Capoed

The air is sweeter. Thinner too.

You mostly smile here more; the muscles stay poised with the memory not so old.

Outside of these heavens, the world is still surely singing. There are lilts just every once or twice, but all you have to do is turn an ear and the 'sss' of the groomers melt it away.

And maybe that's why my melodies are so elusive. Beyond beyond reach, like something that was never there at all.

Consuming

Let's talk about a thing or two that's real important; the big honking deals in life, y'know? I don't know, something, something, everything.

I bend to straighten, and straighten to bend. Wake up to look forward to bed. And the sleep is good. Or, well, until I can't wait until it's over at least.

Another day, another month. Ticking, ticking out and over. I am perpetually waiting. Sometimes I'm not, but then I'm waiting for that to be over too.

And when I'm awake it's good. It hits my stomach and the splash is wondrous. Filled and awed and shouting! Am I okay? Oh! Whoever cares couldn't even say! The rest is just chatter.

On the Lamb

Days, months, hours: eh. I was promised a lot of things when I was younger, but it turns out life is a little emptier than I was led to believe, the promises within being no exception.

When they told me to go to college, they forgot to tell me why. Maybe they thought I knew a little better, and maybe we should all feel a little stupid about the whole thing. But chances are no one really cares all that much.

And they say it's the journey that's the thing, too. Am I supposed to be enjoying this? For a moment I blacked out and felt dependably rounded and whole. God, it was miserable. Can you imagine waking up and knowing just exactly what you were going to do forever? And she wonders why I can't stand her anymore.

The best part of drinking is the sober moments in between. It's like an extra dawn that day. Each dream a slice of bliss to eat later.

So call it what you want, I'm not cold man. I'm not hollow; no, I just wish I was.

Let's dream together. I know it's cliche, but let's just pretend, for a little while. We can live life on the lamb and what were looking for will never, ever find us.

Longevity

Let me tell you something about reality: it ain't nothing but a nut-job.

You can have that night, you can have that moment and moments tied together like some extreme, but then you can take it to the chin anyway with that one epiphytic realization that, well, you still care about so-and-so.

I think it takes time. Years, apparently. And in these moments of extra sensual extreme, finally I can maybe relent that for some reason I still relish those odd hurtful moments.

Things about her linger on my tongue. I can't remember how I liked the peach I had for lunch but I remember smells. I remember tears; bitter or just sad. They stand out, like they probably should, but they weren't an entirety, they weren't reason. And maybe it was a lie, some constipated momentary dual-dream. But inevitably it was truer than anything else. Inevitably it happened and sometimes I wish it didn't and sometimes I wish it always did, and still does.

Before the hurt, before the series of moments and choices that you play over and over in your head like some favorite record or sample you don't want out of your head. But I think it reminds you (at least, it reminds me) to be idealistic. To not move forward for just the sake of moving forward. To dream. To love and be loved in return.

I still love her, and I wonder if she ever did me. Sometimes I think she must of. Sometimes I wonder how she could. Most times I know it doesn't matter.

At least I hope it reminds me to do these things. I don't really know if does. I don't know if it ever really matters. And if it doesn't, it doesn't; because she did that dude(s). Because that is just sort of how things panned out.

Deflation

Is it defeat if I stay still? It's not like it's not a decision; even if it's the decision that doesn't require me to dig up roots and hope the wind isn't too heavy. What would I even do after I was done feeling fulfilled? Would that acceptance that it was all some necessary ridiculousness be worth it?

Perspective. That's what it's all about; that's what it's always, absolutely always, about.

Six months is a long time. It won't feel long, but it is. Every moment is an eternity. And no matter what the ease, the wage, or the person, it will always feel like I'm failing when those moment tick and I'm not somewhere new. That's a lot of pressure, but it's everything I am.

Place Holder

Holy FUCK! The fucking CHOICES.

Where do I begin, and where, oh where do I end up? It racks at me silently, starts with a nag and ends with a tantrum of short-lived epiphany. And then I wake up and it's replaced, switched up when I wasn't even watching.

When I pay attention it all get's fuddled too. Jobs, meanders, friends, family, and joy: they're all one way and the other, and they won't stay fucking still for one god damn minute. So why should(n't) I?

Masochism

Let's be honest, now that it's just you and me baby, I fucking hate chlorine. And I'm just not masochistic enough to do food service. Maybe I'm still looking real hard for some thing to sell my soul too, but it's just not a competitive wage.

Though maybe, and I know I've been fighting this one for a while, it's not "just not," but rather "not just". I grew up with a 20 in my pocket, and yeah maybe I know how to live like I don't have a dime, but I don't want to live like that. And I don't know if I can without getting even more bitter, greedy, and crotchety. But hey, maybe that's the whole problem right there.

A Sound Foundation

These furtive moments that seem so important have no longevity outside of nostalgia. Our way back whens eventually catch up to us, but back then they were nows, and they were momentarily everything. I think that's strange. I think that's deceptive. Every day I wake up and fear what actions will haunt me, what inaction I'll rue. As it happens, each moment is one tiny block in a built multitude, vast and concealing. Sometimes it's best to remember this momentary attribute of life, but then again, I think that only makes the less enjoyable bits that much harder to bear. And I know there's another way to look at it, but I just can't seem to get the hang of it.

I tell myself to take each day like a lighting storm and vibrate like each second is more than just that: but a drop of lifetime, an eternity in itself. Faded pictures evoke, belly laughs echo, and all in all the past enables.

And when the sun is shining it's good.