Pull back black elastic and creak open this forgotten Moleskine. Old revelations and acid-induced trails traced on thick browned paper, not so familiar. Excavation of caves of thought and heart, left tentatively in the Trash folder, yet to be emptied. I remember writing, “If you always assume that you are moving too fast, and moving tooooo fast causes loss, than always remember while you assume and never lose.” All lowercase letters, slightly italicied, pen ablaze with synaptic dances and a feeling like I figured a puzzle in a unique way.
There are themes we play on that are a part of our soul’s anatomy, they ain’t going no where. Hold fast to things that seem important, avoid destroying a good thing in reaction to the harsh realities. Preserve the best we can, it’s imperative, though the “point” is relative to our fear of the closing bell. I’ve got boxes and notebooks and piles to disseminate whenever I can break away from these time-sensitive engagements and Facebook messenger team management. Goddamnit. I may have a 750 score, years off the bottle, better sex, more followers and all happiness signifiers popping off, but I’m just biding time and building things before I attack the ‘skine with sharp swipes of the mental blade, filling pages that way I once did after takeoff on airplanes, on the eternal Commonwealth avenue, in a lover’s passenger seat, in duress and in need of teary relief.
The psyche is a continuous film reel, spliced with single cell memories that we sometimes question or chase down, but often are oblivious to. These sephia cells, dusty and stark, are what I work to dredge up and examine for research and exegesis. Sorry boss, sorry darlin’, sorry dad, you’ll have to excuse my absence, I’m busy shaking down the past for change and philosophy.
In one day a man could lose a fight.
In one day a man could die.
In one day a man could make love to a woman.
In one day a man could pick up his sword.
In one day a man could grow up.
In two days a man could pick a fight.
In two days a man could be so empty, dying wouldn’t help.
In two days a man could make love to another.
In two days a man could pick up his pen.
In two days a man could grow old.
In three days a man could hold his own.
In three days a man could alleviate his pain.
In three days a man could never love another woman.
In three days a man could follow his heart.
In three days a man could grow wise.
I see the way when I close my eyes.
That red, blue, and green starry sky.
A search for life’s bounty and the headwaters of grace.
I see the way when I think of death.
The billowing, the covering of it.
As it pours from Fate’s flame.
I see the way when we ride.
In and out, near and far, the right lane.
The right path on another fossil fuel journey.
I see the way when your eyes tear up.
The wetness, from all the mess they left us.
And in the involuntary way your face contracts.
I see the way right here playing loud.
The same way generations were defined.
The way vibrations can impact the soul.
I see the way but never expected to see it.
The direction that changed. The change of change.
And now that I know, I always will.
I see the way in a crowded club, the nexus between.
How she swings that backside to side to side.
And how a Suit and a Addict can dance the same dance.
I see the way outside just yesterday.
The constant movement, the rush.
I see it then, next week, tomorrow, and today.
I see it this way.
Some people are so ashamed.
Others are so damn mad.
Some people are sane.
Others just got it bad.
Some people cry and weep.
Others play it safe.
Some people take a leap
Others live as fakes.
Some people play music.
Others shoot craps.
Some people use it or lose it.
Others never remember to wrap.
Some people are here.
Others never were.
Some people fear.
Others got the nerve.
I see it that way.
I’m left. Always beaten but constantly winning,
The aches of other souls burn my muscles
And I’ll take it wholeheartedly. North, South
East, and West. I leave myself behind anywhere
I go, a monument of weak might.
I destroy “do not enter” signs.
I bring the subjective truth.
I make the zebra change his stripes.
I make the zebra change back.
I pulsate concern into silent rhythms.
I mimic righteous ones.
I mirror the hypocrite.
I sweep your strikes under the rug.
I furnish my defeat by becoming mute.
My smile weighs negative.
Your smile is the balance point.
I got the green, living blues.
I leave it up to you.
I haven’t shed a tear against me.
I got the right down, but am wrong.
So I reached and found.
So I’ve got it now.
So what, if there’s conflict.
So we have to spill our contents.
So leave the fridge open.
So go back to what was left years behind.
So eliminate quiet frowns.
So we add the L to the OVE.
So I’m not lonely together.
So a snowmelt’s snow isn’t forgotten.
So we sing the fuck out.
So to hell with falsehood.
So this helping hand grasps.
So your flats and sharps both are tuned.
So the ol’ favorites get played.
So this electricity stored, shocks.
I’m left. Ready now, Red Bull and kush
Willing. I won’t wear socks to bed tonight,
I could collapse from this revelation dose.
My head will no longer hang low, though
I must keep it up. The Lionhearted would
Not stay mum. Must have been the fear.