Waltz on 3J

Down the hall
from the quiet rhythm of bodies
breaking down,
We danced.

I thought:

Of raven-haired legionaries
practicing restraint.
                              of conquest
    beyond logic, or reason.

Of resistance breaking down;
             that slow chipping away that reverberates
and threatens the status quo.

I thought of foolishness and indecency.
                           Of life.
 And defying all i stood for.

I rejected moral implication
                                                 focused on instinct.
Shelved my mind
                            and pulled it back out again.

...I think this waltz
                   is called the mindfuck.

"The hardest part is leaving the dock"

Sometimes you get an answer. (Of course, you always get an answer when you're actively searching for one, but it's exceptionally gratifying to get one when you least expect to.)
It was an ironic moment, because my answer came from a stranger, who was talking about precisely the moment that he was producing without even knowing it.
I'll call him jean-paul, because he lives a life where he has taken an admirable amount of control. And he's done some admirable things with the power and influence he does have. but i'm meandering aren't I? I'll digress...
Jean-Paul  had been talking about a sailing trip and his own nerves about it. Self-doubt. He told me how he had just happened to be reading a book at this particular juncture of doubt, and it said 'the hardest part is leaving the dock; do it now!'.

Things here have been rocky, to say the least. And i've been thinking of lifting anchor. Its hard to do, for a hundred different reasons. Self doubt being the biggest.

It's such a delight when life almost fools you into believing that the universe itself is conspiring to deliver answers, precisely when you need them.

This is a place....

...for self indulgence.

I've tried to justify it some other way, but I can't.

The truth is, i have a panache for letting things get the better of me, and my chief weapon against it is the power of the pen. Writing down my thoughts has a way of wretching them out of my belly, and allowing me room to breath,

This is the final resting place for whatever of those writings i feel like sharing, since, well, what good is a bit of writing unless its set out into the world?

I apologise in advance for my selfishness.

X

the tourist

On 'Zimm', the blank page.

there's a silence here
a desperate silence
that can only be articulated
in the emptiness of a blank page.
That solemn white that begs for color.
That longs for meaning and association;
For the comfort of acknowledgement.
And a sadness too,
shared by that page, that wishes
it had the faculties to get off it's back
and reach for the things
it so longs for.

An Unlove Poem

the leaves fell from the fruitless wonder
tossed aside by the wind, which came
from no where in particular.
It occurs to me now that no secret
can be kept, and people are not butterflies,
to pin down under glass.

I'd rather take this darkness by the shoulder
and sing, and sing, sing.
Then walk with fisted hands and a face
aimed towards the cracks in the pavement.

I have my pride. I have my pride.

I let you go.
(...this time believe it)
I let you go.