thin and potent

An empty flowerpot waits along an undusted windowsill. Its oldness blends the reds, browns and grays. While a mosquito meanders around, like a too proud drunken noble, I fall apart.

Where have the vivid gone? How have I left? How have I been so sure? Can I find it in your eyes? You’re gazing, soft and intense.

I have spliced a thin and potent section of my life. Is life always thin and potent? Excuse me while I fill my hole. Nothing else seems to work.

Scabbed Shins verses Regret.

I begin my travel home walking in a stiff manner. How I press leg before leg makes me awkward, annoyed and uncomfortable. However, I have difficultly changing (comfortable being uncomfortable). As my knees brittle, I ponder my situation.

Now I predict the future. These are my extremes.

Sprint. All out. Reckless. Outward. Exciting. VULNERABLE. Perhaps scabbed shins and bloodied wrists. Maybe worse. Maybe much worse.

Stop. Inhale. Reconsider. Still. Exhale. Thought with no action. Forever stopped. REGRET. Perhaps much regret.

Scabbed Shins verses Regret.

And then, there is love.

Towers preach behind my mangled ears of masked deafness, adultery and fame. Let us fuck through midnight. I’ll squeal. Jumping over this milk crate. And then, there is love.

5 minutes of bliss. 50 more of deep thought. 500 more of intransigency.

Bludgeon the lost wine glasses. Gnaw the bass. Mercury puddles my teeth solid. Poison, poison and tingle.

This clear depiction of chaos. Am I shooting above? Only within the rules. (referring to determinism here).

Powerless and volatile. Yet adolescent and hopeful.

Patterns and calculation to answer my own questions. The battle of the subjective and objective. The question. The current process. Current obsession.

Some quality subjectivity might depend on functional objectiveness.

Tell me the best. The beautiful. The wonderful. About the laughter, sexy and perplex. That is my ride.

Cantor stop singing. Start your freedom. Push your bounds. I refuse to cant. You will be pushed above. As we own memories, we bake rich bread.

If you REFUSE TO BEGIN, I’LL KISS YOU LOVEINGLY. With meaning. With passion. With moment. With moment. With moment. However, there is no we. There is only I.

And then there is patience. Subtle charm. A strange, positive quark.

Oddly, I find space confusing. There is no space in math. It is line to line to line to line. Logic to logic to logic.

Unlike math, our spaced sentences are far from transparent. How we fill those gaps. Now that, that is beautiful. That is my ride. Tell me about that space between sentences and words. The feelings, beautiful, wonderful, laughter, sexy and perplex.

And then, there is love.

it is now time to fly.

fly with a pale blue.

only within the rules

This page is a simple representation of the neural pathway pattern which is I. The customization within the template is what I'm referring to. This exact writing is a perfect example. If I ignore the outside world and type, I find a deep circle which is hard to place into words. Among other things, this is generally I.