Climbing through the window into WordPress House is like coming home. I don’t come through the door because that’s too easy. Over half the houses have video ring doorbells and get visual and it’s not like I don’t want to be seen.. it’s just if i can have the strength and power and wherewithall, to fit through a window now before i can’t, i really wise well should. Living afterall, while I can, is like living once. And then you were never here. Anyways. cool to pop my head in every once and while. It feels like the feng shway of this place never gets old. And that’s one of the things that keep me young.
You cant keep blocking or ignoring the feelings. They can swim. You cant drown them with alcoholic ice or drugs. Numbing them doesn’t make them flee forever. You will always come back to them in some way or another if you don’t properly work through them, with them. Your freedom-to live happier, is worth it.
How many wrong roads have I taken ?
How many have been right?
Why do I feel they are mostly wrong,
when I know i am where i am supposed to be?
Am i not convinced
or am i just uncomfortable sitting so fragile?
I think about you everyday. I miss you. I think about the what have I dones and the whys and why didn’t I and how could I and what was I thinking and in all of this, making some rational sense because sense without rational is like the national anthem without pride.
oh Life, I don’t want to disappoint you anymore.
If I broke the bubbles in the bath with a sledgehammer , I thought myself a murderer.
When I break my own heart, I feel like a loser in the gutters of East Toronto.
What is the difference between smashing up other peoples lives
instead of your own?
What makes guilt fight conscience?
What makes you live so poorly
so intentionally unpotentially?
You know there is more out there for you
then sucking bubbles down your throat trying to drown your sorrows,
as if air could do that anyways.
Being stuck for years doesn’t have to mean death.
I think it is the feeling of being mentally stuck
that keeps us the stuck for the longest
the most deadly of all stucks.
We get these bursts of living every now and then
and surge forward with them
and then are surprised when we trip over a log in the middle of a cement parking lot.
Expect and equip.
You have it in you.
Like cat or baby
sitting on our lap,
and how often we have to pee
or grab the kettle
but we share that moment with our heart and our head
and we sit still.
We don’t get up
because to disturb the beauty
would be oh so unsatisfying.
Shall I fall apart, away or inwards?
Shall I grow bigger in my demise, or take seven steps out and start, yet again?
Oh the people that have death, would they envy us? Watch us live so shallow? If only we could die for awhile, just so that we could live again, like we should.
How come some people live like that, without having needed to be dead?
Maybe they come from stellar parts of the universe.
do you ever feel crazy?
Like you’re a living condition
of clear and of dizzy?
You’re that walking Motherboard
of all your own thoughts and service
and that you aren’t always living
with what you’d call purpose.
Drifting in the luxuries of ignorance and time
a royal game of powder glam
and you’re just in the corner
making strawberry jam.
You’ll feel scared but you won’t express it. Because you haven’t thought it over to understand why you’re scared.
And when you figure out why,
you won’t express it
because now you have figured it out
you are not scared.