Gordo

to have for me

the clouds and their grey

it could not defeat the leaves' green

she refused to listen to my words

I didn't put up a fight

neither of us were right

Did you recognize me? Have you noticed, behind the glasses, behind that person that used to be someone embodying the meaning of 'passive aggressive?

If only you could not take me for that child, I'd show you my change, my twist of the rope, how the poor excuse of grass and long concrete roads updated my systems. If only you saw my thoughts and how uncontrollable they were, and that I only had the right words after the conversation had ended.

Maybe it was transmitter, our link between our words. Maybe you got the wrong message form me and vice versa. Maybe it was his fault. I believe it to be.

I wish for you to listen. I hear my words and do with them what you choose.

Allow myself to wallow in filth

Do not censor portions of my vision

Part these curtains and steal away the unknown

Reveal its identity

the days grow longer, yet that clock spinning faster than a bey blade. it’s my fault that it occurred.

It was then that book lit a cig,

State if the Union analysts from CNN. 0407. Thursday. Lounge area. That's where I was, tapping away. Cautiously. Much pause in between words. I felt weak for the first time in a while. Weak in my arms.

I'm finally going home. There was a two week hiatus just a month ago, but that wasn't enough. Time moved to fast. Everything went by in a blur and I wasted my time in the basement.

I want to run. To go far with my legs. To read. Finish all the books I have from beginning to end. My god I have many on my list and most are just to complete them. Or rather, to experience them.

Goodness who have I become.

For better?

without needs or the need of things, without wants or wanting things, I feel absent. I feel purposeless; mundane. I have work to do.

where do I start? what can I make progress toward? what? what is it? do you need me? do you desire me? speak up. I'm deaf to those who inspire.

I read, I write, I do many physical things. too much has already been lost. I got stuff that needs to be dealt with but I can’t do them here. I got to get back home.

yes, I have these books to read, but when I pick one up it turns blank, disinterested in my eyes, or maybe vice versa.

I wish to have the same hard work ethics as my father. to be able to keep going even when everything is falling apart. to be able to look at a problem, know that it is bullshit, yet still go through with it without having to be pushed or forced to do it.

I desire strength in many forms.

a sort of reflection when really this is a run on sentence with numerous pauses, often filled with self reflection and multiple hesitations and peculiar choice of words because I want to sound poetic, while simultaneously giving off an intelligent vibe. am I trying to be a hipster?

no not really. just sort of getting in that mindset where I want to write but I don't know what to right about so instead I do this. I write. I unconsciously and I write whatever the voice in my head says. I write to put something down, and I write to slaughter a couple minutes. now I think about the word “ slaughter”, how I used it to describe my degree of wasting my time. perhaps it was too much.

I think I want to study sociology, study this home we’ve created. learn about different societies. find out how people from this place interpret a specific gesture and how people from this other place interpret that same gesture, then try to find out why it is viewed so differently.

I've left some very important people behind. they had loosened their grip, accepting their fate and walking ahead, toward the edge of the horizon. I hadn't let go, my hands went for their wrists. they just stood there. standing in the road. I know it was my fault but I still wanted a chance, a possibility of fixing what I had brought crumbling to the ground. there was no way. I had to let go.

and I did.

all the fucking probates and make believe fairy tales; what the fuck is wrong with this image? what is it that causes disruption in the city's balance? skyscrapers the size of the empire state building, endless tunnels leading in and out the city, confetti and balloons rolling down the street, no end to the constant struggles that comes with being another citizen living in a city with no hopes of becoming a metropolis while at the same time not needing the unnecessary title.

with all these pointless conversations with all these pointless people; after a while you start to realize that hey they kind of matter. real shit people just want to stay fit or stay happy but really that shit's all given through hard work and suffering. at least, that's how the cliché goes.

sometimes I wonder why people watch people play games. sometimes I wonder why the fuck we have stupid conversations and waste our time when really we could do crazy shit instead of watching other people make and do and learn and anything everything.

I just want to drive. three in the morning down the highway. orange lights and black concrete. nothing but the radio or my phone. or maybe just silence

just silence.

wait.