Steps Towards Standing Up

The life crept back out, leaving a husk.

Last night I watched the stars fade back into space; I felt empty for the first time in awhile, similar pains coming back slowly. The wind came, but I was aware of it, as with the small sounds of humanity reminding me that I could never escape it's embrace. What was I so destined for? That's what I felt like asking every incarnation of human imagination: what was I destined for? Tragedy or greed? A story, or was I nothing but a brick of a building lost in a city, slowly crumbling away into the obscurity that we all begin from. I felt like the latter, to only know a piece of what could be, but quickly cast aside. I detached my emotions from it and just stared at the sky and the water.

The wind blew cold, but I was aware of it as it slowly took the heat from me, leaving me nothing left but thoughts trickling into my mind.

The exact detail of my emotional stability, or the state thereof, meant nothing; I knew that, I have always known that, a carefully guarded secret. The absurdity of my own meaninglessness made me want to sigh. I stared forward and tried to organize it, tried to justify, and then demolish my thoughts and opinions. I was sitting there doing nothing to anything. It made me shrink, and I felt nothing from myself. It made me shiver, but I continued down until my face stopped making any remarks on it. Eventually I was there to the point where I could comprehend how nothing mattered, and I stared back, forward, into space and the waters reflection of that.

The idea that I was a hangman's past, or that all I had leaving me, eventually felt like nothing, and I was numb. The wind was no longer there either, and eventually the sky and water left me, leaving me with endlessness: vastness. I sighed because I knew it was only a second, and in the sigh emotion breathed back into me.

I already had told you that I hated it, but complaining doesn't do anything more than show care in that case.

But I did feel broken, and without direction, because I had forgotten how to read a compass.

You in Mock-Joy

Perhaps; or maybe a man standing out over the water staring back at you. (Was he waving? Eyes flourishing in the sun, but the sky is so pale blue and the sun loses it's sheen until it's nothing more than white, white, and more white timidly fading into space.)

I waved back anyway, that's what I'm trying to say, that I was at least willing to listen to the idea. And Why not, if everything in pursuit of still had the same goal ahead of it. The idea was to let your passivity take you to where it wanted you to go, to be completely engulfed with it, and therefore, continuously surprised. Do we wade then? And am I nothing but the movement of an image in rippled water? (There was something underneath it all and each question that came to mind made it ring; a low, deep ring that sent shivers down my spine. The coolness of the earth, or the air around a moving car at night- they all seemed to.. correct.)

And I could think of nothing else to do; we said no word to each other, but we stared for a little while. The wind rang in my ear, sweeping out from the softness that surrounded us. There was this air of mutual understanding for a second before my back was turned.

So I whistled out into the afternoon: (A little tune I heard on the radio calling out to me.)

Spades underneath the River

There's nothing anymore, every thought, every feeling expanded into the furthest reaches of a mind until there's no corner that hasn't been lit up, no crack that hasn't been swept clean, and no open spaces for the dance. It was a game that killed itself, grown out of control with nothing left in it. It was a night without a moon, everything was black and pure black and we were in it, sitting there with the lights out, with the television off, the only light a red light on my stereo telling us all it was off. It reflected in our glasses as we looked in the middle of our circle, at what? Nothing, because that's all there was. It sat there in the middle of the room, mid-air, more than just black, but nothing. We looked in and lost ourselves as we tried to comprehend this impossibility. It ate away at us. The nothingness was an orb, or a circle, or a point in the air where everything just stopped and melted away until it just wasn't there anymore. Looking at it there was nothing behind it, but if you went around it you'd find the other side of the room, and then the side you were on a second ago missing. But it was all that we had left, this nothingness, everything else had left and disappeared from our lives leaving us with no where to turn to but the ultimate disbanding of our own identities. It wasn't easier, it just seemed natural. It was a stranger that was put into the world knowing that feeling made no difference, and that all things pass into this state, this nothingness. Do we look forward to it? Ignore it, or erase it? We were afraid to unplug the stereo because that light was saving us. Without it, we'd have nothing, but can't the same be said for any man?

Do we have to worry about the disappointing idea of being less than those humans who came before us?

And a mind just a mirror reflecting back at you, telling you nothing that you don't already know. That's what it is, a barrier into the future, or the now, that you can't enter. It tells you that, as a human, you have to live in the past; as a slowly living object, you have no right to the now, and therefore no right to the future through the understanding of now. (Is this why empires fall? Or tribes disbanded, militias exhausted, and history repeated?) A dream just a passing fog, and reality the reflection of the sun in some ones side-view mirror; words that come and go meaning nothing but trying to tell you of what's there and what it means. It blinds you, you're blinded, unable to see and stumbling in the daylight trying to find, to find what? A thought thrown on the ground, or inspiration in the leaves of a tree? Is reality too much!? Are dreams a coercion of reality, or reality of dreams? Both the same thing trying to wrestle over a soul and getting no where. (Underneath the sun but tired of living, we shrink from the idea of building temples out of sand and try to sleep, yes, forever underneath the dirt.) To exist in between, and threaten no one.

It was as if You were There

I was stuck in the mindset of misunderstanding you, or maybe myself even. Just continuously feeling one thing and trying to make something else out of it; it led me no where. Or let me down, at least let me go. It was the shaking in knowing that you didn't know what you wanted and that you couldn't see five feet in front of you. Blinded by something, characteristics stopped mattering and we all ended up only sitting around each other.

It was just this general pessimism about life and humanity that really caused it to occur; there was no other reason, and literally no reason, aside from this deep-rooted disposition towards doubt rather than hope. It worked better in real life, to constantly doubt, always ready and prepared, never crushed by some one.

As people, we tend to look down at the ground and watch where our feet take us. (But how much do we get out of the sight if we never look up?)