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. I still want to talk to him. 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.

involuntary actions

I have goosebumps patterning my flesh that tell me the temperature is too low. I have pupils that dilate when moving from day to dark. My heart races as a clock ticks counting down. My breath is heavy matching quickened footstep sounds. I have a feeling in my gut that tells me this is not quite over. I have a feeling in my gut that tells me this is not quite over. I have your voice in my head saying “To Be Continued” followed by a month-long ellipse read as a worn out question mark. I have your voice in my head in the silence of this room. I have the silence of this room. I have the emptiness of this room. I have the freedom to rebel, to be remiss, to try to profit, to counterfeit. I have the choice to hold, the choice to steady, and the choice to overflow. To overwhelm, to stand up straight, or to reap what seedy deeds I’ll sow.

I have goosebumps patterning my flesh that tell me the temperature is too low. I have pupils that dilate when moving from day to dark. My heart races as a clock ticks counting down. My breath is heavy matching quickened footstep sounds. I have a feeling in my gut that tells me this is not quite over. I have a feeling in my gut that tells me this is not quite over. I have a feeling that I’ll choose to let that feeling win, as my conscious clear fights off the fog and my patience thickens with my skin.

waiting for a date at a bar

Self-amused so self-amused so self-amusing waiting.  Deciphering a glass completely full of beer as a pessimistic situation.  If I could transform this into water I would, but what else is an antichrist to do? Sit and wait so cute and adorable? So sacrilegious, but so sweet too. Bought as a bar stool’s user’s fee: alcohol’s a tired drug.  But fine for sipping slowly sipping while rested others mindfully tug. 

Self-amusing self-amusing so self-amused and weighted. Recombining strings of thought into one just one persuasion. Placing each piece part by part to form a many-sided section.  This continually combined force-expansion is a compulsively-contrived self-embarked planless misadventure in perspective. Writing what’s unwritten as it’s revised by hapless happenstance: growing expectations form a shrinking image based on the fruitful failures of the past.

Self-amused and self-amusing so self so self so self-contained. Internal thoughts are internal combustion as a nullified hindrance watches mutually stoic wood grains. Time and time and timeliness: no punishment in consequence of no committed crime. Nothing moves save for all that’s moving, and everything is falling asynchronously in line.

Nothing moves but it’s all moving: self-righteous self-controlling cogs aid the plan of one machine. Alive alive alive and breathing: everything appears exactly as it seems. Just some added complication, just some muffled background noise, just myself sitting with my own delusion on an island of misfitting toys.

This is my play. This is my play. Just another dull part of a doldrum day, and then a blip jumps from the white of static and I turn to analyze its lurid noise. His arrival grazes barely touching with the self-puppetry of a hope so self-reprieving.  So I’ll take control and pull some willing strings, until relieved I’ll watch them slacken. My role here tonight is of a quitter who didn’t want to win, who’d wish a well-meaning goodnight to anyelse before the inevitable sunset.  

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]

buying time

A key turns in a door and a timer’s given pause from counting moments counting value-added increases on a desk. A key turns in a door and one heart races with excitement: a welcomed distraction from some visitor: a visitor returning home. Two doors open to one living room (an entranceway): filled with footprints crossing beaten paths but nothing more: never more. Two doorways face a central point with two figures standing in them: a daily meeting unscheduled ill-planned ignored but not forgotten. Two pairs of eyes are locked with expected unsurprise as one hope still standing crushed defeatedly subsides. Two pairs of eyes face one mistake repeated still existing in a house they both call home: cohabitating, living separately.  A quivering hello is greeted with slight shoulder shrugging, as distracted eyes decide to answer a cell phone’s focal screen. One racing heart is slowing but still unbroken beating because breaking would require an unexpected unreturned feeling. A timer is unpaused on a desk where work’s residing as the moments regain value and the past is waited out unwinding.


I feel the digging tooth and nail the reaching for what’s underneath but nothing’s there there’s nothing there but dirt decay debris. I feel the digging searching wanting more where no more could ever be: too many opinions differing for too few connection-paved intricacies. I try I try to talk I try to give chances and I take a few. I try I try to meet new people to give them doubtful benefits to see just where it leads. But my heart is hollow heavy still still trying forgetting questioning too many lingering wasn’t meant to bes. Closed off to testing nothings for size closed off to starting a collection misfitting. I’m playing for my own team I’m playing a game half-halfheartedly I’m playing on a different field: an emotionally removed plane. I’m alright here but they want more so I’m alright with closing out. I’m alright here, but that’s obscured: it’s coming off as posing. A girl who does the things girls do, but to me it seems much deeper, and no one is asking for details: assuming pointing finding that fault lies in non-reasons.  So I apologize for choosing flight over passionless fight, but I can’t help I won’t try to make an era out of a season.