Sunday, June 29, 2014


i scoff at silence
and the inner workings of my mind sometimes.
when there's nothing outside it to slow the motion,
i think past reality and
consider possibility.

i'm winded, chasing
the hypotheticals that run too far, too fast.
i scare myself with thoughts
that i'm inadequate
that i'm wrong.

who's got it right in this world?
can we ever truly be certain
that our way is the right one?
we've got to have faith in something:
can it be me this time?

prompted by terrible prompts

I was looking back through some old posts on this page and realized very quickly that my material is better when I'm not being led by somebody else's prompt. By "prompt" I strictly mean the search results to the phrase "writing prompt". I definitely can see the value of them; they have worked to dislodge any blockage I may have. After staying silent for months, I turn to them sometimes just to make my mind move again.

But the crap they push out is just terrible sometimes.

So I'm going do this stream-of-consciousness shit until I clear the blockage myself. Prose seems to be a bit more forgiving on the crap than verse is.

Of course, it helps that I'm naturally self-deprecating in my prose. So I'm not afraid to poke fun at myself.

Not to mention I'm a bit of a magician.

I turned myself into THIS guy. Pretty cool trick, eh?
Alright. That picture is enough for me to try something a little more introspective now.

interpreting silence

it's time to stop
interpreting silence.
magnifying nothingness 
to find imagined significance
gets us nowhere.

it's time to stop
chasing every echo.
what lived here yesterday
left a residue to scrub away.
i must let go.

every smile, every blink
what do you reveal without a word?
motion says more than we admit
but my observation in this stillness here
goes against the fiber of kinetics
potential energy is just an empty threat
if i don't start to move.