#mindlessmumblescreations

Folk Song; Brief Encounters Untitled Album

you know just what they say, about absence and the heart, so i cant stay here much longer, though i would like to. ~

https://soundcloud.com/briefencounters/stony-man-trails

Stony Man Trails - Brief Encounters 2014

if my body were a temple, you were a god. i found myself at eye level of beasts as you grew upwards above us; we look up like dogs at the feet of neglect. 

when will you see me? when will you stop stepping on the hands that laid your throne? after all, immortality is best traveled by word of mouth. no one knows how a name sours there. no one knows how the sweet will branch outward, while the other tones can manifest below them. 

a rival of my sugar is my salt.

a rival of neglect is compassion. 

a rival of compassion is hope. 

perhaps this is slander, and i build you a place of banishment and ivory towers. when birds sing, it echoes and you lose sleep. when dogs cry, we mourn for our youth. if the moon cries, we can bathe in her blush. 

this 

is 

a

nice  

view

and i know how it grows over.

i know how a fertile soil is pillaged to be returned to the mother anew. every turn of the soil could be a new vine to overgrow us. every moment passes and reveals some bigger picture; can you see it through the trees?

this 

is 

a 

nice 

view

and i’m afraid

I find myself in constant conversation.

tiny birdcages and glass terrariums make much better acoustics

than all of the vastness of the void.

maybe if you shout louder, someone will reach out to you.

- maybe there’s a progression from top to bottom, rather than horizontally, 

and this telephone game is one plane

(i kinda like the idea of being parallel, anyway.)

you read her, openly, at a podium.

you read her, quietly on the floor.

in a while now, things are going to be different.

tiny remarks only leave dashes on skin

and ‘x’ marks to

the post it note 

on her bedside, it says, “i’ll make love to you 

at 5 o’clock. if i’m late,

start without me.”

read me, openly, with your motions.

read me softly, with your tongue.

she’s not even back yet and it’s five o’clock 

and i’ve already started.

(thank god i found my independence!)

there are scars here that will heal over,

She stares at me above my computer screen. 

60 pounds of palm-beach colored tan, and pitbull muscle. 

mad because i am not playing with or looking directly at her.

she is entranced in this moment, and another she is lost.

affection is just a lack of the sensing of time, i think.

if you ignore it long enough, it sort of goes away.

yesterday, when i asked about you, jane said, 

“i dont really see her much,”

and I replied, “i never did either”.

the fog between us is no longer abstract.

in fact, reality is just a veil i adopt to make other people comfortable.

sometimes i read my tarot and i make these really rash decisions

and i like to center myself and hold various rocks

and i like to pretend the universe doesnt seem smaller when certain lips

speak my name

(acts as if it somehow leeches power via ownership

of a vessel

(now my name is an parasite, and no one wants it.

you’d think i’d do this to myself?))

i try not to read the studies that say everything is dying

and i try not to make a fuss when i cut my hands 

the fifth time this week. I read the stars and ‘i say, i know, stop telling me so’

and I like to pretend I dont always know what’s coming

Coming from a place of growth is a strange place to come from, because it is a place with tectonics constantly shifting at foundations you thought were permanent. 

Recently, I’ve had some turbulence in my mentality that led me to seek more from life than the concrete and physical. I want to live in a certain reality that is my own, and it’s been a rough transition to find the ground I’d hoped to stand on. What I have found in the week-or-so I’ve started this journey, is that I enjoy the melancholy I’ve spent all of my life trying to hide from. I have exact mental landmarks that act as gravestones for moments passed, and emotions coming to a peak, and I am tired of denying myself the initial cue. The reaction. I know there is a fire inside of me, and in order to help myself appear as a “calm and collected” human being, I have denied myself the heat. But there’s more to life than a flat-line calmness. There’s a mastery in knowing oneself, and the experience is cheapened by dullness, which is something I believe I had fallen into the rut of. This series of “rough” posts/recordings is a way of pushing me out of my comforts, and a way for me to enjoy an emotion I have been very close to my entire life. Melancholy. I believe this beast has reared it’s head more often as a way of telling me to keep going. I am alive. I am living proof that I will get through it, and I will take away something very beautiful in the end, regardless of the bumpy ride.