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| title: wave
riding them is almost like my profession. | | |
| mainly moon messes man's mind.It absolutely blows my mind how everything is so perfect and so flawed all at the same time.
This life that I travel through day after day is graced with the words and love of some folks that I can't get enough of, while laiden with guilt that just hovers over my heart until things are made right. But where is one to go from here, and who's fault is it really, at this point? We all go too far, much too far for our own good. Like dominoes, knock each other down. Somehow we have to get back on our feet and help each other up, it's just a matter of who helps who and what is best. I don't know best. We open our scars and rub in our bruises, almost willingly ignorant, continually wondering why we're bleeding from our in and outsides. If I could cover it all, I would. When I think about how red the moon was, I imagine I took the blood from my hands, wiped it on the moon, revealing what I have done for all the world to see. I thought it was beautiful, but what's so beautiful about the stolen blood of another? A brother, a sister.
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| withervapor.how is it when we exchange thoughts, mine are analyzed and become so simple and somehow fixable, at least when you repeat your interpretations? i'm thankful, but i'm scared because i don't trust that we can really know anything at all, but the fact that it could be that simple (meanwhile, still completely and entirely complex) is horrifying. am i missing it all? i fear to sit down and label. not even labeling, but identifying with a group of labelers. but i'm not supposed to identify with them, exactly, am i? then again, i miss the point and cry and weep because people scare me. people and their ideas. i want the G-d-given truth about everything. i could never possibly understand i just wish i knew what could and could not be known. or learned. whatever that means. knowledge is just passed and interpretated so differently by everyone. just like that picture that i painted and you painted and she painted. just like a red dot. we see different things and we feel different things but there is only one thing that makes sense and makes no sense: G-d. that is all i want to know and it drives me crazy and i feel comfortable in my uncomfort because i'm scared of being comfortable and content with a few answers. my hunger for words thoughts ideas truth knowledge wisdom knowing is killing almost every good thing. and nurturing other things.
i dance on flowerpetals sliding down the silky slide that leads to leaves. jump on fireflys fast and bright. shining shortly, dimming lightttttttt t t t t t t t t t t. i dance on flower petals then the wither away. i have no home, no place to st a a a a a y y a ya yayaya y. withervapor. thumballena. (?
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| lose-lose situation.if you answer me with certainty, i feel as if i won't trust most of your judgement. who are you to know so much, to claim to know the things of G-d, The G-d of everything and everyone, that ultimate reality, hope, love, life, truth, which religion is right, by the way why does G-d have to fit into a single word: religion? And to know is so much deeper than you and i care to realize. am i caught up in words? tongue-tied and sick of knots?
if you answer with no hope or hunger to taste faith, i feel as if you just want to tolerate everything and anything; there is no hope, we will never know, we have no direction (except to love? but what good is loving if it's not for a purpose other than just making this temporal place better? since when is the temporary important? i'm contradictive), everything is just objective (is that the right word? don't be surprised if i make a mess of this). you don't care what right and wrong is, just G-d which is beautiful and terribly scary at the same time. why?
the only one who can really answer my questions is G-d and he's the last one i go to because i don't know what he looks like or am confusing his face with one of another. but how can i know and trust that i honestly know the face of G-d if i were to see it? could you answer that? I'm not as hopeless as I lead on. or am I?
I just want to sing, "You're the gift that I have always wanted. How did you know?"
http://www.lyricsmania.com/lyrics/denison_witmer_lyrics_22258/other_lyrics_52886/gift_of_grace_lyrics_550425.html | | |
| finitely speaking.my mind: idle or beehive?
it's a hard call, though a shallow one at best.
thoughts that i never thought for myself: aren't mine, can't truly relate, not retained.
thoughts that i had: disappear, gone, cannot recall.
this fight and fuss for wisdom and knowledge.
for reputation. for something fruitless. finite.
for what?
i keep looking at the tops, bottoms, sides, middles, inbetweens.
trying to scope out a middle ground. a platform. a surface on which I can perch.
throw everything i am. and somehow become what i want.
but what do i want? can i answer this question, honestly, thoughtfully, eloquently?
eloquence never existed inside of me; i am only a mess and make make words, relationships, and life messy with my hands and bleeding heart. with a bloody cross that i don't know what to do with, sometimes. mostly. a lot.
what is this obsession with blood and hands? it's so comforting and yet i feel morbid when i consider you as a reader who probably notice that i, nearly every time i write anything, include either or of the previously mentioned.
this is petty and shouldn't of been brought up.
and if you just looked me in the eyes, if i was transparent, my friend, i think you would only see a question mark brightly printed on the face of my heart. and lots of letters busily chasing each other around and about in the cage that contains my brain. not really making sense. they suddenly fall and fade into thin air, as if they died, never seen again, but i want them back so badly. you wanted to know what they meant. i wanted to share. but i really have nothing interesting to say that you haven't already heard or know or would want to know, which makes me feel empty and wrong for only taking what you are and chugging that inside. it's not mine, and i don't want it. i want my own. but these things don't matter, why do i keep acting as if my life depended on it? G-d, my life. my life. my and i and me should never exist. but i keep on insisting they do. | | |
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