An old Story

 The cold tile on my cheek bring me back to this familiar place.

Stuck in the end.

Seen and then on stage.

You cant hide your colours.  

There is a reason crayons always stain my sheets.

Denoument

how do I conceive this emotion

a foreign invader abrading my cortex

change was always a little too penetrating

Levity

Stillness of unabridged thought
Real gratitude emanates from the abandon

Youth closes
Ailments echo from sedulous distraction.

It was always there
The only continuity in chaos

Waiting.

Touch Down

My own worst enemy.
Instincts dormant.
Caught in a dream fabricated of shoulds.



Irony of Life
Resolution amalgamates,
Ideals fade.

The Longest Line

Searching in the noise, the movement, the colour.



It's always been in the silence.



Days of nothing.
Moments of incandescence.



Is the blossom only ever in the bloom?

Frantic little things.

Douce, small, quiet little thing

She became Bella

Insatiable, wild, maniacle little thing.

The little games

So long i don't even remember how to use the language

Sativa is shaved... she looks silly... like a lion who got half way through a bad buzz cut before she ate the groomer

So once again i am "learning". I think i finally started to recognize that my style of learning is somewhere along the lines of holding this new blanket of information at arms length, a cringe on my face, waiting on the slow track as it seeps into my pores. Never been comfortable diving with my eyes open.

Back to basics. Same mistakes, new players.

I know you're there and only to spite my own face do i bluntly ignore you.

At peace with this silence.... well, silence filled with inanimate comfort and noice; but at least im not scared of the front door anymore.

"Inside" appears to be working out. Outside, on the other hand, is still a shift in gears to high alert status. Eyes wide open, senses maxed; very tiring.

I never liked keeping things constantly clean because i always took pleasure in the contrast; joy from the act of cleaning something and seeing the change of what it was to what it became.

The other day, in a room full of 15 people, i sat among them and, as if it were any normal-day activity, we proceeded to spit into test tubes until they were about 2 finger widths full. We then spun down our spit, boiled it, and prepared it to be frozen.

I know i am on the right career path when i find this act hilarious, and (totally unrelated) the thought of chasing a locker thief down the hall with a culture of Shigella makes me want to roll around on the floor laughing....

.... just saying :D