Waiting

It flees from me like a child flees from cough medicine.  I run and run, mentally of course because I haven’t the energy to physically run.  So I lie here in wait.  Waiting for something.  It or death.  Today I don’t care which arrives first.  Without creativity I have nothing.  No use, no purpose.  Writing is my sole purpose in this life.  It is all I can do that has worth.

Red and Black

The red had a different feel than the black.  No barrier or line of demarcation foretold of a difference.  But that changed nothing.  They felt different and that was the first thing she noticed.

Pandora

She was a fly on the wall to her own death.  She laid there, life flowing easily from the wrists.  She’d finally opened the box, Pandora would approve, except that naught would remain and the box would never close.

Musical Memories

Music calls.  Each song holds a message.  Good or bad, dredges up old memories, feelings.  Incites longing, nurtures desire and feeds want.  Nostalgia compels distaste for future.  The song is the cause.  But like the mouse it beckons until caught in the trap.

The Singer and the Voice

A single voice fills the silent room.  It sings, but there’s no music.  The words cannot be distinguished.  It sets the tone of the room, nonetheless.

Disarray that makes sense to only one.  An outsider sees heaps of nothing.  No care or regard for any possession.  One sees order.  Prized items and things of meaning placed carefully in seemingly haphazard piles.  Things of no meaning stashed out of view.  Necessity holds a corner, begrudgingly granted.  Strangeness shrouds it, gives necessity a yellow aura.  It never had need before, never offered an invitation.  Necessity spent years sulking in the corner.

The voice continues, bouncing off the walls, stark of meaning and piles of necessity.  The only accompaniment is the growing tick of the clock.  It falls silent on occasion, but never fails to remind of boring necessity.

Needs and wants are useless.  Do is the only thing of importance.  Action conquers stasis in a swift boxing match.  The result leaves stasis drooling and bloodied, unconscious on the dirty mat.  There are no cheers.  Everyone bet on stasis.  Entire fortunes lost with a single throw of the clenched fist.

Does do care?  Ought it?  Is it really fair that all want their money back?  Does ignorance warrant special treatment?

Do does not want.  It has no need.  It simply is.  it does because that is life.  It goes to work, pays the bills, feeds the family dog, kisses the wife after a well-cooked meal, pats the kids on the head, impregnates the wife again.  Do does not know because it does.  Do does nothing.

Life begins, life ends.  The cycle requires nothing, yet do goes about because of nature, habit.  It cannot stop.  Do continues until it dies, keels over from something.  It never wanted to reset, not even when frail.  It did not ask to live.  Do died because it had to be done.  In death, do was done.

Every do continued.  Mindless drones.  Instilled with directions to do.  Nothing would change because do always did.  Do never thought, never said what if.  Because do never considered possibility, it never sought after.

Necessity is a waste.  It allows for the sloth.  Do never wants for something because necessity is a waste.

Want is dangerous.  Want asks eternally.  Want can never be sated.  It encourages red, calls upon green.  Nothing comes from want.  But do does not know this because it never wants.

What does the voice want?  The singer wants money because it needs to live.  It wants to live.  The singer wants attention, which it needs to inflate self-worth.  The voice demands nothing.  It has no need or want.  It does because that is what it is supposed to do.  It knows of nothing else.  It thinks of no alternative.  Voice is an instrument.  It does because of another’s want, need. 

Do does not think of the fairness of this.  The voice has no voice and wants not for one because it does not know want.  It simply is.  But the voice is not static.  It does because that is what it does.

The singer and the voice are intertwined, forever linked.  The voice does not know this.  The singer does because it needs and wants.

They cloud the vision of the singer.  Visible invisibility.  The singer does not know this because it knows what it wants and needs.  The voice has clarity, but sees it naught because it does not think.  It merely does.

Which is better?  Does the singer claim superiority because it knows?  Because it wants?  Does necessity make it better?  Is the voice better off because it does?  It has no need or want.  It needs nothing because it does not know want or need.

Who can judge?

Who dare determine superiority?

Do cannot because it does not think.  Is it fair to let stasis decide?  The singer will side for itself out of necessity and want.  But does it need superiority?  Does it really want it?  How does the singer know what it wants?  How can it determine its needs?  The singer sees both as necessity.  It is necessary to want and need.  Need and want lead to something greater, but it never finds that something because it does not know its needs and wants.  The singer does nothing while voice does without though because it has no need or want.  It seeks nothing more than to do.

Who dares to place judgement?

First and Second

First lines taunt the writer.  They are ever elusive, hidden.  Start with the second.  Figure out the first later.  Move onto something else when the present task becomes too difficult.  Second follows first sentence.  Natural, orderly.  Irrefutable.  If no first sentence, second doesn’t know where to go.  Second become lost to the abyss.

Butternut Squash

Butternut squash smashed to smithereens on the highway.  Brownish-yellow the color of butternut squash mars the road, covering the smear of blood from the fatal wreck earlier today that killed a generation.

Memories

The memories of long ago fade

but the pain of yesterday lingers

Its memory more vivid than the sun

Chimera in disguise

Smile flashes, brief

unexpected mirth

unsettling expression

unease consumes

Control long lost

Chimera in disguise

Blankness washes over

bleak expression

customary desolation

manageable stasis

Desire hides

Exhilaration

Exhilaration provides

progress

fiery mind

bubbles popping in joyous celebration

Exhilaration fades

forever

with hope

black

The Goose

My neighbor has a goose.  It strikes me that it must mean something.  I must write something about this strange pet.  But nothing comes to mind other than city regulations on pets.  Ought that mean something?  Show something about my inner self?  Perhaps it says I follow the rules too much.  But I thought I liked to break rules.  Rules, or rather customs are cumbersome.  I don’t like customs.  They confine, inhibit creative thought.  I don’t like the conventional.  I want something unique and different.  Something from the heart, not from the brain.

Ordinary

Roses are red

The blank page taunts

All the good lines are gone

But that’s okay,

I prefer the extraordinary

Because they’re outside the box

Untitled

Newness is overrated

Fresh start a waste

Nothing begins anew,

once set into motion.

Only destruction

can follow.

Scars

Every scar is a memory, starker than everything else.  Even when they succumb to the ravages of time and nature, the memory holds fast.  Each is a mark of existence.  They are a testament to the manner in which we live.  They tell the truth when the mouth does not.

ABC's

All Blue, Courageous, Dead, Erroneous, Fried, Gleeful, Half-witted Imbecile Just Knows Laughing Must Necessitate Opulent, Petulant, Quiet, Ripe, Snotty Tantrums Under Very Wide Xeroxed Yellow Zebras.

Peanut Butter and Jelly

creamy peanut butter
concorde grape jelly
slathered with hope
smeared without care

chubby cheeks spew familiar breath
full of carefree giddiness
lost whilst the sun sets

You can never understand what you've never felt

Darkness, devastatingly black, is beyond them
Irritated confusion meets cold pain
with an exasperated sigh.
Their same feeble proddings
turn venomous in transit,
pierce the thin membrane
ignite and stoke the icy fire within.
The venomous proddings remain
releasing their toxins,
stoking the flame
that never eases the cold
nor lights the dark.
Misunderstanding surrounds
what remains unfelt.

Gambling Gambler

The gambler gambles because she has to.  Life is worthless without the gamble.  Left or right?  Make the bet, ante up, call, bluff called.  Left.  Roll the dice, coffee or tea, earl grey or lemon zest.  10 face up, two down, hit, five, seventeen, chance, hit, seven, 24, loose.  Terminal.  Chips on seven and three, lucky numbers, roll dice, four.  Refuse help.  One bullet, spin chamber, pull trigger.  Breathe or not?  Nothing.

Sense?

Does anything make sense anymore?  World coming to an end?  What is meaning?  We seek meaning in everything.  I do not.  Meaning is meaningless.  Nothing comes from something.  But something comes from nothing.  Is that meaning?  Is meaning necessary?  Does our existence necessitate meaning?  Nothing comes from something.  Nothing comes from everything.  Matter taunts, provokes, dangles the carrot, whacks with a stick, strangles with gleeful glee.  But it sings naught.  Because naught comes from ought.