In a word:
I am disturbed
Shocked
doesn’t cut it
Disgusted
comes close
Disturbed…
Barely scratches the surface
Subversive.
Flames thrown into the furnace
Patriotism turns to hatred,
rises to the surface.
We are a disturbed people.
Appalled, horrified
Despair
Waves of despair
Intensify our rage
Our collective prayer
For peace, for equality
In a society
Diseased by inaction
Let this be our
Call to action
Indifference
neither love nor hate
Insidious indifference takes
no action.
Blind to injustice, indifference
insists on ignorance.
Our Indifference
seems inevitable.
It perpetuates
the status quo.
Society retains the
Powers that Be.
Seduces us to injustice.
My Indifference is
Insidious.
It creeps into my soul
Seeps into my blood
Insinuates, propagates
A lie: “You are without blame”
You
We
Me
Are flabby
pretending
weak-eyed Devils.[1]
[1] Conrad, Joseph. Heart of Darkness. Seattle, AmazonClassics, 2017, p. 16.
Who am I?
Who are you?
I am on the road.
I found myself when I stopped looking. I was drinking lukewarm, black coffee. Coffee sloshed over the rim, into the saucer. I made 3 coffee rings, imprinted them onto the cover of my Moleskine journal. I pretended they had gotten there by accident. Three coffee rings feels balanced. I learned the rule of three’s, of odd numbers, in high school art class. Create the appearance of authenticity, of an accident of nature, by creating pairs of odd numbers. I wrote in this journal. I realized that by searching for who I was, by wanting to be whole, to feel whole, I would never find an ending or reach my goal. The goal was my journey into my soul. I continually change, every day. How could I find myself if the “me” today was not the “me” that was yesterday? Would not be the same “me” tomorrow or Sunday? I found that I could not be found if I was already here. I found myself when I chose to stop searching, when I accepted that there was nothing to find that I did not already have, that I did not already know.
If I am civilized, am I free?
Or does society
define what freedom
should mean to me?
Civilization says: “We must survive.
Hand over your Self
your Soul, your Authenticity.
Do this, for the sake of the
Community.”
I want to be free
within Society.
How?
Maybe I will write,
say whatever I want…
but to be free
I must command boatloads
of Money.
So I’ll be Uncivilized,
I will be free.
Because I have capital,
I will pay to be free.
Instead of Society,
I’ll be a slave to Money.
I am frozen.
What I’ve chosen,
is to be dead
inside.
Things.
Give them all to me.
Pile them on,
One
on top
of the other.
More,
more things.
Stuff them inside
until there is
no
more
room.
Until there is
no room
to breath.
No space
to just be sad.
To be lonely.
To be mad.
No space
to be numb.
No space
to become
anything.
Only room to be
everything.
June 21, 2016
Paralyzed? No.
Numb? Maybe
Excited? Not really.
Forward
not backwards,
I’m moving.
To you? From you?
Not sure.
Looking for a cue.
Not sure
if I’m waiting for it
to come from you.
Or from me.
I just want to be free.
I’m moving.
Forward.
Putting pieces of us
in a box.
Carry it with me.
Leave it behind.
Maybe I’ll lose it,
or maybe,
I’ll continue to
carry it inside.
Here. I am here.
You, you are over there.
Standing, moving, running.
Away from and to,
into and through.
Floating. I am floating.
On the currents.
To and fro
I go.
Into, away from you,
from me.
Back to you, away from you.
Into something new.
Over there, you’re over
there.
I, I am everywhere.
In the trees,
in my skin.
I do not freeze,
I begin.
I am like the leaves.
Falling, falling.
Spun around and around.
Spinning to the ground.
Into the earth
I disintegrate.
Back into the dirt.
Back into the earth.
Floating in between everything.
I become everything,
am everything.
And nothing
Only floating,
floating,
floating.
In the earth
On the wind.
On the current.
I am lost, and I am
found.
Without a sound,
I come unbound.
I’ve made so many wishes. So many wishes at 11:11. How many times have my feet hovered just above the car’s floor as we drove over a bridge? Muscles tensing to hold onto a wish until we made it to the other side. How many times have I held my breath while throttling through a tunnel and momentary darkness? Wishing my wish would come true and that we’d collide. Too many wishes I’ve hung in the air, to float on the wind, through my hair. Hanging in the air, they seem to carelessly flutter around and around, never really taking hold of anything. Aimlessly traveling, hoping, wishing to be found.
Wish for love, wish for kindness.
Wish for connection.
Hope for a call, or a text.
Hope for a sigh.
Wish for wanting. Want for wanting.
Subscribe to loneliness.
Hate it.
Desperately desire it.
Can’t live without it.
Yearn to be misunderstood
in understanding.
Love to be misjudged
and comprehended.
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