Summer Words #1

Beware... Below is a verbal oil spill, and it will take months to clean it up. Might I suggest donating your hair to the cause?

I. Journal (This Book)

     I'm connected to this book. It is pretty much like a bead of sweat that formed between my eyes. It rolled down, from that place, past the tip of my nose, over my mouth, twisted over the nape of my neck, and has travelled down my spine. A salty wet trail; I can feel it and it is all mine. The breeze may amplify and subsequently dull the sensation. The rain? It will inevitably wash it all away. But this will always be mine: the residue between mine eyes.

II. Dim Little Lantern Dreams

     A room is filled with dusty air, and has a floor of glass. Oh! And a pedestal at its center. A dim little lantern sits (a lot) on that dusty pedestal, illuminating the little dark neglected by the moonlight and ignored by the shadows. It waits and glows in a cute attempt to be noticed, for the floor of glass is high above the world, and the world could see under its skirt, if only it were looking. Passersby hardly ever seem to care or wonder about a little glow in the sky's evening gown.
     I wouldn't worry too much, dim little lantern; just glow. Those who don't notice you now will never really know what they're missing in their dreams. What keeps me up so late at night is that my flame won't ever be as bright as yours... It's your little light that sets me free.
     So the crowds all jostle past that spot where I can look up and stare at you. There's only so much meaning in the horizontal life. I hope that I, soon, can be where you are little light; shut out all that's meaningless too, and (hopefully) be seen by someone as dissatisfied as me.

III. Life is Perhaps

     Is writing all this worthless? No, I don't think so. It all needs to come out somehow, somewhere. At least in this form I don't add baggage or tears to my load.
     It seems silly that this is what life is; a marked absence of something better that isn't ever satisfied. The more I consume, the more I feel empty. But such prosaic, well-known notions of wisdom don't absolve the issue.
     But perhaps I'm not the space that needs filling. Perhaps I'm the puzzle piece neglecting my space. Is it possible I'm an ignorant whole who's neglecting his part? Where is it then? Where do I want me? Perhaps like a chain whose links have all been prepared, the plan is to hold another's hand and reach out for a stranger's space. The linked human mind is better than just one, I know. So shall I hook on to the greater ones and let my ego go? Invite others to join me in this abstract quest? But wait...Who will hold my hand? I cannot write the rest.

IV. Binge

     An absence of hunger and still my mind wanders towards consumption. There is no abstention. There isn't a future. Just mindless self-gratification. Self-hate? Nah... Just empty space; pitiful empty space that needs a filling. A peach pie, as wholesome as it sounds, is only artery clogging like a traffic jam. I tap the wheel impatiently and fantasize of abandoning my vehicle and jumping ship. (Let's just let go. Please, let's Just. Let. Go. And so I will and do always!) But as soon as I snap back, and the traffic crawls again, I am alone with dark thoughts... and an aching stomach.