her back and cried out in her release her long black hair falling picture perfect about her shoulders and breasts. Wide Brown Eyes watched. Wide Brown Eyes blinked and reluctantly closed and The Two Lovers dimmed and turned to mist to…

 

Nothing

 

Two Brown Eyes looked out on a world that was normal, predictable, boring and real. Two Brown Eyes closed and the world disappeared, and reappeared extraordinary and unbelievable. The world unrolled, folded itself, rearranged and remade itself. Two Brown Eyes watched and orchestrated. Two Brown Eyes, blinked and closed and returned to the ordinary, the boring. The World unrolled, rearranged, remade and disappeared into…

 

Nothing

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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 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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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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Don’t really have anything to say, nothing meaningful. I just feel the need to write, to express in some way. The wind is gale force outside my window. It blows the world before it. It carries what is here far away and brings what was far, near. I am like this wind. I drift and carry with me all that I brought from the places I have been. I have left pieces of me in these far of places and brought new pieces with me. A patchwork man, a whole man made of small pieces. Fragments and pieces glued together with love and friendship, regret and loss, with all the things that make life what it is. I am a plaid man, a patchwork quilt of love and loss, of rage and regret, of family and friends; of memory, of experience. I am melancholy as I stand yet again at a crossroads and ask the same questions as before: Left? Or right? Only this time I think neither. I will walk straight, and let the pieces fall where they will. Or rather I will take the pieces with me as the wind does, gather new pieces and leave other pieces behind, as the wind does.

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At My Funeral

At my funeral I want golden flowers from the tree of golden apples and I want Zeus to be in attendance. The grass will bow to the West and I will be laid in splendor at the  foot of the One Tree. I will be laid on a bed of pure white stone and surrounded by garlands of emerald. The mourners will be silent; the Wind will give the eulogy and my wife will place the Stone on my head.

The ground will open to accept me in it’s embrace  and I will go gracefully down to speak with the Lords of the Fields in their own places. Then the Twelve Lords will accompany me to the resting place of the King.

There we will make our camp and there we will make our peace. The King will accept me as one accepts a long absent son and I will rule in that Land beneath the stars on the other side of the wavering reflections of Life.

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A thousand points of light blinking on and off in my mind tonight.

Drying chalk in a circle. Collected ravings in my mind.

My pen records these meaninglessness’s (whatever that means).

Words and phrases jump and twitter in my sleep confused, rest deprived brain; half-remembered thoughts, snatches of paragraphs, bits of whimsy. The flotsam of a never quite mind.

Rest! Rest! I burn with the need of it, the lack of it.

A million points of light off and on in my mind tonight. The static of space, the language of stars hisses across my brain keeping me from sleep. The questions and half-formed statements of the future taunt and dance and laugh and SILENCE! Its no use. What a small kindness sleep is.

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