Jaan came with me to my home today...
Soul-of-mine,
like vines, intermittent-twined, parallel along the sidelines
do we twist.. yet I wish we had a shade of sun, a ray to persist.. woe-resist..
but we can't only be wistful, and hope for the light,
we are our monsters of the night, full of flight and fright-- what'll we do when we regain sight?
No lack of insight, missing no eagle eyes to foresight, more like, outright defiance to the plight of society's "how-it-is" knight.....
Jaaneman: soul-of-mine
Friday, November 29, 2013
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
wotd: Offing.
The sea between the horizon and the offshore is just a blank score, a space for
the indiscriminate roles to be defined,though we are inclined
to abstain from the lines, we flow in the whorl, the insignificant curls
towards light
And yet we cannot help but fight, grounding flight.. snagged by the branches, we flee into the darker night..
And when the moon rises up, two faced, with too much four-sight, we'll soon swallow our souls, to the offing's delight.
Offing: The sea between the horizon and the offshore.
Monday, November 25, 2013
eckspulshyuns.
i don't consider just question marks to be legitimate questions. i have no idea what the hell you're askin.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
P'u
I'm looking for a grandiose ceremony.
Honestly, I'm pretty tired. I can't think of anything to write. I think to myself.. I cannot fathom anything worth writing about!
Stringing language together is making me exhausted- people are forgoing the 'shibui' of words, their clarity, like snow, the sting of cold purities..
Instead they dump all this hot heat in their words, filling those letters with emotions that cannot be contained, cannot be bound to that transience...
Where have my words gone? Where is the lone nightingale that sings through the darkness, calling the sun to warm us with his smile..
Where does that tranquility lie?
One has refused the nature of my soul, has dulled the simplistic gleam with greasy hands... I am no mechanic! I am no engineer! I am a weaver, a singer of heart words and thought songs... In efficiency, there is no art. Risks must be taken. Calculations must be forgone.
Come to me again, tenuous passion. A dancer cannot walk without dancing, a singer cannot talk without singing. Do not deny yourself your truth. The 'P'u'-- naturalness. The state that one returns to.
Honestly, I'm pretty tired. I can't think of anything to write. I think to myself.. I cannot fathom anything worth writing about!
Stringing language together is making me exhausted- people are forgoing the 'shibui' of words, their clarity, like snow, the sting of cold purities..
Instead they dump all this hot heat in their words, filling those letters with emotions that cannot be contained, cannot be bound to that transience...
Where have my words gone? Where is the lone nightingale that sings through the darkness, calling the sun to warm us with his smile..
Where does that tranquility lie?
One has refused the nature of my soul, has dulled the simplistic gleam with greasy hands... I am no mechanic! I am no engineer! I am a weaver, a singer of heart words and thought songs... In efficiency, there is no art. Risks must be taken. Calculations must be forgone.
Come to me again, tenuous passion. A dancer cannot walk without dancing, a singer cannot talk without singing. Do not deny yourself your truth. The 'P'u'-- naturalness. The state that one returns to.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)