“I thought all the time about the doing of it until I did the doing of it and now I have nothing left to think about.” The boy stepped on the ant. There will be more, he thought. The sun was high and very hot. It looked as though it had burned into the most brilliant light that it was no longer the sun, but a version of light that he could walk into. Not a furnace flowering at all. Now that he found a new thought to think about he wanted the ant back because he was feeling the loss of it and realized he had taken it away from seeing the not sun.
Thank you tomorrow. I’ve seen you today. Scraping noise with knuckles when things were what they weren’t. Don’t again Ask that we don’t say and speak what we do. Otherwise everything becomes all mixed up. So let’s just let’s say that we’ve, the both of us, come from the same time and will again. And again. And until then. We’ll watch all of the leaves fall.
Listening to the rain. I’m home. The sands of time can go fuck themselves. Each of them. Home wasn’t always a thing I knew. Home was a faint whisper about Honesty and relief. Home was a deepening hole begging you to never tell. Never tell. As hushed mushroom grew in the shower. A blistering mouth spewed throbbing beginnings. – Listening to the rain it’s hard not to love. Now that I am home. And I am home.
To break the world. Sit on your ass some more and tell the world how to be. Spit on a man’s future the day he steps out of jail. People look for death when told to. And the music still fucking goes on. And when you fucking die you’re just as dead as all of them and none of them knew you and none of them ever cared to know you. So just sit on that fucking chair and spew your greatness.
I need books to destroy myself and come back again. The boy walked along the brook. Trees were there. Wanting to know about books. His book held his hand and didn’t think at all. Aren’t we nicely composed and nicely alive enough to slice ourselves a thought or more. The boy wished he knew who could be a thought. Could I be a thought? It’s nice walking with brooks.
We looked in the mirror to rest now. Without you there would be no us. A nine year old held still, silently wishing. Scraping memory. It’s not living in the past when a trigger forces you live the past now. A hollowed tree bore resemblance to a face we once knew. The tree was dead now.
I shattered my favorite mirror so I could have thousands of lives. Life is. A switchback. A laughing mirror. Happy Birthday mirror. Seconds count even when unseen. Curtains finally pulled back; exhaling fulfillment, expanding best thoughts even under distress, stopping only when I’ve given permission to have stopped. I’ll never be done.
Writing is a lot like listening to yourself. But sometimes I write a sentence, remove my mind, and proceed to reconnoiter what it is I’ve just done. I made a tragic mistake of it all. But of course it’s not the mistake that made me. I made the mistake. Fix the mistake.
The boy climbed out of his window and onto the large tree and quickly made his way to the ground. He ran to the woods. He needed to sit on his rock overlooking the river. He pushed his small frame as hard and fast as it could carry him. The words were rimming in circles within his mind and now gathering pace toward the tip of his tongue. Not yet. Not yet! You will only speak them first once. Finally, his rock in view, an overwhelming feeling of joy perched in his chest; he reached the top of his rock and lay on his back to catch his breath. Sitting up, viewing the river, he spoke the words which were brimming in circles within his mind and pushing their way to the tip of his tongue- No one had given these words to him and he had never heard anything like them. He opened his mouth, ready to watch them fly, “Can memories live beyond thought?” The tiny hairs stood on his arms. A leaf fluttered slightly more north from the smallest push of air. The leaf landed nearly silently into the river. Having changed the world.
I’ll see you when you remember me- the boy thought- Be a mindless boy- be a mindless boy. A leaf landed in the pond. The pond rippled. The boy in the water wavered. The boy outside the water tilted his head, ‘but they said only true words hurt.’ He then reached toward the rippling face of himself with intent to disturb.