Lullabies and melodies composed around foreign scales, softly tumbling into unexpected progressions.
Stars shimmering, set into patterns too complicated for comprehension.
I'm sitting in the middle of a jar of fireflies, looking out.
Arches cut into architecture as deeply as possible, enough granite left to support, but as though the builder wanted to show as much of the heavens as possible.
Sleep on the left side, leave the sword hand free.
Firelight and torches flicker, casting ambiguous shadows onto the cobblestone courtyard.
I miss her so much.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
More randomness
Various things I have been writing about, excerpts if you will:
I watch as the day shift blames the night shift, the night shift blames the day. I listen as the elderly blame the young for poisoning morals, and the young blame for the elderly for breaking them in the first place. And I see the way the sunrise peels back the starry void. This really isn't about us at all, but I am not sure we grasp that.
People feel bored; people feel insignificant. Everyone but you seems special, and no one feels as weak as often as you. Everyone thinks their world should become a movie,because in the end, there will be a point to existence; A lesson learned, a passion pursued, a war won and a life remembered.
The information age has given us so much we never realized we needed. This instant accessibility, and instant anonymity, allows us to surround ourselves with the environment we wish to live in, and thereby become whatever we want. Myspace, lifejournal, blogspot. Everyone has a story that they feel is so important. Gossip rags we always find ourselves studying guiltily in the checkout, the way our TVs always find E! or VH1 sometime during the night. We want to know who's single again. We want to watch the trainwreck. We want to be a part of the inner circle of gossip and dirty secrets that makes us forget we aren't enjoying or experiencing this life.
This type of thinking seems to be a social virus, one that eats us from the inside out. I am sure you feel the same way about some politicians. Even after you know the, you still feel as though they are an empty character. A shell of a person, only offering up one side of a character which leaves as quickly as they arrive.
Every year, there is a day of changes. This day is always forgotten, until you realize it, and then, every year afterwards, it can't be ignored. It becomes anticipated, prepared for, and planned. It is a day of foreshadowing, and a day in which the gears that turn the cycle of our lives speed up in away we can't help but feel once we realize it's happening. A good writer, well they could tell you when this day was coming, why it was here and make you live it with them. But I can only tell you when mine comes. It is always in the autumn, or for the less prose-ious, the fall. It comes at the day when summer is gone, but you hadn't really noticed yet. it's not exactly colder, just noticeably not summer. It usually hits late afternoon on that day, when you look down the line of trees and see their shadows stretched out a bit longer than before. Long enough that you notice them now. Your stomach tenses from anticipation of a unknown origin, and you breathe in deeply to try to relax, and you smell something different in the air. It's crisper and lighter somehow, and you breath deep enough until the back of your throat begins to sting and your nostrils spasm. It's then that I realize I am feeling. This feeling of the foreshadowed, that something is coming, some change too large to ignored and something that will no doubt change you. And for me, it seems to come in the fall.
I watch as the day shift blames the night shift, the night shift blames the day. I listen as the elderly blame the young for poisoning morals, and the young blame for the elderly for breaking them in the first place. And I see the way the sunrise peels back the starry void. This really isn't about us at all, but I am not sure we grasp that.
People feel bored; people feel insignificant. Everyone but you seems special, and no one feels as weak as often as you. Everyone thinks their world should become a movie,because in the end, there will be a point to existence; A lesson learned, a passion pursued, a war won and a life remembered.
The information age has given us so much we never realized we needed. This instant accessibility, and instant anonymity, allows us to surround ourselves with the environment we wish to live in, and thereby become whatever we want. Myspace, lifejournal, blogspot. Everyone has a story that they feel is so important. Gossip rags we always find ourselves studying guiltily in the checkout, the way our TVs always find E! or VH1 sometime during the night. We want to know who's single again. We want to watch the trainwreck. We want to be a part of the inner circle of gossip and dirty secrets that makes us forget we aren't enjoying or experiencing this life.
This type of thinking seems to be a social virus, one that eats us from the inside out. I am sure you feel the same way about some politicians. Even after you know the, you still feel as though they are an empty character. A shell of a person, only offering up one side of a character which leaves as quickly as they arrive.
Every year, there is a day of changes. This day is always forgotten, until you realize it, and then, every year afterwards, it can't be ignored. It becomes anticipated, prepared for, and planned. It is a day of foreshadowing, and a day in which the gears that turn the cycle of our lives speed up in away we can't help but feel once we realize it's happening. A good writer, well they could tell you when this day was coming, why it was here and make you live it with them. But I can only tell you when mine comes. It is always in the autumn, or for the less prose-ious, the fall. It comes at the day when summer is gone, but you hadn't really noticed yet. it's not exactly colder, just noticeably not summer. It usually hits late afternoon on that day, when you look down the line of trees and see their shadows stretched out a bit longer than before. Long enough that you notice them now. Your stomach tenses from anticipation of a unknown origin, and you breathe in deeply to try to relax, and you smell something different in the air. It's crisper and lighter somehow, and you breath deep enough until the back of your throat begins to sting and your nostrils spasm. It's then that I realize I am feeling. This feeling of the foreshadowed, that something is coming, some change too large to ignored and something that will no doubt change you. And for me, it seems to come in the fall.
Just for you
Just for you
This is just for you babe, I am pretty sure you’ll read it. This time, it feels so much worse than before, because this time it’s for real. I am going to avoid saying too many words of comfort, right now, they just feel so self-serving. I haven’t been able to convince myself yet that I can give you that without trying to make you stay. I am upset that you made a mistake, trusting to focus on the lack of a guarantee rather than the presence of possibility. But if I wasn’t upset, then you’d know it doesn’t hurt me to lose you. You have to let me be hurt and lonely, and I have to do the same for you. Know that I am going to miss you deeply. Pray that we can be casual friends down the road. I love you.
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