No-hope Tuesdays have become my favourite
as i fall deeper into a sense of helplessness of a blissful kind
a dull,full moment of acceptance.
And many empty ones of grief.
the bar is falling lower everyday
spirits down swimming in the depths of the
depressions in the ocean floor of my soul
that's where my joy hides.
but i haven't seen her in a while.
they say she looked good on me
inside, she is, or so they say
so she must be.
I have seen her now and then,
with a child in a parking lot looking at a ladybug
or a mother monkey holding her babe.
But as the sighting becomes rare, my memory fades her into a misty low-light, pink light feeling.
I chant my name vehemently, fervently, but cannot resound it . is this how i was ? is this what my being was identified with? an arbitrary sound , that i perhaps share with half-a -thousand people ? it is slowly fading too.
I still make 3 cups of tea,
but i dont remember if i brushed yesterday.
had I always been so lonesome ?
i used to crave some time for myself, to be alone
to belong to no one , to be of no where. I loved the idea of solitude, a fortified, endless personal love for life.
Yet here I stand, hoping some of my ocean that has vapourised has fallen on someone's land. Unbeknownst, given life, perhaps to a thought or a smile. Somewhere, i have made a chance change in the ongoing momentum, it becomes a desperate desire.
Am i a quitter of human connection? am i quitter if i seek one?
There's something tempting about an abandoned house, the enigma or the livedness of it. Perhaps that's why i left this body to live in my head. perhaps thats why, now, I want to return home. Abandon to revisit and live to abandon. there is no where to go but here.