cold front

I awake to eyes already staring at a ceiling. Blue eyes: not mine, upturned, unsleeping. I try to ignore their stare where it is focusing, unflinching: decidedly away from mine. I try to change the subject, try to shift feelings to my slight complaints, instead of starting, patching, speaking of some yesterdays’ revealed mistakes.

I try to change the subject, try to shift your feelings to my complaints, but I’m diverting clearly distracting, filling our airspace with my cluttercares, that, although possibly captured in the present, are passing without effort to not-even-theres. I’m treading lightly on your toes: an ever-so-slight unjust mistreatment. Do you believe all that I say? Are my confusion tactics viewed as deception?

I think, I question, won’t ask aloud, if I’m treading too heavily in your mind. I mean to, didn’t mean it, at least not in this way at this time. But lo and behold! A brusque casualty. Eye contact takes so slight a move. But given the parameters and the circumstances, I can’t say I’m undeserving, or that I don’t approve.

a dystopia in technicolor

Turning to Your Phone for a Better Night’s Sleep: The Truth behind Sleep Tracking Apps.  I wake up to sound bits blurring to form the gentle hum of white noise that lulls me from my slumber at approximately the optimal time according to my own personal sleep cycle. I reach for my phone. I don’t hit snooze. Not even once. Snoozing disrupts the sleep cycle in a way that does not help the body feel more rested, or so I think I’ve heard. My mind is active before my body so I allow myself five minutes to tap through Twitter, calendar, email, Instagram, Snapchat, texts, and Tinder to find a Local Muslim Teen Killed in Virginia, three reasons I don’t want to go to work today, The Secret to Selling Your Art Online, kittens and coffee art, 16 Mistakes It’s OK to Make in Your 20s, an unsaved number saying asking do u still have adderall, and an unknown guy asking are we still on tonight. Old news, sigh, delete, cute and please, done, yes, if nothing else comes up before then. I try to grasp the last shreds of the last night’s dreams, but they’re nowhere to be found. I don’t think I dream as much as I used to as a kid. This is good for productivity in waking life, or so I think I might have heard.

proof of concept

It still feels like 2016. It still feels like the most important year of my life. It still feels like the end of my childhood. It’s driving me mad it is it is it is. I still want to talk to him and I’m wondering why I am sitting here not talking to him and talking to this person and to that person and enjoying my life but still but still still weeks and months and security lost later still wanting to talk to him. Still thinking about him constantly. Consistently? Repeatedly. Reminded. Still wishing him well in my head in my head always in my head and waiting waiting waiting for him to tell me for him to reach out to me and tell me he’s doing well and tell me he felt my well wishes and tell me he held that feeling in a place in his heart until it warmed him until it cleared away cobwebs until it helped him realize he could be doing well because someone wants too much so much so badly so desperately for him to be alright – more than alright: wonderfully – because he is wonderful and I am terrific and I am doing terrifically as I sit here sit here sit here and think always thinking always thinking about him and wondering what he’s doing and hoping it’s well – more than well: wonderfully. Because he is wonderful and I am terrific and I am happy now but still so sad. So sad but happy with myself. So satisfied but wanting more. So conflicted but existing peacefully in so many states. I don’t know what I want right now because I want nothing I want something I want someone but I’m not as caught up in my emotions as I used to be. I let them flutter let them fall watching them as they crash to the floor like a teardrop like the loudest scream like the silence that rings out as time stops having meaning. I do miss the feeling of being passionately in love with a person who exists like a concept – like more than just an individual with individual problems and insecurities and interests and dislikes – both external and internal and expanding – expanding and filling the chest I leaned my head on and felt so very much in love with so very much in love with a person like a concept like a too-good-to-be-true like a Form. The chest with the message printed on it – the reminder to live the best life possible – the reminder that this will all end and you will see it in slow motion as it ends before your eyes and just out of the reaches of your grip – a reminder of a dream a twenty-two year old had and was fighting every day to turn into a reality to turn a concept to a proof.  The constant struggle of self-definition that is classified by experts as anxiety. The constant struggle of being too in a head too in a head too in a head where else does one go where else is there where else could I be? Explained external complaints becoming. I’ll hold them deeply and let them devour me. I’ll change the subject: I’ll make it all about me. He’ll hold them deeply and let them devour him. It’s all about me as I sit here and I think about what it’s like for it to be all about someone else for someone else who is making their own decisions based on all the information they are able to contain all that they can bear to bear witness to to carry to be burdened with. It is difficult to live with your eyes open. I’ve turned a blind one a few times a few times maybe too many but it’s all relative based on other outcomes of other choices that I will never be able to choose because time is linear and this is my path. I’ve turned blind eyes I’ve ignored what is obvious. It’s fear it’s all fear and I’m terrified and terrible and taking turns to shaded places where it’s too dark too dark far too dark to see. A blind eye in a dark room in the isolation of a mind a mind inside of a head that is too active too panicked too scared to believe that there is more outside. More than a concept in a head leaning on a dream written on a chest.

an effective blog post

Communication is oh so important what with today’s ever increasing use of internet-based media to stay [in-touch, invested, non-incommunicado] with other [members, people, humans] in a [member, person, human]-based society. Through [time, trial, tribulation] I have [learned, realized, undiscovered] that communication aids in the [strengthening, structuring, sabotaging] of [personal, interpersonal, impersonal] relationships and it can be oh so important if words have to be [said, heard, perceived] to get [important, imperative, mixed] messages across to those with [ears, eyes, sensory perception]. The [trick, secret, goal] to [developing, continuing, strengthening] [strong, positive, better] relationships is [effective, verbose, communicative] communication. Without communication relationships [dim, flicker, fade, decay, wither, wade, wear down, wear out, weather] whether you [mean, imply, intend] the opposite to be true. So few [members, people, humans] [understand, implement, utilize] effective communication, so I [over-explained, over-obscured, under-proofread] it for [no one, no one, my own self-satisfaction]

thoughts like currency

Thoughts are words dissolved on tongues: chewed, swallowed, and digested in tiny little pieces. Internalized and singular: an understanding reached by one. Dialogue breaks barriers: building empathy brick by brick. Expanding points of views (when willingness allows).  But language is limited: an attempt to find common currency. Always losing value due to flawed rates of exchange.  Repetition is key: with synonyms shining differently-angled light. To get across unambiguous subtlety of some fundamental meaning. Forgetting is a tragedy. A lesson unlearned. A heart rebreaking. A thought dissolved on the tip of a tongue, that never got the chance to be unleashed.

constant conversations

I feel like I am hearing the same select few conversations over and over again. I feel like I am hearing the same select few conversations over and over again. I feel like I am listening to people say the same things. I feel like I am the only person who notices this. How don’t they notice this? How don’t they? How don’t they realize they are having the same select few conversations over and over again. Why do we still talk? Why do we small talk? Why do we talk why do we try what are we adding what don’t we know? I feel like I am hearing the same select few conversations over and over again on repeat but to the persons in dialogue it seems new and it seems fresh and ideas are being exchanged and it is worthwhile and they are worthwhile and they have a sense of purpose and they are proving that with their mouths and their tongues and their voices speaking minds. I feel like I am hearing the same select few conversations over and over and over and over and over and it never ends it never ends it will never end it won’t stop and I get older and I go on and it continues as I listen as I watch as it cycles as it cycles as we go around and around in place.


The cadence of your voice when you’re pausing planning trying not to say what you’re not sure if you mean. The furrow of your brow as you try to turn feelings something primal something pure into language unadulterated unobscured. The words the sounds the ebbs and flows the release of tension the rise of tension while standing still standing just pausing for response. Waiting for interpretation my misinterpretation my wants my needs obscuring what you set out to define. My failures your failures the failure of words to describe to convey what’s floating freeform in two minds trying their best their very best to be one in understanding: to align.