|
Dexterous modes of concealment |
|
|
|
|
|
|
"For God's sake, put the knife away. You aren't likely to find love that way."
Dear dead days.
Howl was written on Benzedrine. Kerouac's On The Road, too, no? How many other books? Novels, poems, stories? Gives the means to create... no? War on CREATIVITY, war on MOBILIZATION, war on HIGHER PLANES OF UNDERSTANDING... some scent of something wrong somewhere... or is there some kind of "hazard" I missed; some kind of lie I failed to buy into?
"Anything that can be done chemically can be done by other means." But, can it really...? (Or is it just a pretty thought...?)
I should be creating... but I have nothing create. Nothing to build upon, nothing to put to motion or send me into motion... I appear to be void of some sort of life force; fundamental unit of strength that puts crude, flickering, soul thoughts to concrete ideas to actions, movement, (energy inwards --> out)
But what is the fuel that powers this transformation; that enables production & expression & action (etc.)? Hope; a certain degree of self-esteem; a certain degree of energy (but what does energy arise from? Hope and self-esteem?); a certain degree of involvement in the "public" world (but doesn't that arise from all three aforementioned elements)? Or perhaps the fuel is simply rooted and mystically shrouded in an essential part of Simply Being Alive. If so, then what nasty force halts such natural-born drive? Certaintly from inward; almost certaintly sadness, decked out in one of it's many tragic disguises.
Sure, the fact that I was born to circumstances largely uncommon to the sorts of lives (& lifestyles) I'd consider desirable or great certaintly does something to discourage obtaining something in/for/with myself that I'd consider desirable, but the real fault comes from within, from the lack of conviction and self-confidence. It lies within whatever seperates me from people able to be the first of a kind; to define their own way; to venture into uncharted teratory... which is where the real achievement lies, anyhow; in breaking down the barriers and finding out what's beyond, and revealing what's beyond.
Do girls have a natural tendency towards selling themselves short? Am I even "selling myself short"? Or did myself sell me short a long time ago? Or is there nothing to sell?
"Old unhappy far-off things, and battles long ago."
Kosova4Life · Fri Nov 03, 2006 @ 05:50pm · 0 Comments |
|
|
|
|
When we have eachother, we have everything |
|
|
|
|
|
|
How do you describe the indescribable?
If man made words to express such sensations, lord knows I haven't heard them.
We are nothing that anybody knows; we are nothing like anybody would ever think. We are a secret to the world. Waking up in your arms is more peace than I have nearly ever felt. Sometimes just looking in your eyes means the world and more to me. I love you.
(I am burnt out yet ever-changing)
Kosova4Life · Sun Oct 22, 2006 @ 11:18pm · 1 Comments |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Forwards & backwards & forwards & backwards… fold & re-gather… dissolve into the mind… dissolve into dawn…
Everything is and is not as it should be. There is no light at the end of the tunnel, and there is no tunnel. There is balance. There is necessity. There are moments when all the pieces come together, and when all the pieces scatter apart. There are moments when we fall together and fall apart, and fall back into place again, and glimpse the sun again, and fall apart again, and crawl out of the darkness again, and feel our hearts love again, and feel our hearts break again, and fail again and succeed again and fail again and succeed again, and grow and change and move onwards and upwards and forwards and backwards…
Just believe in the mystery and illogical logic of the universe. It knows more than you. It's older and wiser than you. It's all you have.
Kosova4Life · Thu Oct 19, 2006 @ 11:10am · 2 Comments |
|
|
|
|
|