a thin line
that I try not to cross
moving away from you
far into a familiar
distance that now
defines our interaction.
the character of that moment
baffles my understanding
for it came suddenly
unexpected even to
my calculation
of our friendship.
what can I say
about a man who tries
not fall for you?
what can I say
about my weakness
in resisting you?
trapped in that distance
where I can speak
freely without being
overheard by you.
a dream, a plane, a song
a braid that leads back to you.
seeing you stops my lungs
from breathing; your perfume
surrounds every thread
of my clothes; standing still
to feel the faint warmth
of you on my skin.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
repeating summer
as summer turns to fall
and so my heart is drowned
within the thoughts of you
the memories of a time
when simplicity existed
now a complexity of you
and strange associations
with a scent that’s not
quite there; quietly speaking
your name, repeating.
entrapped by the longing
for your face, hands, fingers
searching your contours
and the spiral of the muse
that you have created
sitting before my third eye,
and I can do this forever.
and so my heart is drowned
within the thoughts of you
the memories of a time
when simplicity existed
now a complexity of you
and strange associations
with a scent that’s not
quite there; quietly speaking
your name, repeating.
entrapped by the longing
for your face, hands, fingers
searching your contours
and the spiral of the muse
that you have created
sitting before my third eye,
and I can do this forever.
image
casting away of all matter
for it captures no meaning
of what we long for
in its convoluted reality
of that absolute unreal
we find what we truly desire
and are slaves
to our own imagination.
like a gentle whisper of the wind
your being overcomes my senses
it spins me as my mind is pervaded
by the essence of what I reach for
a gentle breeze that disappears
before my extended fingers
searching the emptiness
of my own fragmented imagination.
for it captures no meaning
of what we long for
in its convoluted reality
of that absolute unreal
we find what we truly desire
and are slaves
to our own imagination.
like a gentle whisper of the wind
your being overcomes my senses
it spins me as my mind is pervaded
by the essence of what I reach for
a gentle breeze that disappears
before my extended fingers
searching the emptiness
of my own fragmented imagination.
smile
a smile that chases me
in my sleep, as I follow
its nature and a thought
of existential passion
for being a priori love
to pass through the burning
of your eyes and slip
into a reality where
one can be as is, untouched
strangely following myself
down a path that leads
to the grave of the unchanged
desire, passion, chained
left for dead, unspeakable
thoughts transgressing
and a translucent memory
is all that I have left to embrace
as I stand in the opaque
light of your unspoken
smile.
in my sleep, as I follow
its nature and a thought
of existential passion
for being a priori love
to pass through the burning
of your eyes and slip
into a reality where
one can be as is, untouched
strangely following myself
down a path that leads
to the grave of the unchanged
desire, passion, chained
left for dead, unspeakable
thoughts transgressing
and a translucent memory
is all that I have left to embrace
as I stand in the opaque
light of your unspoken
smile.
Monday, November 2, 2009
narcissism
The heart, it seems to me at times, is a portal that takes us down paths that we had not anticipated, that affect us in ways that we could not have dreamt. By "the heart," I of course mean that part of the human mind that is driven by emotion. This aspect of my humanity, of my cognition, is the most puzzling phenomenon.
There is what I know to be practical and pragmatic. Then, there appears at my internal horizon a desire or need for something or someone that stands in such stark opposition to everything that is reasonable and practical that I cannot help but wonder what I truly want and whether I myself really understand what I want or whether "what I want" is merely an imposed idea of another driver within that is responsible for neutralization of that which would bring me the most happiness but the most tragedy to those that depend on my actions and are affected by them as much as my happiness is dependent on them.
When I think of such a state of affairs - be it only existent within my mind - I realize that "what I want" is a continuum that stretches from satisfying the needs and desires of others and on to the opposite end at which I stand alone, foolishly in my happiness, but with fingers pointing in my direction with an accusatory stiffness reserved only for those human elements that we sometimes call narcissists.
I ask then, what is to be done for those - with whom I desire to become one - who in my narcissism - as perceived by those being abandoned by me - find their own contentment?
There is what I know to be practical and pragmatic. Then, there appears at my internal horizon a desire or need for something or someone that stands in such stark opposition to everything that is reasonable and practical that I cannot help but wonder what I truly want and whether I myself really understand what I want or whether "what I want" is merely an imposed idea of another driver within that is responsible for neutralization of that which would bring me the most happiness but the most tragedy to those that depend on my actions and are affected by them as much as my happiness is dependent on them.
When I think of such a state of affairs - be it only existent within my mind - I realize that "what I want" is a continuum that stretches from satisfying the needs and desires of others and on to the opposite end at which I stand alone, foolishly in my happiness, but with fingers pointing in my direction with an accusatory stiffness reserved only for those human elements that we sometimes call narcissists.
I ask then, what is to be done for those - with whom I desire to become one - who in my narcissism - as perceived by those being abandoned by me - find their own contentment?
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
outside of the mind...
"I have to believe in a world outside my own mind. I have to believe that my actions still have meaning, even if I can't remember them. I have to believe that when my eyes are closed, the world's still there. Do I believe the world's still there? Is it still out there?... Yeah. We all need mirrors to remind ourselves who we are. I'm no different."
-Leonard Shelby, Memento
-Leonard Shelby, Memento
Monday, October 12, 2009
шептала осень
exchanged glances of another season
and another reason provided
for people to turn their backs
and walk away from us.
wake me up with your whispers
and reinvent me as if I were yours.
as before the leaves are changing
color and we are changing shapes
in a memory of another city.
breathing in the street and perfume
dissipates and disappears as I do.
forgetting you in March,
remembering you in October,
as I begin to ascend the steps
to a new lonely building,
another hall, a new home.
a very kind sadness attempted
to rekindle my love for...
a coldness of heart, emotionless face.
and another reason provided
for people to turn their backs
and walk away from us.
wake me up with your whispers
and reinvent me as if I were yours.
as before the leaves are changing
color and we are changing shapes
in a memory of another city.
breathing in the street and perfume
dissipates and disappears as I do.
forgetting you in March,
remembering you in October,
as I begin to ascend the steps
to a new lonely building,
another hall, a new home.
a very kind sadness attempted
to rekindle my love for...
a coldness of heart, emotionless face.
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