Home » Posts tagged 'alone'
The only places to go now
Are those best traveled alone
Where a fork in the road need
Neither argument nor discussion
And where judgements pass
With tumbleweeds and dust that
Dissolve like cars with the horizon
Thumbing South of nowhere
And flipping birds, eh
I’ll be just fine.
You might just find yourself
Very much alone and
Without anyone to call so
If you’re unwilling to change then
I just want you to know that
No matter what I’ll be there
Waiting with myself
Waiting for your company
I will always be here
Alone, in waiting.
There was new life once
In this old house
Which echos lonely footsteps
—silence rants and raves—
Trudging towards Nirvana
What I’ve learned over time
Through my own self sacrifice
Is simple, and it’s this:
Admitting when to say no
is just as important as
knowing when to say yes.
One commonality I’ve noticed
Is that, people love to tell others
Not to subscribe to another’s bullshit
But watch, and listen to their own.
Another commonality I’ve noticed
Is that, these same people
No matter how delusional
Will acquire followers like sheep to a Shepard.
And they do it warmly, and with a smile.
And they’ll agree with you entirely.
They’ll make you feel safe.
They’ll tell you what to see and how to see it,
Treating you like their own personal parlor trick.
Their greatest illusion will be their acceptance.
While the bullshit they feed
In return for a profit—they’ll make themselves
The prophet—which they need to feel sound.
One commonality I’ve noticed
Is that, people who can’t be alone
Will do everything it takes not to be alone
Even when that means taking you with them.
They will win your will, with or without your consent.
They will make it feel like your own choice
To gain your trust, and dissolve you of fear.
Though fear isn’t always a negative—
Often it’s a tell tale sign—so
These commonalties I’ve noticed
Are geared to my liking, but at least
I’ve got the peasants fortune to tell you
That, prophets for profit will always be cunning.
And though wolves wear many clothes,
So do Shepards.
People might never understand
sincere isolation or solace’s depths
until they find themselves
most comfortably within
their own weightless bounds of solitude.
Whatever’s in my head, is there because I put it there.
It’s there because I allow it to be.
Whatever’s in yours, is yours—I’ve no idea, nor should.
If you’re curious, you may ask and I may tell you whatever’s in my head.
I may not, though that is up to me, as it is equally up to you.
So if and when I seem distant, it’s only because I’m having an internal debate on which to share.
I’m deliberately choosing words which may or may not have an impact on your own definition of me—of you.
Whatever’s in my head may change, in fact, depending on your point of view, so tread however you will when speaking, knowing that—
Whatever’s in your head, is there because we put it there.
And we being a positive or a negative really doesn’t matter.
What matters is, matter of factly null and void, more likely because,
whatever’s in your head, is there because you put it there.
It’s there because it is, if it wasn’t then, well, we wouldn’t be having this discussion with ourselves to begin with.
See. When two people interact or share in a discussion, it’s not simply a yes or no dialogue.
It’s not simply an A and B conversation but rather an (A,(B)) + (C,(D)) process of beliefs which often can be tricky or seem unfair.
And the more you think about it, the less there is to say, because, more times than not it’s what we don’t say that often really matters.
Perhaps I haven’t found the correct words, or perhaps I’m overthinking, perhaps I’m just learning how to communicate all together on a daily.
It’s like casting a line of bate to water. If the intended fish decides to bite, then it’s fair game, but when the intended fish is forced to bite, which for lack of a better metaphor, one can’t exactly force a fish to bite, then there’s an unfair advantage.
The bate is not merely physical bate, but encompasses the mind from which it’s cast with hope, fear, and determination—etc and so on.
The fish may rationalize it’s right to choose feast or famine, ultimately accepting it’s fate regardless of the line cast, by choice of internal and external response, which leads me back to my original point being…
Whatever’s in my head, is there because I put it there.
It’s there because I’ve reserved a rationality for it, and, regardless of the outcome, it’s necessary solely to me.
Further more, what’s necessary to me—perhaps the real point here—is not, nor should be expected to be necessary to you.
Any questions?
The television’s on.
It’s freezing in here.
I should probably be asleep, but I’m not.
It’s 4:53. It’s always 4:53, when, click, the heat turns on.
Now the draft from the window’s competing with the dull heat, which smells like last years dust, pouring through the vent, above the door, which leads to the living room where the TV’s still on.
In about an hour the sun will be up and it will be another morning.
I can’t tell yet whether or not I’ll be excited or scared, but either way, I have to write my grandmother—thanking her for the letter she sent a couple days prior—she used to fill the cards with glitter but doesn’t anymore…
Perhaps there’s a glitter shortage, I don’t know.
I’ve been pulling my beard out again, which I don’t like, but still do. Why? A doctor would probably claim it’s nerves but by this point in life I know better than that.
It’s funny really, thoughts, how they come and go as easily as a hair can be plucked from your chin.
If I had eggs in the fridge I’d probably boil some for breakfast but I don’t have any because yesterday while shopping I’d debated prices in my head for what seemed like too long to be debating prices of eggs, causing an uncomfortable feeling I just couldn’t shake, making me anxious and aware that I’d been standing in the isle for what seemed like eons though was probably only a couple minutes, still, too long to be debating whether or not I wanted to pay 2.39 or 2.99 for a dozen of eggs.
The heat feels good now, while the right side of my face warms up, the left side is still dealing with the draft from the window.
Common sense tells me to close the window though my better judgement says to just let it be. What’s the point, really?
It’s 5:06 now. It’s always 5:06.
The repetitive nature of this statement keeps recurring in my mind as if the idea isn’t fully mine, though I use it anyway.
Perhaps it’s my conscious mind coming back to me? Perhaps it’s programming I just don’t have the strength to deny, either way…whatever.
It’s 8:08 on the East Coast. My mother’s probably pouring coffee, reading the morning news. My brother’s probably already dragged himself from bed and into work. My nephew’s to school. My sister-in-law to her studio where she makes jewelry from metal and her imagination.
Their routine gives me comfort because right now I don’t have one.
This pandemic has us all in a pretty weird state of affairs, though, my affairs have always been pretty weird now that I think about it.
At least I’m writing again. That’s good.
Everything is pretty all right right now—knock on wood.
And what if this is as good as it gets? Hog wash.
At least it’s warm in here, closing the window, watching the sun rise.
My nail beds are long. I’ve always been told that. “You’ve got piano hands,” they said once, go figure, I don’t play—if I did this would probably make for a better story though, well, you know.
Turning off the TV seems irrational as it’ll just get turned on again tonight, unless, unplugging the TV—Ah! That’s better.
Insomnia, it’s the breakfast of champions.
Now, where was I? Oh yes, the letter.
Where are we
but forever
Alone, together
in the cosmos
of our love.
Words Of An Average White Male 