To Be Known

Solace and Explanation

i recall when speaking was easy
arbitrary
like driving a spike into the trunk of a tree
tasting the sap, drop by drop
until i understood the essence of you

i remember taking a glance
accidentally
not to discern facts, but to experience your eyes
falling in, then becoming immersed
until i swam in the thought of you

i can imagine your breadth
simultaneously
in the manner of a circle
enveloping, and being enveloped
until i find solace through you

image credit:  “Solace and Explanation” by slayryder

 

Found You With My Eyes Closed

FlyingPeople

It’s been so long.

Peering cautiously out of one barely opened eye, my mind harkens back to those old dreams of flight.  I recall the strange sensation — it was more like floating in zero gravity after springing nimbly into the air, than actually flying.  This time was similar.  Only instead of rising up exuberantly, then floating tranquilly, this feeling was one of leaping from one thing to another.  That’s me, a rehabilitated Tarzan swinging from tapestry to tapestry in some huge library in my head.  Momentum was again my friend but now gravity was an unspoken nemesis I had to respect in order to soar through the air the way I loved to.

Again I recognize the importance of staying in the middle.  Not so much in the sense of balance or moderation, as is usually the case, but for the crucial sake of survival.  This is new.  This instinctual restraint is not inborn, but the result of knowing firsthand what happens.  If you let the joy of the magic take you too high too fast, the magic consumes you.  And now there’s the new knowledge of the opposite extreme.  Flying low, slowly and apathetically, is safe.  But there’s the gradual descent that inevitably follows.  I had taken it too far, this fear of burning up in the sun.  For too long I had dutifully meandered the earth like a good human, bent on mediocrity and the general consensus.

But that’s not real, anymore than television is.  And it certainly does not satisfy, the way a well-oiled meal enjoyed in the company of good friends would.  Most importantly, it’s not life-sustaining.  Moving through the air and practicing physics in a dream-state is the cure, and I drink up the experience much like I would down a gulp of water offered up by a mystical cactus in the sweltering heat of the desert.

I breathe.  Hope still lives.

Phoenix Poem

Phoenix

golden plumes arching
touching  only the wind
your freedom captivates

like liquid warmth in the shape of a bird
one enchanted feather could keep me alive forever

with no net to catch you
and no will to cage you
only my gaze is satisfied

the distance between the earth and the air
keeps me catching my breath

i won’t bring the phoenix down
i won’t take the brilliance from the sky
i’ll keep on admiring you
but from the corner of my eye

Phoenix Nebula

Angry Ghost Poem

Inkblot03

it’s hard to take this and grin and bear
the frustration i feel is beyond compare
a case of misconception, are you not who i thought you were?
caught up in a reflection, was i in love with a blur
i hate to say that my ideal was just a dream
i hate to say that you’re not what you seem

my words get twisted, there’s no outlet for vengeance
one day i’ll see a Fury, revenge instead of remembrance
that’s a sad fate for any vessel to accept
i’d rather take my chances, and dodge the doubt that has crept

slowly but surely, like a tortoise are these thoughts
they wind their way through my mind, little vats of poison waiting in pots
i dread the day they become overfilled
because i know that’s when my anger will be spilled
in the meantime they sit, smoky and steaming
the me inside me is silently screaming

so i let this venom take shape on this paper
these thoughts and these words disappear in a vapor
i’m left with the serenity i was granted at birth
but still i’m drained of joy, living a life without mirth

i could say that i’ve only let myself down
i jumped in high water and i wonder why i drown
my hopes were unreal?  no, i don’t believe this
i can’t shake this feeling that something’s amiss
too many voices, clouding my decisions
i have faith in no man, only in my visions
i know for sure things won’t be this way forever
i’ll stand up straight, alone but together

i’m searching for release, let these dramas fall away
the roles that i’m playing just won’t heel and stay
the show keeps on and on, and I’m beginning to get tired
there’s quicksand at my feet and I’m hopelessly mired
so while i’m stuck and sinking, i’ll take a moment to think
how can i take this bullsh*t when i feel i’m on the brink
there’s a door in front of me, one I’ve never seen before
i can almost reach the handle, i’m almost at the core
i recall the outer layers, where i’m a slave to human habit
in the forest out there, i’m nothing but a rabbit
but the further i go in, the more clearly i see
that those games of who-rules-who, are all in essence “me”

destroy your weaker selves?  seems like a simple solution
but what are the repercussions of this psychic pollution
strength to overpower others is not strength when you really look
strength is flowing on, despite the rocks, with the wisdom of a brook
the aim of this endeavor is to achieve continuous motion
wave and trough through your existence, know the persistence of the ocean
the ripples on it’s smooth face can be caused by one small action
be aware of what you do, know there will be a reaction

Expression is a Function of Being

For someone who once aspired to be a writer, I don’t write very often anymore.  Normally I have really good excuses.  By “really good excuses” I mean the same excuses most writers or artists tell themselves when they’re not following their inner inclinations to express themselves.  Not having enough time is a common one.  Taking a break from writing is another.  Working on another project certainly sounds like a legitimate excuse.  There isn’t actually anything wrong with the excuses I’ve just named off, with one exception — when these excuses are a cloak for a different excuse entirely.  I’m talking about that nefarious Doubt that lives somewhere, if only for a moment, in each human’s mind, that delights in disguising itself as facts and realities.  You know the one.  It tells you all the reasons why you can’t possibly write, and how, if you did, it wouldn’t be that great, or how there wouldn’t be any point.  It’s this Doubt that I’d like to uncloak and banish.  For myself and for other writers out there, it’s essential that this Doubt be downgraded to a mere passing thought and be relieved of it’s duty as Commander of your creative impulses.

Part of what makes us unique is that we each have a different viewpoint — each terrible and beautiful experience we’ve lived is a facet of our being that, when used as a filter for the universal energy that flows through us all, paints a particular picture that no one else can replicate.  Authentically expressing that energy is part of why we exist.  The other reason is so that we can affect one another with our energy.  In light of that, why should we not express ourselves?  Laziness, lack of motivation, or shyness are no longer valid excuses.  Instead, we’re charged with a higher purpose.  Yes, you are as well.  In my opinion, it’s this:  Exist to the fullest, be the best you that you can, and share your life/love/story with the people around you.

Random Thoughts

First…

There’s an inner landscape, and then there’s reality.  For some, reality is a pale ghost of what the inner landscape contains.  We’re known by our expressions, both facial and verbal.  Yet the content of one’s inner world is something that can’t be shared in simple conversation.  It’s a depth that must be plumbed alone, and often the only understanding that you’ll find is through relation to art.  That’s why it’s important for those of us who are reticent about the real world, yet teeming with inner life, to find a medium through which to actually live.  Because if we go through life without finding this, in some ways it’s as though we never lived at all.  The ideals and longings and adventures inside of us are a large part of our identity — to carry on in a fashion that is too stoic or reserved means to live and die having only been known as an Everyman.

It’s impossible to show the deconstruction, and gradual reconstruction of a persona, when the moment of change itself is unfathomable.  It comes like a tornado and obliterates everything into millions of pieces.  It’s followed by a period of shock.  Then, after some reflection, what once was is recognizable only by the rubble that remains.

Later…

Is that what happens to people when they lose their way…?  First you wander around aimlessly.  It seems all for naught until you find that box, filled with your precious memories.  One by one, you look through each piece, dusting it off and examining it.  They’re broken fragments of dreams, and jagged pieces of what you were once becoming.  If you’re really, really, lost – I think it’s OK to pick them up and try to reassemble them.  I think it’s OK to pretend for a little while, that putting all those pieces together will make you back into the person you once were.

But don’t fall in love.  Never, never fall in love with that person you miss, the one that used to be called “me.”  The past is a snare that will try it’s very best to take you away from Here and Now.  It will try to ruin the future you; the one you are becoming now.

First Post

I love games.

Over the years, I’ve collected a ton of screenshots from a variety of different games.  With so many, it’s hard to find a single place to post them all.  After checking out a few other options, I finally decided to create a blog dedicated to game screenshots.  It may seem silly but it’s my way of sharing memories of the fun I had playing, and of the friends I’ve made.