Absence of Self

Faint lines glow on other faint lines, crossing and canceling. The same surface touches the ground thousands of times, and it still changes with time. Many things are more than they seem, and unfortunately, many things are also less than they seem. The strength, grace, and power of a lion in a man not quite an adult, who you would never look at twice. A pond so small and shallow it can only rival a puddle in a wonderfully beautiful, strong looking woman. If I fall asleep now, I will not wake up later, not truly, but of course the thought does not bother me now: it will only bother me later, when I wish I didn’t fall asleep. Hate that is deep and strong makes me feel superficial and strange. Love that is deep and powerful makes me feel wonderful, like there is no need to hate, not when I have such passion. I’d say I miss the earthquakes but I barely remember them, and they were not startling, not scary. I’m not scared when I go insane: quite the opposite. Going insane is a wonderful, relieving feeling that I don’t have to pretend anymore, don’t have to be fake and silly and strange. Strange is the thought that everyone thinks that they are weird, and out of the ordinary, for doing odd things, like talking to themselves or to others. In the great sphere of humanity, we are all humans, right? Nothing we do will be out of the ordinary, or strange, or weird, because we are all human. Philosophy is the art of painting with black and white, defining lines and borders that we should be quite happy not to cross. I’ll leave you with thoughts of me, wondering whether I am deep or strong or shallow and frail, wondering where I fit into humanity. Because we all must fit, if we are truly human inside. 

Will You Follow Me?

I want to be powerful, but I flicker at the edges if you look closely. No more wanting, anymore. I’m past that. We’re past that. So let’s go into a violent sky, the two of us shining like rival suns. We’ll escape the blackwood prison and break through the stars. Nothing must compare to us. We shall be two points of light in the middle of black matter. You might be scared – I know I am – but don’t worry. I’ll follow you. If you don’t want to nestle in a cradle of comfortable darkness, then we won’t stay. Just don’t worry. So we press on, going into other worlds, other words, other stories and lives. Stay a moment, leave a moment for our memories. We have no choice, now, but to keep going. We’ll find our place, though, don’t worry. Our place just isn’t here. Let’s go for three more millenniums, then try something new. Let’s try going to the light, to the end, to those who shine like we do, to the stars. We dive into the light, and the heat refreshes us, soothes us, and repairs our weary, worn souls. We can’t ever reach the center, we can keep on and on! What a worthy way to spend eternity! Here it comes, away! We’ll start at the middle and see where we want to go from there. You turn back only once in all those years, just once, and your golden eyes meet my silver ones, and you only ask one question.

“Will you follow me?”

Chandelier

Look and see, up close, far away. You are the most impressive sight through my eyes. Up, look up. See? I did it! Just for you! A chandelier hanging from a moody, cloudy sky, textured in ways we’ll never feel. Tactile and visual, sunset is not “only,” but full of infinites. Up and up again! We might have been limited before, because we decided that ends were beautiful, and they were, and they still are, but change doesn’t accept ends as part of itself. Pluck at the gilt strings, I’ll play the black and gold faded ones, and percussion goes on and on. The only place in my heart is the sky, but the sky is infinite, so it’s not a bad problem overall. Let’s align our thoughts with our mindset, and see where it takes us. How bad can it be? Let’s do things, with our beautiful minds. Let’s make it rain inside. Let’s put the ocean in a jar. Let’s fall in love. Because love always fits into the big pictures, right? The ones on the screen? I’ll pull down the tailgate on my old white truck, and we’ll sit a spell and make music and laugh and shoot the breeze with each other and no one else. Let’s be country for a little, then change into city slickers, and laugh at how silly we feel. But really, isn’t this small town better than all the biggest cities? It must be. Do you know why? I do. Because I hung a chandelier, a crystal chandelier, from the cloudy sunset sky.

Tea Lights and Fireflies

Tea lights and fireflies, dancing around me. Warm grass and darkness, stars and moonlight. Lace nightgowns, silk pajamas, tea and the Milky Way. Small butterflies and glass terrariums, hanging from the trees. Fabric walls billowing softly, and fountains cast wavy lightshows and white noise. Bare feet and loose hair, cushions with tassels on the corners. Low tables with pale red tablecloths, teapots and sugar bowls. Dance with me, twirl with me. We are young, we are new and fresh but vintage and fun. Points of light and globes of color, swirling, twirling, like fairy dust motes in the sunlight. The world is ours, and we can giggle over our delicate teacups and whisper about top hats and monocles. Cream, gold, and rose are my favorite colors, because they are soft and delicate. Let’s stay here, at this tea party, until sunrise paints the sky with those soft and delicate colors. Let’s stay innocent and youthful, not just until sunrise, but for the rest of our lives. Let’s be gentle, and sweet, and old fashioned in the youngest way. Your eyes never leave mine, and they tell me that you love me. Tea lights and fireflies, dancing around us. 

9:11 At Night

It's 9:11 at night,
on a hot August day,
and I hope and I wait
for you to take me away.

It's 9:11 at night,
and I wish you would stay,
but it's a warm day in summer
and you have moved away.

I should have told you,
Told you what you are.
I should have kept you,
not let you go far.

I wish you were here,
I wish you had stayed,
but it's 9:11 at night,
on a hot August day.

Speed and Sound

Narrow your eyes and smile: push the gas down and open the throttle. So many roads, laced with green and blue stripes. Everything straight and narrow, but the curves and the turns cannot stop moving on. High heels and motorcycle boots, dancing in fast gyrations around each other. If you move, I will move to make a counterstrike. You cannot outrun, outride, or outdrive what is not there. Black is standard: white is secondary. Water forms and falls, and we will never stop racing down the fastest roads. Cohesive thought is not necessary, and you don’t have to make sense over 90 mph. Swing through the overpass, I’ll follow from ahead. Nightlife is restrictive, and so are roads, so never think again until there are no roads to chase down and slay. Pass me by, and we’ll play together one of the most dangerous games I can think up on the spot. Exhaust heats our blood, boils our veins and makes us feel electric and alive, tight leather and loose hair make a good combination. Casual and suave, fast and loud, who cares? Give yourself a name, and sell it to the first person who asks. Live fast, for as long as you can keep up. Live slow, as long as you don’t fall behind. Live free, but remember: the road is life, and what goes past roads lives even longer. 

Description of a Leaf

I'm sorry.
I should post more.
Summer was too crazy, and so hot that all my creative juices dried up.
So here is something I wrote for my last year's Natural Science class.
They asked for a description of a leaf, and I chose a pecan stalk.

A gentle green curve, a tapering point, a few graceful lines. Save for the foremost, each has its partner, just on the other side of the road. Like seven houses in a cul-de-sac, they are arranged facing each other, bowing and dipping and swaying in time to the wild, gypsy music of the wind. The stem that they all grow from is flat, green at heart, and dressed in a thin slip of brown or purple. Smooth and dark on the top, each leaf is veined with delicate roads that follow the same curve, then fade away. Such a simple twig, with such simple leaves. Nothing but Autumn’s cold weather will make it lose its elegance, and the dignity with which it carries itself.