Inspiration...Sadness...and whatever life takes
Saturday, February 14, 2009
 
Valentine

Husk. It was drawn out:
Through motions; through the money.
It was a special day,

You were such the gentlemen;
Me: the bitch to your desires.

Husks. You were, I was:
Pulling out the chairs; the spoons.
It was a funny day,

In a month that never slept,
In a year that never leapt.


cuRRent...jer
 
Friday, February 13, 2009
 
Now

It wasn't too long ago: when the Now was fading to a slow- - so slow- - so slow- - that I could no more stand to walk the Now. So slow, that I could no more just wait, just wait to run the future. So slow that I could no more just wait, just wait to turn those little cogwheels of funny-dandy time to my fancies- - fancies which were already racing and dancing down with hormones through signs and crossroads. The way I see it: time was straggling backwards and behind- - buckling under its own locomotion- - as I rushed the tickling seconds, the minutes, and the years- - secretly hoping that time would just catch up, and make my growing up so much easier and official.

I figured time was swallowed by its own indolence: time was constantly pulled back, held back, arm-twisted back by its own invention and its own genius. The numbers on the fringe of the clock had order: and the order had to follow with the hands and pointing fingers. Or else, the world would once again, deserve the chaos we had tried to obliterate. Look at it this way: time, the very concept of time is a stay against atrophy so that life and direction- as we know it- can exist, and move forward.

But, time is a failure. It is cruel in its slothful slowness - - so slow that it is almost inertia, almost stagnant- - cruel in its sluggard sluggishness. It cannot progress from one to four without skipping the two and three; it cannot progress from may to august without skipping the june and july. Time is petty that way, and it has to be obeyed.

Yet I couldn't wait to grow up. I couldn't understand how that particular failure could actually be a gift to humanity. I just wanted to run the future and never wanted, ever, ever to walk the Now. No more.

That was then: Now, I sit here. Only hoping for Now to be slower, Now to be Now.

Crawl, Now. Crawl, Now, there.
Now the paces, the phases.
Now, you ought to crawl.


cuRRent...jer
 
pale as the white breeze, the eye cannot maketh its crease, the trough, the zennith, the power...it speaks...it reeks...Oh! how it piques my curiosity! how it delves into the nebulous truth of reality, how it

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