One-A-Day

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?

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.

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.  

tangents lead nowhere and soak up so many tocks of the clock that one cannot ever get again. i ache for you, tangential love. only a theory whose probability is more than "never" but still questionable. why is tomorrow such a duplication? i must change today to prevent the future from living in my reflection. She'd built up this idealized expectation, this idea that dramatic moments in life grew into the same opuses that they did in films. So it is regrettable, then, that her attempt to create a poignant visual "moment" fell flat without the requisite filmmaker's entourage. Sally's scene, as it were (within her head), saw her taking up scissors in a shaky hand and taking bold strokes with the least possible boldness. Her hand wavered and carefully cut her hair -- its color unimportant -- at the same length, best she could tell. I want you. Not just in spite of, but because of the chaos you promise. you're a hurricane i follow for ...

i pursue you with the single-mindedness that fills a solitary creature driven by such a deep hunger that necessity propels it forward. no need to consider collateral damage, no time. no consideration for a simple thing like future and consequence. (Write a fictional biography about a protagonist whose descendent authored it. As the story advances, the account is more colored by personal bias.)

who has time to consider      collateral damage when   the catastrophe's already              unfolding? ... Who has time to think on    future & consequence when present circumstance is so much more compelling.

a fast Audi runs with the fervor of an antelope, but not as the one chased (the prey). nay, this one runs TOWARD inevitable death, a sure catastrophe at the end of the long, dark tunnel.