We were trying to get there so we were there, and nothing was found. No wind. No noise. Nothing to smell and nothing to see. The digging for- found absence. Even the worms were away, also looking; for us to be found with thoughts free enough to live again.
-M. Taggart
Yes, they see you, and the trees also bend while justice plays tricks on us all; and the closed eyes linger a little longer, smelling the darkness and seeing the nothing while ears play songs the wind knows, and the wind knows
how longer will stretch longest- A note from memory plays backward. Fly away. It said. So it came again.
-M. Taggart
Saw a thought today. Leaked over the air. Funny about how it wanted to go away so it went away and funny about how it was gone. This is the end It said. And this was its end.
-M. Taggart
I like to look at the sky without a voice in my ear. A simple thing, fingers on wood, a thing in a word, while an eye watches a few others. It’s nothing that needs to be remembered, other than the memory itself, and the one who took hold of creation. Isn’t it nice when you sit on a step, alone, at night, and see whatever is given without judgement.
-M. Taggart
I originally wrote this on 2/27/20 and find it rather fitting to post it again. Somehow the words are more true, for me, than one year ago. I published this just before my book signing last year, which was an incredibly fun time. And then, our country was shut down. It’s time for another book signing.
Have fun today,
Matt
‘You can force calm in the eyes of hatred, if you’ve been there before.’ He stomped through the mud, listening to the moist sounds, his boots covered in layers of love. “And what’s the about?” asked the tree with the misshaped mouth. ‘Nothing.’ “And why were you there?” ‘I don’t know, but I’m ready for when I am again,’ and the stomping continued and the mud said nothing.
-M. Taggart
On the Sevens I look. Often, they look back. Sometimes when I’m driving I’ll catch a few of them waiting to be seen. And when they are, they are seen forever as a reminder; much like the reminder in the wind. Sometimes silent, the spirit is like that. So we watch the wind and how the movement of leaves push thought into a tangible something. It could even be a footprint. The one closest to the leaf that just landed and the traveling to the leaf brought a self to a new moment; when the clearing of the mind was set free. Pick up the leaf.
-M. Taggart
I dislike fear mongering
Hate tactics
Manipulation
The cover of the Narcissistic wings spreads far, so far indeed, that the puppets aren’t aware
of their distasteful puppeteering, only that they’ve claimed salvation to the world.
-M. Taggart
Held back massively in 2020. Be prepared. I plan to post as often as I feel on this blog in 2021. However, and whenever I like. I posted 120 less times in 2020 than in 2019. This blog is the reason I’ve been published. This blog was, and is, my outlet. This blog helps carry my soul on stairs most wouldn’t care to walk on. Had a baseball bat swung at my head through my car window, glass everywhere, spit it out onto the pavement; watched the largest moon I’ve ever seen near a wide and deep river, where years before, Hell was shown to me, in front of accidental viewers: how can anyone steep in such lowness and enjoy their lust. Maybe a walk down memory lane will help clear the view. Maybe I’ll drive to the very spot, drag a few with me, and see what’s to see. The moon walks on land when we let it. Saw a dark sky asking for a view the other night.
-M. Taggart
A crow can ponder, they say, in their minds. So what’s that tell me about a butterfly. As ash floats from my mouth. A premonition walks alone until found.
-M. Taggart
