Monday, January 1, 2018
just another day : New Year's Eve 2017
just another day to see, another year gone.
transition. another way open, some closing.
not so much change and i didn't expect it.
more bad habits, a distaste for them, a growing ennui with frustration,
less anger, increasing uneasiness even with desire,
nausea with what i used to enjoy.
communication nearing often the ridiculous,
dolphins do it better.
dreamy moments cannibalized.
hopes drifting into the background. hope maybe another
idiot human way of clinging to what could be,
another delusional light in the dark leading us astray,
running. most days i wouldn't know better.
i nearly forgot what i wanted, i nearly forgot who i am
when i am alone speaking my own voice and mind.
what we call heart hard to keep alive, what we call love
a fragile path, what i call soul retiring instead of
living in rebellion, what i call consciousness dancing on a tightrope,
on the sharp edge of a blade. i went inside and said this is me
and i turned more and more steel, flexible but unyielding.
this is what happens with ageing, the veneer of cultural
masks falls away, gets brittle, and the bone and steel come out, shining.
if anybody at all wants to come near, i must be asked to open
like in the Ali Baba story. words alone will do nothing. it must be magic.
or i open when i open, in my own time and world, in my own way of presence,
perishable.
transition. another way open, some closing.
not so much change and i didn't expect it.
more bad habits, a distaste for them, a growing ennui with frustration,
less anger, increasing uneasiness even with desire,
nausea with what i used to enjoy.
communication nearing often the ridiculous,
dolphins do it better.
dreamy moments cannibalized.
hopes drifting into the background. hope maybe another
idiot human way of clinging to what could be,
another delusional light in the dark leading us astray,
running. most days i wouldn't know better.
i nearly forgot what i wanted, i nearly forgot who i am
when i am alone speaking my own voice and mind.
what we call heart hard to keep alive, what we call love
a fragile path, what i call soul retiring instead of
living in rebellion, what i call consciousness dancing on a tightrope,
on the sharp edge of a blade. i went inside and said this is me
and i turned more and more steel, flexible but unyielding.
this is what happens with ageing, the veneer of cultural
masks falls away, gets brittle, and the bone and steel come out, shining.
if anybody at all wants to come near, i must be asked to open
like in the Ali Baba story. words alone will do nothing. it must be magic.
or i open when i open, in my own time and world, in my own way of presence,
perishable.
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