Please Stop Ticking Clock
I began, at last, to see what I could do. With a silent, meaningless, incomprehensible, unreachable god; with no text to pass on or preach, the impossible is at my fingertips. Imagination bubbled up inside of me, like a spring out of the ground. Or, an ever uncoiling helix uncompressing new ideas constantly. Yet, my fingers felt numb; dead, almost.
Realisation of a resting god?
I will sleep you off your feet. My words are streaming down your face, dripping onto your toes. You look down and they are clear. I.e. they have no colour. They are totally transparent. You don’t mind though, because it’s not really you.
Day-dreaming of a sexy ghost, who is a long way away?
‘A man crying is not to be sniffed at.’ Said the ambiguously gendered voice. ‘Unless you are crying too; or have a common cold; then you can sniff. The rules never can be concise’ continued the argument. ‘Only my infinite length rulebook opens the door to a world of true justice.’
Be confused by some bullshit on an advertisement?
Lonely weather, your friends are out of reach across space. There is only one of you. Yet you are so varied and changeable like a wheel travelling over a landscape. Sometimes anger compels me to think I am alone, but compared with you I am not. I am not as angry either. Although, I can feel your rage on hot days.
One sided conversation with a force of nature?
We choose children to play games with the lives of the population. Then they try to be so precise with the truth; giving one solution to questions where the answer lies with a wide spectrum. No longer are their leaflets full of joyful ideas, they just poke holes in their enemies. Finding fault where they can.
Doom mongering the political present and future.
A single look at the golden girl. A drawing seen of walls; all twirled. I touch your face and I cry; then starve. There’s no doubt that you want to be free. Look at me; I don’t look free to you? I sure hope not. I’m locked inside a box of books. Not reading a single one. See your face and I cry: ‘Stop to look.’
Type to the beat of the music to see what comes out?
He knew that he could survive through understanding of a non-religious personal god. The states of universal consciousness which rock quantum suicide. My finger exists here and now on my keyboard but doesn’t exist here and now on my keyboard in other ways such as the future of your final destination. So when my life interpretation machine called my brain dies will I live on in other states of reality?
Wishing I was clever enough to work out or understand some interesting things?
The gaps between the very smallest things are perhaps filled by copies of themselves from different histories. Unable to be detected with our three dimensional instruments because they are incompatible. Seemingly invisible these gaps are too dark. Sometimes in my field of view a tiny spot appears so bright yet so small. It’s probably a problem with my retina or brain; still, it provides me with the inspiration to wonder.
Thinking about holes and gaps – not mentioning the worms!?
Why do I do things I do? For you? Is it only you? All of you? Or just you. Mr U knows that his name can be confusing. ‘Me?’ People say. ‘No, U’ he says. ‘How do you spell your name?’ They reply. ‘U’ he says. ‘No, you don’t understand, look, just write it down.’ It could of been Yew, Yu, Yiw, or Ewe but no, it was U. Must be crazy having a name like Horseshoe thought Mr U. Get it?
Noticing shapes in letters?
O to be tubby is to be fat. I’m 15 and half stone and losing weight fast. I aspire to continue the trend. For once, there is a light, a far away light. Is this the white light of death? Or is it the green light of hope? I’m colour blind, but surely I’ll find out soon enough. Another year before I go back to a place I have been but not like this, not like how I felt before. Back then it felt as though I wasn’t there not even really knowing what to wear. In the future my mindset will have changed, I’ll think do I care? Well, I do, somewhere.
Token ‘personals’ ad?
As the blood drips from my nose, she can see me bleeding and unusually she can feel it. I move her hand from under my nose, placing it to my palm. I notice her look over my shoulder, I don’t turn to look because she doesn’t look concerned. It is man who slowly enters into the room in a sharp suit. Not that I know this yet but I did earlier when I cut my nose on his suit.
Is it enough to dream what others can see?
I’ll write sixteen love songs for you. It’s just that I’d never let you know. Some days I look around, head held high, wondering why? Oh, why? I never told you. Then I realised, ‘I have pride in my depression damn it! It’s my big squeezy hug teddy bear. Except it doesn’t have the warm fuzzy feeling.’ Blame me if I draw you in then disappoint to change the way you want. I’m as stubborn as a mule and end up just using you.
Things that disappoint me about myself?
Thinking fast into the future. I don’t know what counts as the present anymore, it seems like nothing much happens there, so I just sit and think about the future, and sometimes the past. When I think about the future it is now through rose-tinted glasses. While the past is a regret. This is the present. This, is the present.