A year has slipped by.
A whole year.
And everything is so different. And yet so the same.
I'm closer to the me that you always thought I could be. The one I didn't see myself ever being.
The me breathed to life by your words as they cast full light into the shadowy corners of the cave I squinted in, Plato for company.
I hope you'd be proud. I hope you are proud.
27 November, 2012
03 November, 2012
Unfoldings
These are days of unmet expectations.
When half-realized words rush to spelling; An epic unwritten, scurrying past the glacial-slow unfolding of time. When desire screams for satisfaction and the darker bent hurls shaded-eye forecasts of disappointment.
Days when emotions linger on the edge of articulation; When all seems to be action and reaction.
When what is before - here and solid, and in the mind's eye - falls before conjurings.
I am the delirium tremens, doubled-over and lost to the cravings of my desires.
20-second minutes come, tripping past consciousness with their satisfaction, their light. They bring short moments, captured and squeezed parasitcally. But they are overshadowed by longing and are gone, lost.
These are days of unmet expectations.
When half-realized words rush to spelling; An epic unwritten, scurrying past the glacial-slow unfolding of time. When desire screams for satisfaction and the darker bent hurls shaded-eye forecasts of disappointment.
Days when emotions linger on the edge of articulation; When all seems to be action and reaction.
When what is before - here and solid, and in the mind's eye - falls before conjurings.
I am the delirium tremens, doubled-over and lost to the cravings of my desires.
20-second minutes come, tripping past consciousness with their satisfaction, their light. They bring short moments, captured and squeezed parasitcally. But they are overshadowed by longing and are gone, lost.
These are days of unmet expectations.
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