Self-actualized
terrified.
So crippled by fear
of allowing her
to draw near only
to shut her out.
A moth to the flame
I fly.
Wary, though, am I.
I've been here before
and I know.
I am the flame;
I will set you ablaze
and douse myself,
then wonder (sincerely)
"why are you on fire?"
Monday, June 7, 2010
it's all the same -
the result, the aim -
the rhyme scheme
another of
the same
guided endeavor
to loose the rudder.
to cut free the implement
of cutting free -
that last tether,
only remainder
of the engine that renders peace
to end the end
and begin beginning
to put into words
a farewell to language,
to thought,
to discernment -
but all there is is the act
of letting go -
less than that, even,
and even that,
even that,
even that
farewell is a lingering,
its desire even less -
but still enough
to remain
the remainder.
Out with the dove!
in with the crow.
Out with the knowing!
in with know.
living is dying
knowing, a prison.
giving
that which can be neither given nor returned.
but i have a body -
specificity
containing
sever severance
and fall into falling
into falling
into
from phallic tendency
of need to sense the frontier
while
fading into the void
of not
encompassing encompassing
farewell,
echo of farewell.
oh! hello...
the result, the aim -
the rhyme scheme
another of
the same
guided endeavor
to loose the rudder.
to cut free the implement
of cutting free -
that last tether,
only remainder
of the engine that renders peace
to end the end
and begin beginning
to put into words
a farewell to language,
to thought,
to discernment -
but all there is is the act
of letting go -
less than that, even,
and even that,
even that,
even that
farewell is a lingering,
its desire even less -
but still enough
to remain
the remainder.
Out with the dove!
in with the crow.
Out with the knowing!
in with know.
living is dying
knowing, a prison.
giving
that which can be neither given nor returned.
but i have a body -
specificity
containing
sever severance
and fall into falling
into falling
into
from phallic tendency
of need to sense the frontier
while
fading into the void
of not
encompassing encompassing
farewell,
echo of farewell.
oh! hello...
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
as the moths fly in
again and again
to be seared or charred
and to curse this flame
flicker, flicker
or steadily burn -
either way they see
for either me they yearn
i am the flicker
and i am the flame
and i am the allure
and i am the pain
cannot one tell
as i burn in dark
it is she who is my lover
naked, stark
True
Is
mirror of This
unattainable that
relinquished and held
never not
never so
never not
never so
always the wrong ones
and never what stays
always the desire
never wholeness not wanting
always wanting not to be whole
so they come one
by one
desperate flight to
the promise of light
what the fuck?
what the fuck?
i can't even convey
what the fuck?
there's nothing i can say
to open your eyes to the context i reveal
so fixated on light
and alluring warmth you feel
you don't even see me
you see the light i shed
you don't even see me
the me you've perceived is dead
the me you cling to
perished,
this vibrant me in its stead
but you don't see me
just a husk, an echo of an echo
of an echo of the void
want me not as i need you not
i want to not need you
as you need to not want me
and if we both succeed
in needing not another
each I may find the other
cannot but be
whatever it is
that wicks you, dark, through each Me
again and again
to be seared or charred
and to curse this flame
flicker, flicker
or steadily burn -
either way they see
for either me they yearn
i am the flicker
and i am the flame
and i am the allure
and i am the pain
cannot one tell
as i burn in dark
it is she who is my lover
naked, stark
True
Is
mirror of This
unattainable that
relinquished and held
never not
never so
never not
never so
always the wrong ones
and never what stays
always the desire
never wholeness not wanting
always wanting not to be whole
so they come one
by one
desperate flight to
the promise of light
what the fuck?
what the fuck?
i can't even convey
what the fuck?
there's nothing i can say
to open your eyes to the context i reveal
so fixated on light
and alluring warmth you feel
you don't even see me
you see the light i shed
you don't even see me
the me you've perceived is dead
the me you cling to
perished,
this vibrant me in its stead
but you don't see me
just a husk, an echo of an echo
of an echo of the void
want me not as i need you not
i want to not need you
as you need to not want me
and if we both succeed
in needing not another
each I may find the other
cannot but be
whatever it is
that wicks you, dark, through each Me
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
i'm back here again! the place in which i recurrently find myself believing that this is the only way i ever am.
i'm going to pirate my diary, because it'll make me feel good.
::
... I think I enjoyed myself. I mean, I remember my face contorting into smiles, and laughter issuing forth from my mouth - or, at the least, some chuckles and chortles. As far as feeling, though, I recall only the familiar awkwardness of anticipation of an emotion that I was unsure how to feel, the unease, of a sort I'll attempt to conjure a description for. Maybe it's the subtle, persistent and unavoidable sense that what I feel is a synthetic creation, a crude one at that, the foundation of which is a void, an apathetic observer - creating the "emotion" in order to appease the sense that the feeling "should" be there where it is not. I feel because I remember that I ought to, not as a response to the stimuli of the experience, directly, but because of an appraisal conducted and resulting in my conclusion that a certain emotional response would be appropriate.
Or maybe I'm bullshitting myself. Maybe I do feel something during the experience, but fail to remember it; or maybe I'm convinced that I feel nothing as the experience goes on, thus thwarting my ability to feel by anticipating feeling nothing and pre-empting any possible genuine emotional response with my chosen synthetic response.
I should write in this manner while I'm "feeling," and see whether my exploration/pursuit/search ends at a living, reactive core, or at a calculating void.
Right now, though, I feel like a shell, and I'd really rather feel raw and alive, vibrant and full of potential to feel my experiences.
So why this sense of regret, or how does it exist, if there is nothing in me that feels? I find that my desire to feel, my longing for emotion, is itself a feeling, backed by emotion. Cannot it be more dynamic? Can it only behold and desire, but not possess or be anything other than what it now is? longing?
Was just re-reading some of the better stuff (pertinent to what I'm pondering) near the beginning of this journal, and realizing that I've got a great foundation of theory (philosophy and belief), but am deficient in my ability to practice it, to enact it in my life and my separate experiences within it.
I just created the realization of something already existing. Of all the time I'd encountered three, the great significance of three to me, I'd yet to realize that I am three, not two.
Adam. Eve. I knew these.
The world. Our environment. The Composite. I'd failed to recall this me.
The Crier.
Not the emotion.
The Crier.
Not the reason.
i am earth moulded.
I am we three.
our inverse must be
together, we become the harmony that forms us Each.
::
i found some journal entries from 2002; they explore the same sense of not being that seems new to me every time - eight years ago, i wrote of it; eight [months, weeks, days] ago, i thought i was feeling it for the first time. man. that disharmony bug is a tricky summbitch.
i'm going to pirate my diary, because it'll make me feel good.
::
... I think I enjoyed myself. I mean, I remember my face contorting into smiles, and laughter issuing forth from my mouth - or, at the least, some chuckles and chortles. As far as feeling, though, I recall only the familiar awkwardness of anticipation of an emotion that I was unsure how to feel, the unease, of a sort I'll attempt to conjure a description for. Maybe it's the subtle, persistent and unavoidable sense that what I feel is a synthetic creation, a crude one at that, the foundation of which is a void, an apathetic observer - creating the "emotion" in order to appease the sense that the feeling "should" be there where it is not. I feel because I remember that I ought to, not as a response to the stimuli of the experience, directly, but because of an appraisal conducted and resulting in my conclusion that a certain emotional response would be appropriate.
Or maybe I'm bullshitting myself. Maybe I do feel something during the experience, but fail to remember it; or maybe I'm convinced that I feel nothing as the experience goes on, thus thwarting my ability to feel by anticipating feeling nothing and pre-empting any possible genuine emotional response with my chosen synthetic response.
I should write in this manner while I'm "feeling," and see whether my exploration/pursuit/search ends at a living, reactive core, or at a calculating void.
Right now, though, I feel like a shell, and I'd really rather feel raw and alive, vibrant and full of potential to feel my experiences.
So why this sense of regret, or how does it exist, if there is nothing in me that feels? I find that my desire to feel, my longing for emotion, is itself a feeling, backed by emotion. Cannot it be more dynamic? Can it only behold and desire, but not possess or be anything other than what it now is? longing?
Was just re-reading some of the better stuff (pertinent to what I'm pondering) near the beginning of this journal, and realizing that I've got a great foundation of theory (philosophy and belief), but am deficient in my ability to practice it, to enact it in my life and my separate experiences within it.
I just created the realization of something already existing. Of all the time I'd encountered three, the great significance of three to me, I'd yet to realize that I am three, not two.
Adam. Eve. I knew these.
The world. Our environment. The Composite. I'd failed to recall this me.
The Crier.
Not the emotion.
The Crier.
Not the reason.
i am earth moulded.
I am we three.
our inverse must be
together, we become the harmony that forms us Each.
::
i found some journal entries from 2002; they explore the same sense of not being that seems new to me every time - eight years ago, i wrote of it; eight [months, weeks, days] ago, i thought i was feeling it for the first time. man. that disharmony bug is a tricky summbitch.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
just went to edit the previous post
and discovered that it had the exact meaning intended while writing - however, had forgotten what serves as the messages' source: the sun and the night; and the observer, providing the flesh of the child, life.
, the animated inert
, the animated inert
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)