hello, (again,)

Treat yourself

Four parrots lost in a field of green

“Hey I’ve missed you”

I woke up to your message, XXX-XXX-4273. I thought about replying but the thought seemed silly after a cup of coffee refreshed my mind. I don’t know who you are anymore. The sender is not in your contact list. I appreciate the kind intention. Unfortunately, I’m not sorry that I don’t want to inform you that your message was undeliverable. The person you miss has moved on. I do admit the curiosity almost provoked a response from me. I wondered for just a moment what made you think of me at 9:21 PM. What memory made you send a text, did it require courage to send, and what voice was the text sent in? Was it: “Hey I’ve missed you,” said the sad ex-lover or “Hey I’ve missed you,” said the nostalgic old friend? Regardless of which, it doesn’t matter.

Sometimes, when I don’t feel like blogging but feel like I should post something to maintain a presence, I look through my notebook or picture folder for anything that I can just post quickly and throwaway. These pictures have been demoted today. I usually always have a plan for my pictures too. With these, I wanted to write a short fantasy dialogue, just two characters conversing to pass the time. Maybe they’d be complaining about watch duty, or maybe I would’ve thrown in talk of a rampant dragon that’s been seen around town; nothing major, just a glimpse of the life. 

Occasionally, I don’t have a plan and just wing it, like I’m doing now. I need to post so I post. More often than not, though, I pair words from my notebook to a picture in my folder. They weren’t created for the same purpose nor do they necessarily go together. It’s juxtaposition that I do for myself and that I find refreshing. It creates perspective and allows me to recognize patterns. 

Across the times of man one thing was always constant: rage. Rage found its way across the land and polluted even the most innocent of souls. You couldn’t escape rage because rage was what was inside of you. It lingered like the worst memory you couldn’t forget, eating away at your core until there was nothing but fire left. I say this because today I am the one filled with rage. I feel its poison seizing my mind at this very moment. It’s impossible to let go. I feel it squeezing my brain like the worst migraine but worst for no medicine can cure me of this pain, this rage. 

Hope emerges from the most unexpected locations.

Life is only a dream, isn’t it?

In my dream, she struggled to write the perfect song.

Sometimes I don’t know how to handle my blog. I’m often torn on whether I should be writing to create a post, or if I should be writing for myself. Often, I’m writing for myself and as a result that makes me neglect my blog. Most times what I write doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. Most times I write just because I enjoy the act of doing so. So when I don’t post for days or weeks on end, more than likely, it’s because I’m holed up writing with a pen.

But back to my dream real quick. I had the saddest dream the other night. Basically, I was with a girl and she was trying to write a song. She started to sing aloud as a brainstorm method and began to sing the most sweetest song I’d ever heard. I congratulated her on creating a foundation for what was surely going to become a unique song, but I noticed that she wasn’t writing it down. It was so sad, and it gave me pain. She was extremely talented but failed to properly harvest her talents; and that sort of got me thinking about what it means to be an artist. 

I still occasionally think back to some cliche speech I got while I was in school about percentages, talent, and hard work. You’ve probably heard it too. It’s kind of depressing to know that it’s true. Inspiration shouldn’t hit you like lightning every once in a blue moon. You shouldn’t wait for it to strike. You have to harvest it, consume and adapt. 

A slice of pizza astonished me. It was an ordinary slice too. Plain, with just the right amount of crunch to the crust and a shape like a diamond on the bottom where the crease of the fold was. It didn’t taste any different than the slice before it and it wasn’t more visually appealing than the slice to come after it. It was an ordinary slice. The astonishment came to me during the fourth or fifth bite.

I pulled cheese from cheese with elegance, like an accordion player performing for a couple. As I pulled away I caught sight of a boy and a horse. When I looked more closely there was no boy, only a horse. I stared at the horse perplexed. The slice of pizza was still hanging from my right hand pointing downward. If I was looking at the slice I would’ve thought that it resembled a stalactite with its jagged edge and grease dripping from the tips as if it was water. But I wasn’t looking at the slice, I was staring at the horse. Why did I see a boy when there was only a horse? Then it occurred to me that I was once a boy and this was once my horse.

November 13, 2010 / 9:50PM // iPhone 3G

Sour as the day, will these nightmares go? I can only pray

Life can be so vivid and divine. Bloodshot eyes, liquor in the system; there is no rewind

There never is a sequential plan, embrace these moments and take what you can

Maybe you’ll want to forget but choose wisely so there isn’t regret

These pages form a story. Do your best to not make it boring

Paces taken too fast; will these social memories even last?

Everything feels so right except the truth