Reflections in the liquefactious layer of your eyes are something like a salty convex mirror of unshed tears...



My memories are sometimes like a short horse ride on a rough horse through thick bramble.
Nostrils distended, ears pinned back, sweat in a lather on the neck, the horse neighing and rearing up on its hind legs...

Tis a strange ride...


The space between, physical and temporal and emotional, provides no final answer, just a hollowness of silent echoes.


There are some things I don't even try to remember and wonder if someday I should,
or if all really is for nothing then why not remember nothing.

Then Nothing will reciprocate.... ..Nothing will mediate. Absolutely Nothing.

Where do those abandoned memories go, anyway?
They just lurk there below the surface to haunt and taunt....

I have been looking for questions instead of answers.
All the answers are the same as they have always been.
If all we believe is death then all we do is die.

The rest is vanity, and what does it profit? What shall it, O Prophet??

Magical dreams of love

Eyes closed and we sounded like the ocean, some big wave rolling in to churn the smooth pebbles.

It swelled and receded, swelled and receded, swelled and swelled and swelled and we moved together,

Finally it shattered with a ragged breath into particulates expanding out into the atmosphere.

We both felt that.

Surely such energy is not all lost to entropy.

Insomniac Fantasies..

I suffer from deep insomnia.

The kind of sleeplessness which is beyond frustration and tossing, the loose limbed helplessness in bed, a sprawled devastation of caffeine : the sense of sheer and utter sensitivity to one's mind: the isolation of both memory and thought as organic, living processes which flutter and flicker in the insomniac night behind our still open eyelids like old movies; pale shadows on screens of skin


And as the day dawns you slip into a daze of half sleep, half wakefulness.. The thin boundary distinguishing the real & the unreal, prevaded by dreams.

The sense in the limbo of a dream, the half-alive REM flutter of one's motor-nervous response to dream stimuli.

The sense that the fleeting touch of a cool and dry female hand on one's cheek received from a woman long forgotten but reasserted and dredged from muscular - perhaps some core of emotional and sensual knowledge embedded as flesh not thought - recollection, is more alive and real than anything we experience in the waking world.

After a while you grow to love such a state of existence, when the sleep maiden has spurned you countless times, you find solace in such a state....

Night Watch

At midnight I lay on my back in the clover on the slightly bedewed grass and looked at the indigo sky with wispy high clouds and the stars and planets and wondered:

Why do people stop doing the things they loved to do as kids?

Why do we stop looking at the full spectrum of our conscious perceptions, the infinitesimal and the infinite.?


I hope I'm never too old to watch bugs, or ants marching or a spider busy weaving its web….
or lie with the spinning earth beneath my back while watching the heavens where they put on a celestial show just for me to behold and gasp in wonder at the beauty of it all.

When the trees undress and stand slumbering, their leaves blanketing the earth beneath them.

When mist rises wispy and delicate from the dark wet ground,

When the summer flowers have all faded to the color of straw, then

I know stillness.

Tagged

So have been tagged by Fingers *yet again* so I will try and do justice to this post.

8 things about what my Ideal Partner should be like.

Should be female belonging to the gens humana

1. Should be a fellow insommniac. And able to make do with whatever little sleep which we get.
2. Should Float like a feather and sting like a bee
3. Should have a wicked outlook to Life, Universe & Everything Ever After...
4. Should me able to live with me & my eccentricites.
5. Should shower every day & greet me when I come home long and tierd wearing these
6. Should be compassionate to my dogs and other animals and kids. Should be well read, verbose and possessed of a quick wit.....
7. Should be a merry old soul & believe in Non -Violence which means even the thought of doing this should revolt her.
8. And yes before I forget.... should have a Cherubic Face.... and not be a drama queen which means no scenes like this

Words...

The words don't always come easily or quickly.

This dawn they are proving difficult.

The words fly away like the hundreds of blackbirds in the trees that were shaped like tall severe wine glasses, branches draped above the first home next to the slough. I didn't notice the birds until they flew away, such were their voices and such are words.

Small, chattering, and when they fly there is a great rush of tiny black wings and then deafening silence

I am listening...



Last night was an oddity, something from somewhere else, unfathomable. Faces looked hidden and dark with secrets or worries, privacy was violated, the waning moon troubled the world with long shadows.