[jotted notes of a recent dream]

traveled across country.
{west coast to the woods in michigan}
found all my friends.
stuck in a cabin with all of them.
military locks us inside. telling us to wait.
its snowy and cold outside.
everyone is panicking.
{i'm strangely quiet}
no one knows whats going on.
their personalities are melting.
some go berserk/they're shot down.
i just watch everyone.
days are passing. the sky is red.
someone escaped.
they come running back in screaming "ITS WAR!"
everyone looks out at the horizon.
the sun is rising with a stream of 10 mushroom clouds.
everyone just stares.
"well that's it. its the apocalypse."
they all just lie down on their faces.
no one cared anymore at this point
I'm still just standing there, shocked.
then all goes white.

something i wrote awile ago that im sharing wtih someone who reads this

its not well written i think. but yeah. sally this what i wrote that we talked about last night:

Jul. 13th, 2008 | 06:30 pm

i'm not going to be one of those people that "grows up". to me its always been one of those things where once people accept adulthood they seem to lose a part of themselves that leaves them seem so defined or serious. i'm not saying all "adults" are like this. its just anything that anyone does that's considered mature or grown up lacks an open field of creativity. its always been something that scares me. that whole aspect of life where by a certain age you have to become a certain way in order for to be taken seriously or have things work out a certain way. it scares me and disgusts me. its something i've personally vowed to never become.
one thing is I've always said was: "i'm going to be a kid foreva!"...and the needle point of this realization is is that i really cant. i no longer have that wonderment and amazement that i had as a kid. i'm not as ignorant[the good sort of ignorant] i've learned and know tings now. i dont see things at all like i use too. the only thing that would make me a kid is my "childish" behavior. but the more i think or feel this i realize there's more to being a kid than behavior. it is the way you see or think about things. things look and feel or seem different.
so i act like a kid but i'm not a kid. im at the age of an adult but i'm in no way what one would usually consider an adult...where does that leave me? because lately i don't feel solid on anything and my view on how i should be or act has been greatly distorted. the closet thing you could say is "somewhere in the between of adulthood and childism"...but i'm really not. i feel like im just sort of chillin in this more unknown zone where i try to keep the ideals of a child strong in my head but act on my own accord that to some may just seem like an immature asshole with the tendency of seriousness. i don't even know how to end this. but all i know is im not an adult and not really a child and i would prefer people on both ends leave me alone on how i should be...

121508913-
my issue with reading poetry now n days is that it all feels shallow. not honest. people taking fancy words and placing them around in the idea of art. but less honest. it feels like their goal is the image of it. not what they're actually trying to say. trying to sound beautiful rather than try being what it actually is.
i might be completely fucking wrong but it's all a matter of perspective now aint it?

my theory on the birth of poetry

there was someone who was crazy and insane beyond belief.
while they wandered around aimlessly they spat out what at the time wouldve been a mass amount of nonsense.
but one day an artist heard the crazy person. was whoa'd by what he heard.
so he decided to try writing the same things he did. and copies the crazy person.

and from there. it kinda went its own way.
thats my theory.
i dont give no shit what any book tells me otherwise.

the thing about life's repetitive quirks is that it always ends the same or in similar ways.
the thing about myself is i usually try to tell those scenarios to go fuck it.
the thing about those scenarios is they don't listen at all.
the thing about that tho is i spose that could be full circle right?
or at least that's what i tell myself.


and the sadder thing. is how those quirks seem to scroll over onto people.
and near the end of whatever. the person tells you something about change.
then bam the circle starts over and same shit was done and it's never really
different cept for the time and date. and when has that ever fuckin mattered.

espy sat with me today. we talked about things. he scribbled most of it down. i just wanted to ride my bike. espy drank 4 cups of coffee and 8 cups of tea to counter the coffee. he made 10 bathroom trips and smoked his entire pack of cigarettes. i payed attention to everyone walking outside. everything about them felt distorted. faces, tones of voice, movement. the sky pulsed brightness. i basked in it. it was wonderful. espy observed everyone else but saw things i didn't see. or that's how it seemed with him scribbling away in his worn down moleskin notebook.
we sat in silence after awhile. it was just a moment of company. nothing needed to be said. we both new it and went with it. he gave me the rest of his last cup of tea and decided to leave. he looked upset.
"too much on my mind like always" he spoke in a calm voice, "see you later..."
he walked away and vanished under the shade of a tree. i was tired. i wanted to sleep. everything felt swirly. the shade blended beautifully into the light. i was in the center of it all. a hole of shaded light. and whirlpool of sunshine quieting to a whisper.
everyone, everything vanished. it was just me. i heard espy yell for me to move on. it was a good idea. i got up. i fell asleep. everything changed. i woke up new. i woke up somewhere new.

"where was i?"

my life was crammed into a single bag, following me close n tight where ever i went.
I'd adventure to random curbs and benches and cafes. sit for a spell, thinking to myself.
about the things outside that never really occurred. I'd tell myself stories while munching
on some bread. drinking a tea, jones soda, or nos. watching everything till i got tired or bored of it.
get back up. walked away. another day dead...
----------------------------------------------------------------

i wandered city streets where gravel and metal structures of buildings stretched out and rearranged
themselves pointing down. the sun was sitting curved,it's back to the world staring off into space.
the air was fighting with the dirt and the dirt didn't let go. the people were causing a commotion
over the disruption of a sidewalk. and the lights were playing games with everything else in any way they could.
i payed attention to all of it. everything.
an old friend once told me i focused too much on my surroundings. maybe he was right.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
my skin fell apart to flecks of golden rays, converting my throat to a serpents tongue.
i killed my humanity in terms of ages i had lost a long time ago.
i am a statue of personal failures considered success.
watch me sink. as the world continues to soar.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
there was a myth to everything. i was witnessing my life from someone elses perspective.
just watching thru the eyes going thru the motion. my voice just comes out. my hands just move.
i just walk and peddle and move about. it all felt like a story with no plot, climax, or points
of interest. just interesting points of troding along with something neat to do.
i wasn't myself. i was just a witness waiting to close the book. just a bystander in the body
of the person im watching. that's all.

my life was turning into curdling water stuck between the holes of a drain. only drops of me passing thru. my voice was shot. my brain, so confused. I'm waking into that same daydream every night of this slow life. my skin felt sterilized. my bones, stuck in that meditating position. waiting for my breathe to bring some questions back into my answers, so i can fill that missing beat in my chest
and rest well when i can finally sleep.

the 1st two are zen stories i found on the website that is linked after them.
the 3rd piece is something i just wrote. enjoy.

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===
The emperor, who was a devout Buddhist, invited a great Zen master to the Palace in order to ask him questions about Buddhism.

"What is the highest truth of the holy Buddhist doctrine?" the emperor inquired.

"Vast emptiness... and not a trace of holiness," the master replied.

"If there is no holiness," the emperor said, "then who or what are you?"

"I do not know," the master replied.
===========================================

One day Chuang Tzu and a friend were walking by a river.

"Look at the fish swimming about," said Chuang Tzu, "They are really enjoying themselves."

"You are not a fish," replied the friend, "So you can't truly know that they are enjoying themselves."

"You are not me," said Chuang Tzu. "So how do you know that I do not know that the fish are enjoying themselves?"
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http://goto.bilkent.edu.tr/gunes/ZEN/zenstories.htm
===========================================

i feel like at times I've discovered a certain level of truth. a way to liberate my mind on my own terms. my personal enlightenment. tho it grows as ivy on the
edges of my mind. hard to grasp. see. touch. feel. but i know it. it's there. I've seen it many times before and i know what it is. it holds hands with other
ideas. other philosophies leaves growing into my roots. it's all me. its my own form of peace i feel when they emit a dim light. i don't know if I'll ever
reach the point of holding it close. but when i crack apart. it comes about and makes me limp along a little further. it may not be perfect truth. but it's mine.
it makes sense to me. and when i can feel it. I've never smiled harder.

zen. universe. god. demon. creator. destroyer. philosopher. ignorance. chaos. peace.
swipe them off the plate clean. replace it with me. i fill my own void.

some days i was stuck to my ceiling. and everything id rather not have follow, always seem to anyways.
sitting and building up here taking all the room and making me feel more stuck. bored. and sometimes
like an inanimate object. i saw old crumpled notes to friends and withered books swim past
me conversing about their content. i was still stuck. i saw old clothes of mine jump out the
window together, running away, claiming they loved each other. i was still stuck.
i watched everyone below me go about their lives doing things they usually did and went their way.
i tried calling out to them a few times. but my voice decided to swim away with the passing notes and books.
i was still stuck. i came to terms with it. still stuck.
tried making a life of it. still stuck. then one day i fell...and was stuck to the floor. it was alright.
everything just felt upside down tho.

god came to me many times in my day. asking me over and over to come back with him like the "good ol' days". every time i would reply,"no I'm done with you".
and then on one day, like any other time he'd come to me
he offered something new,
"my 'son', i could offer you a world of beauty, a world of endless possibilities, i could offer you riches of the mind and profit, i could offer you anything you wanted and you wouldn't have to fight for it..."
"whats the catch?" i asked skeptically
and with a dagger always hiding behind his cloak
he replied
"i just need to take your dreams"