this certainly is not an exit...

everything is not tidy!
nothing WILL be tidy

a computer wizard once told me:
with electronic information, moving towards permanance is moving in the wrong direction
(ok, so it was just gary who said that)

is anything permanent in this oxydizing world?

the tension that exists as my static state of being is in direct relation to the tidiness of things

and the reality that this pursuit is futile does not open some relief valve and WOOSH there goes my unease, no, it's constant

rivendell will never be clean, the suburban will never be finished

in 8th grade as we graduated middle school, they asked us to write our goal under our yearbook picture. i wrote: "to be satisfied with myself"
What kind of 8th grader writes that????? and who wants an unatainable goal? Wow, what was I on?

and there's no road map for this sort of thing. it is now that you are supposed to find God. Or some epiphone happens when you stumble and hit your head. Or you lose something irreplaceable. Or you sign up for ECT and end up like McMurphy in One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest. Or you buy something valuable. Or you destroy something special.

Is this life an escalator that only goes the speed that I trod?

I feel like a combine shredding everything in my path and leaving it in a pile behind me....

dipping my toe to check the water temperature

i am still here
walking the perimeter of the pool
remembering the sensation
it's been so long that my hair is dry and skin is soft
the water has settled
no waves
no splash

Can we?

Can we absolve the past?
Lurking (something, something)
Jaws of (something, something)?


bul l cr ap

is this power

treatise on life in fast forward .
Is this power ? Hand at keys,
stroking out conceptions, images,
imagined worlds

a void left behind

I am here.

how many more fragments
do we have to go(?) to make the
point
?

question mark says, “hey! move over!”
criteria, done.

words, be nimble.

everything rush

, ; . , ; .

everything rush;
blood to fingers,
words to mind,
rhythmic, pulsing goals;
everything rush.

, ; . , ; .

drizzle

slow drizzle fills up the bucket and
flies buzz about hiding, swooping,
delicately skirting water bound doom.

vibrations

vibrations beneath fingers
bring to light new dawn, flourished nods,
rhythmic balance in a foiled context.

by the way.