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| We, beneath us...
Were we tested on how we spent our time?
All your history decays on a VHS at your parents' house in a three bridge city.
We cite jazz and blues, bikes and never shoes.
We held lies and truth, we, beneath us.
We wore out our clothes to hail the thrift store close.
Friends rolled cigarettes & quit always not just yet.
All creative flecks were copied and saved for web.
So the past remains... remains beneath us.
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| I remember days when we moved so fast with bare feet on grass or sometimes sand. I look into the past to find out who I am, but memory fades with each day that I age. I remember the hour the truth was made clear, a final glimpse was near and the end was here. I remember the minute we were disconnected. I remember nights in bed when my eyes would break, thinking back to the times spent under African skies. Couldn't hold back an ocean some days, no matter how determined to fight. I remember the second the curse was lifted, the peace was made known, and the sorrow grew distant. I remember reaching out and desparate to hold onto the pain when maybe I should have just left it.
A thousand memories, separated by a thousand degrees, interconnected in a thousand permutations to acheive the formulation of a thousand beliefs. A thousand decisions informed by one thousand perversions leads to a thousand burned bridges and one thousand religions.
Are we an immeasurable walk away? A continuing failed attempt to stay the same? A childish regression to previous blessings? A constant rejection of a present presence incessant? I remember the times I wrecked it, when death reigned supreme with life neglected. This eternal return an infernal attack, this never admitting that you can never go back. Confused in becoming the things I speak against, an equation derived from a past that I've betrayed. I am a product of love in the face of hate, a product of second chance, of an undeserved embrace. A summation of foolish mistakes, crippled intent, and sorry attempts that equals acceptance embodied in Grace. So it's a lesson or a brick to the face. It's peace in the present. A present tense sacred mess. | | |
| 46.980252,103.31543
Wednesday and Dad is in Mongolia probably not celebrating his birthday.
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| Maggots, maggots, maggots... maggots...
Maggots... maggots...
maggots!
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