Don't read this.

No matter how things work out

I am perpetually dissatisfied.

The System

The system was breaking down. The one who had wandered alone past so many happenings and events began to feel, backing up along the primal vein that led to his center, the beginning of a hiccup that would, if left to gather, explode the center to the extremities of life, the suburbs through which one makes one’s way to where the country is.

At this time of life whatever being there is is doing a lot of listening, as though the feeling of the wind before it starts, and it slides down this anticipation of itself, already full-fledged, a lightening existence that has come into our own. The trees and the streets are there merely to divide it up, to prevent it from getting all over itself, from retreating into itself instead of logically unshuffling into this morning that had to be, of the day of temptation. It is with some playfulness that we actually sit down to the business of mastering the many pauses and the abrupt, sharp accretions of regular being in the clotted sphere of today’s activities. As though this were just any old day. Ther is no need for setting out, to advertise ones destination. All the facts are here and it remains only to use them in the right combinations, but that building will be the size of today, the rooms habitable and leading into on another in a lasting sequence, eternal and of the greatest timeliness.

-J.A.

Meditations in an Emergency

Now I am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.

The country is grey and
brown and white in trees,
snows and skies of laughter
always diminishing, less funny
not just darker, not just grey.

It may be the coldest day of
the year, what does he think of
that? I mean, what do I? And if I do,
perhaps I am myself again.

                                         -Frank O’Hara
 

I don’t know if this makes any sense.

Its strange to think about how much of our lives is programmed into our brains. Programmed reactions to a mundane stimulus. We can’t hold on to thoughts we don’t wanna lose, we can’t capitalize on feelings we’ll never get again, we can’t create out of fleeting creativity that our hearts provide. All of this would require to break away from the rote. We are drowning in the day to day. It is necesary to kindnap ourselves from ourselves and torture the life back in. We have to hold our selves captive until they call off the search and we can start over with a new idendity. All of this is easy to say and hard to do. Maybe if we say it enough our words will transform into actions. God, I hope so.

“No, life cannot be understood flat on a page. It has to be lived; a person has to get out of his head, has to fall in love, has to memorize poems, has to jump off bridges into rivers, has to stand in an empty desert and whisper sonnets under his breath… We get one story, you and I, and one story alone. God has established the elements, the setting and the climax and resolution. It would be a crime not to venture out, wouldn’t it?” —Donald Miller

I want

I want to do something meaningful with my life.

I want live with out the comfort of home

I want to see the world

I want to be on stage and not in the crowd.

I want to stop talking about and start doing it.

BrokenDreamcatchers: Unsaid