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| Monday, July 26, 2004 |
| Fools' Gold |
| posted @ 04:10:00 MDT by bryn |
| Take those times that matter as if they do. Briefly present painted birds hopping from tree to tree, they are only with you for the moment that they are. Time treats all with consonant disdain and more so those plaintively grasping in vain at it's formlessness when it briefly offers a compassionate hand. You must see these fleeting instants like the few feet of road rolling past the headlights, constantly flowing from the dark ahead and catch them in time to truly behold them. I keep missing them, they're gone before I know it. A wealth of illusion and dreams is not worth having, and lost on sharing. |
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| Sunday, July 25, 2004 |
| Tentative Agreements and Doughnuts |
| posted @ 02:49:00 MDT by bryn |
| I know what you're thinking. You're all wrong. It's not what you think. It's hope for those of us that, well, hope. |
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| Saturday, July 24, 2004 |
| Definitions are Best Excluded |
| posted @ 02:47:00 MDT by bryn |
| There are a few, one or two, and a hopeful third: They care beyond the moment, the face value, the figurative in-hand presence. In some small way there is hope, there is someone, there is. For want there is no more soothing salve. A tunnel offers exit and a pit brings bottom. The gravity of a hand placed on yours and the lift you give back... The balance, the peace, the promise, the hope are the warm pink paint on the inside of your eyes when the sun climbs into your bedroom window. |
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| Sunday, July 18, 2004 |
| Being is not being without being. |
| posted @ 02:35:00 MDT by bryn |
| Do you remember those times that you found yourself naked, naked, tired, alive, breathing, open, soft, loving, wanting, kissing, pressing, facing, holding, naked, naked, and more naked? There was some hot summer afternoon, morning, night, evening - some time that you were staring into each other's eyes and suddenly (you didn't know whether to laugh, point it out, ignore it, or just bask in it) it wasn't two eyes that you were looking into but one, noses close, arms around, flesh pressed, no matter other than this. I have this dream that I can't let go of that is much like those moments. Maybe I'll tell you about it sometime. There's a big difference between pretty and beautiful. Beautiful starts on the inside. |
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| Saturday, July 17, 2004 |
| The Other The |
| posted @ 03:10:00 MDT by bryn |
| I am so not. |
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| Monday, July 12, 2004 |
| Knowing Time and Being |
| posted @ 02:36:00 MDT by bryn |
| I'm starting to see the twilight, watching the sun turn it's back and find someone's new day. As the warmth and light fade, a turning and twisting urgency emerges and I find myself looking for something to see before only shadow shares the world with memory and those captured moments lose their color and become only hinting, teasing phantoms calling - but always from another room, in fading voices. In the leaving light the colors are richer, deeper, and darker. Perhaps they only seem that way because all will eventually fade to black and be nothing. Moments are ever-passing one way doors and so many slam shut behind you before you even have the chance to behold them. With no warning the sun has set outside the window and a long night is your only assurance with no hint of tomorrow or even if it will be. So what do you do now? I'm thinking you roll the windows down, crank the radio, slam the pedal to the floor, aim for the sunset, and reach until your fingers are running through the clouds and your heart is pounding like thunder. Don't let it get away. |
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| Sunday, July 11, 2004 |
| It all boils in the same pot |
| posted @ 02:34:00 MDT by bryn |
| When is the last time someone put their arms around you and told you that they love you? Okay, let's leave off the love part... When is the last time someone put their arms around you and told you that they care about you? Okay, let's leave off the caring part... When is the last time someone put their arms around you? If you have an answer that ain't "ummmm..." you're living the dream. |
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| After All... |
| posted @ 02:23:00 MDT by bryn |
| Apparently it's not sexual harassment if he's "cute". |
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| Saturday, July 10, 2004 |
| Two - Not Just One |
| posted @ 02:32:00 MDT by bryn |
| Absolution only exists for those who did something wrong. For the rest there's nothing but reevaluation, reexamination, regret, and reality. I listened to a conversation tonight that I wish I never heard. Two seemingly beautiful girls were discussing the inadequacies of their respective significant others. Every single one of those inadequacies was about some kind of simplistic inequity. To sum it up: "I don't like that, therefore it is stupid." While it took the better part of about four hours to get it out, that was the residue remaining in the crucible. What happened to love? What happened to placing your hand in another and feeling an embracing warmth that could not be found in any other? Is there trust? Is there knowing? Is there a place that's safe and warm? Is hoping that someday the morning will bring a sunrise smile from just that one the lost paper wish of a falling star? |
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| Friday, July 9, 2004 |
| Grass is a Weed |
| posted @ 02:37:00 MDT by bryn |
| Sorry, but it's true. I like to call them "Grass Nazis", those people that have lawns utterly devoid of anything but one single, accepted, pure strain of a single shade of greenliness. No others shall be allowed, no mixing, no unbladed foes lurking in the brush. Don't fuck with the plants, they won a long time ago. If they and the bugs actually take notice we're all toast. |
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| Thursday, July 8, 2004 |
| Form and Function |
| posted @ 01:47:00 MDT by bryn |
| The fucking moments I fucking spend in this fucking place are fucking demanding in the fucking worst fucking ways. |
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| Wednesday, July 7, 2004 |
| Calling Bullshit on Midnight |
| posted @ 00:55:00 MDT by bryn |
| What is this search for truth crap, and what is it's presumed inherent superiority complex? Why when something is found and figured does it matter more than dream or illusion? Sometimes I envy those people that live in a world of their own making. If you could wake up every day only in your own fantasy, could it be everything you've ever dreamed of? Would theirs still be nightmares? Could bending the world to your will end up being the darker destination of your own demons? Idea, fantasy, and hope are far closer spirits than good and evil but still walk the same path, just a shiver's distance of arms' length willfully away. The weight of the dark of reality can push into the light of a dream. It might be just this that saves us from going black and shrinking back into a hole without want for form, bottom, end, or exit - only grasping void left for others unfortunate enough to be pulled in. Have you ever found yourself in a moment without hope for another, where only the sheer mechanical tick of the clock is the only want for it to be, and there is no other will but the vehemence of relentless passing? It's only happening because there's someone for it to happen to. When did the twist come so around that the only reason you're hoping to hold onto today is because of your contempt for tomorrow and it's being yet more of today? Another, which has no other to it and is the same in all the ways that matter... Or would, if it did. Damnable dark moments, sweet like the addict's chocolate and just as melting, they ring out only to those close and fade like the peeled bell of fingertips lifted from a crystal wineglass. |
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| Sunday, July 4, 2004 |
| Some Find Tomorrow |
| posted @ 03:44:00 MDT by bryn |
| She took me outside so nobody else could hear her lie She tried to give me her fault and asked me to make it mine I was a week away but she still wanted it to hurt Made me glad I had never given- except what I had to get us here Why did you tell me you wanted me when you don't want to be wanted? Just want to be the one to break my habit so you can say you did. Want me to give in and break my breaking of it so you can say you tried. You just wanted to prove you were wrong in the end. Put me in the past as a past mistake But maybe you got through, you could always come back and finish me off. |
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| To Whom it May Concern: |
| posted @ 02:30:00 MDT by bryn |
| Don't take any shit. Really, don't take it. Fuck that fucking motherfucking fuck. |
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| Saturday, July 3, 2004 |
| Those Fuckers with a Dirty Soup Subscription |
| posted @ 02:33:00 MDT by bryn |
| Not tomorrow, not anytime, not ever, not without, not with, not not. Being here is short of being. I know I'll find myself struggling to sleep in the windowed dawn, the ache both simple and deep, inescapable, burning into the few moments that are left of me with suitable abandon. The waking moments offer no solace in their dirty warmth. |
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