ONE

Existence of jaded dreams, highlights of what could have been- provide information of what it was like. That vision so many shared on behalf of nonchalance, results, a collage of fascination, awe and disappointment. Investigating what went wrong, can you retrace?

 Let's go back a decade plus, when the star shined brighter than the tiny little soul beneath. Blame misdirection, somewhere along this path, priorities diverted, looped over and over, pretzel shit!

Back to the starting point time and time again. Carousels of dreams, failed attempts to accomplishment, time disregarding the effort. The story book writes itself, fuck the authors scribbles.

Confusion, contempt and content coupled her embodiment. Trying shit, trying shit...won't work, yes, that comedian did say it and we laughed. *changes playlist* ...walls concrete like past knowledge of destiny, distort and delusion! they never materialized, negligence precedes reality in some's reality...dreams! Anticipating drums activates the minds faucet, loose in frenzy, succumbing restlessly, pressure parades nonchalantly.

 When I grow up was once upon a time I misplaced in bottles of rum and pages of research illuminated by cigarette butts I carelessly left burning on my study. Please your passion, embrace your ruins, whatever makes this time pass, all you need is one string, one atom of insanity, one mind voyage, one valid memory, one room, one path, one reason, one empty street...one last breath...lights out.

NOTHING

Occupied in a realm of nothingness, with occasional flash backs, montages of most recent past synchronize in the minds eye. Water tastes like liquid married to salt. Wandering the earth in search of sense, man seeks out his own truth; whatever it is that makes breathing seem worthy.

Time is never introduced as a friend.. Clueless as to where the ticks are tucked in. How to handle emotions that time forbids? A tune up will not mask the maturity it lacks. A child still craves for its mothers love spread far and wide the oceans and seas; the river of tears have now merged with unquenchable thirst for an embrace.
 
Dusty winds and dry roads crack the egos of feeble and fragile souls. Moist lashes are more than what they seem...maturity is in the ability to keep the cheeks dry. This is the facade many long to be projected, so protrude on, into the role of expectancy.
 

The script has a blueprint, broken down in levels wider than the bridge between nostrils. Shallow yet broken down in sequels stretched out and magnified beyond the heavens. It is a short life and with every passing dawn, souls awaken with the possibility of being broken by the day.

 

What more a soul that has been conditioned to expect less from the earth. Yet the clucking in the morning is melodious, not that much attention was paid to sleep at night, but optimism lies in the hopeless expectation of running into that soul lost in the oceans.

 

 Every time moist eye lashes meet water, there is belief that a reunion is soon in effect...water...sand...dust to dust. Soon, nothing will matter.

Shadow of shallow

Three fucking months and all I do is grow shallow by the day… pardon my oxymoron, I know you can’t grow shallow…it’s like saying I’m big in a small way…I’m fucking aware. However, you do understand my point? Having woken up every day for the past ten years, to make a cautious effort to be myself…as different and queer as I may seem, I try to remain ME. I think there is something in this Atlanta water, besides the “ass grow” that is. I now wear red dresses that look like someone taped a bandage to my skin and heels made out of timon and pumbas epidermis. What the fuck did this city do to me? Skipping through my fever ray playlist, I don’t even listen and wonder anymore, I just….skip!


I am aware that there is more to life than malls, online shopping and religiously watching desperate housewives every Sunday night, which is sheer fuckery if I might add. I’m very good with words, but my conversation plant withered right before my eyes. Now I blurt out absurd slangs at random pitches. The other day, I overheard myself say “on the boss boss”….retracked my day and the preceding events…realized that I got it from jah-bless..like really tho kim? I didn’t bother shaking my head, instead, I said it one more time and watched it spread…now the women I live with wont stop saying it.

What happened to my dreams of staring at the sea shells and downing a bottle of rum by the sea? Like pac, my ambitions of smoking a port to clear my thoughts out? Shallow I tell you! Not surprised though, this is the “norm” to many. I weep for those who never had the opportunity to walk the streets of los Angeles at 4am till the sun rises…acid trip or not, it was an experience…an awakening one at that.

I must have slipped back into slumber, because it obviously takes more than a brilliant acid trip to shield one from the shadow of shallowness…depth, where art thou? I’d take two more weeks of round the clock vertigo!

…………………………………………..I’ll be back, overstock just sent me an email….no, really!