If you told me then
We’d now be coughing blood
You know Doc, I wouldn’t change a thing.
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His Revelation, Her Over-Time
With a white satin napkin
He wiped away his pride
That’s it my Lord, my Savior
What more have I to hide?
The pills induced his coma
His blood ran thin with wine
His revelation managed
By the nurse’s over-time
What is, and is not necessary—a dialogue.
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?
When Butterflies Were Band-aids
Look me in my heartache
And tell me there’s a cure
When butterflies were band-aids
Where fact and fiction blur
Speak to me in virtues
The one’s I’m pickled for
When only field’s were diamonds
And playgrounds left you sore
Hold me in your sorrow
With hands so soft and pure
When bedtime meant tomorrow
Was absolutely sure
Hear me as the willows
Send shivers down your spine
When fluff was just for pillows
Where wonder’s in the pine
Sense me in my mourning
For those yet to be fed
When fear meant it was pouring
Where Rover was still red
Send prayers if you still got em
Though mine have long since fled
This well’s filled from the bottom
Where sailboats are led
Like puppetry two marionette
I took her to this art event
She took me to her motel bed
Like puppetry two marionette
We tangled up our strings
Her eyes were wide like Eleanor
Rigby she was fiction for
The life I’d led a year before
I hadn’t slept a wink
It’s comical how looks predict
The ludicrous and obvious
By circumstance we came to this
Offering by the sea
Her hair jet black like ravens beak
The padding of her size 6 feet
Lenore her name I said quite meek
This time then nevermore
It’s lyrical how time can tell
Who’s heaven sent and living hell
An angel with a broken bell
Knows liberation’s free
Sometimes I think coincidence
Common sense and saying yes
Are infinite never in jest
Like cherry blossoms we
Sell ourselves a dollar short
Make amends and then spring forth
Pink petals fall on the seashore
There’s no telling what could be
An accident a sign from God
A work of faith handshake or nod
They’re simply an illusion on
The pleasure box we see
The message spoke ten times before
By Poe and his dear loved Lenore
Like love’s the end all message for
Both poetry and speech
So I took her to the airline that
Disagreed with both our backs
I mean this with no disrespect
It’s how some people meet
We never spoke another word
Jumped back into the universe
I came to grips was late for work
And landed on my feet
honest fiction
Fill me with whiskey,
I’ll spill some truth.
Fill me with time and no one,
and I have filled pages with reason.
Reason enough to explain the lies
I tried to convince myself true.
My most honest fiction, in truth
is all that I can do.
Not so fiction.
Not
every
person
is meant
to
stay
in your life
forever,
but
that doesn’t mean
you can’t tell
their
story,
it doesn’t mean
they’re
not
a part of yours,
so be a dear
and change a name or two,
just don’t
spoil
the end —
they’ll know if you do.
Kings will be Kings no matter the King.
It’s ironic, really.
The way I wanted to do it,
wasn’t the way to do it,
until it was the way to do it.
And by that time,
I was already checked out.
My psyche in jump cuts like Breathless.
Plugging away in the same…old…fashion,
as those before me.
My movements were those of a machine.
Until it was the way to do it.
That which once wasn’t the way to do it.
The way that I’d wanted to do it in the first place.
If you’re confused.
That’s good.
Because I was too.
When it occurred to me one day.
The irony.
How kings will be kings no matter the king.
Lucky for me,
I knew this.
I also knew this.
You can dress the kid in the rags of a jester, but don’t expect his tricks to be any good!
Words Of An Average White Male 