The heart wants peace b the mind wants what is out of grasp — freedom or companionship, spontaneity or comfort (depending on which is the furthest)
Not a tree but the tree
we saw, it will never exist, split by the wind
and bending down
like that again. What will push out of the earth
later, making it summer, will not be
grass, leaves, repetition, there will
have to be other words. When my
eyes close language vanishes. The cat
Don’t ever get your hopes up about anything
I am trying to see things in perspective. My dog wants a bite of my peanut butter chocolate chip bagel. I know she cannot have this, because chocolate makes dogs very sick. My dog does not understand this. She pouts and wraps herself around my leg like a scarf and purrs and tries to convince me to give her just a tiny bit. When I do not give in, she eventually gives up and lays in the corner, under the piano, drooping and sad. I hope the universe has my best interest in mind like I have my dog’s. When I want something with my whole being, and the universe withholds it from me, I hope the universe thinks to herself: "Silly girl. She thinks this is what she wants, but she does not understand how it will hurt.
I leave the number and a short
message on every green Volvo
Is anything wrong?
I miss you.
The phone rings constantly.
One says, Are you bald?
Another, How tall are you in
your stocking feet?
Most just reply, Nothing’s wrong.
I miss you, too.
Stream of Consciousness, right ways and wrong ways: [sentimental unfamiliarity]
Grey light and music with somehow nostalgic harmony, though still unfamiliar, and something aches to be expressed but I am still not listening, not remembering my dreams, burning the bridge that connects my two lives: waking and dreaming. I hesitate, repeat, hesitate to repeat, repeat anyways, disgusted with loops, nausea of the brain, and how many times have I said it before, and how many times again. Oh, well.. on we go. The aching cycle gets to its heavy part, momentum pulls it upward but as it reaches its apex it starts to slow, nearly stops entirely before falling back down with such shocking speed. Sometimes I have no idea what I’m saying but I say it anyway, and it’s fascinating to see what my mind comes up with when I’m not paying attention. “Write, child It doesn’t matter what you are writing, just so long as you are writing always. I assure you, your point of view will create something interesting even if you are doomed to always lack a certain skill.” I suppose stream of consciousness still has its value. I think, therefore I am. I write, therefore I exist.