Where The Sidewlk Ends

Somehow I Think We Make Sense

I must confess it’s taken me by surprise, the fact that I care, even though I hate admitting it.
And through the whisper of a smile you offer me when you think I’ve done something cute, and the way our hands feel more comfortable nestled into each other than alone, I think you care too, even if it’s only a little bit.

I have this problem where I can never care enough about someone to settle down, and when I do they’re never my type.
And you’ve dated too many people, and I don’t know if that implies bad luck, or just lack of foresight.
But we’ve both fucked more people than we’ve cared about, so I guess that means we can’t judge.

So I’m really bad at liking people, especially if they’re the right one.
And you get attached before you’ve had time to appraise weather the situation is successful or it’s done.
And we’re together in everyone else’s eyes, they can sense an alliance.
But not in ours because we’re too proud, and we value defiance.
But we both assume from our last good bye that there will be a next time, so I don’t think it matters.

And I always say I want to die young and beautiful, so live a life worth living.
And you always say you won’t make it to 30, but I think you’re kidding.
And I always say I have it under control. I only smoke when I want to.
And you always say you don’t, but it doesn’t matter because you’re never going to move.
But neither of us is depressed, so it’s the only kind of suicide that’s socially acceptable.

And I’m an ex-perfectionist. And you never really got the hang of perfection.
And we both have passions, but lack direction.
And sometimes you’re situation makes me nervous
because I can see myself melting into your basement carpet in 3 years—my plans in reverse
And I make you worry because you think you’re a mess
and you’re placing my chances of success into a form small enough to sit comfortablely in your cheap red lawn chairs—a future compressed
But we can’t go for more than 2 days without talking, so this is a pointless discussion.

And I don’t know why, but somehow I think we make sense.

6 days ago

Everything Is A Cliché

Without meaning to sound like one of those individuals who are for all appearances unable to describe the events of their life in anything but hopeless cliché, I have recently come to the realization that we have clichés for a reason; primarily because they are true. A cliché is an expression which has hung about for generations because it proves its worth again and again to each new wave of emotionally confused persons. In a whirl of uncertainty and hurt the lost reach out for a fragment of advice to anchor them to themselves, to who they were, who they want to be. And in this disordered mass of regret and desire they latch on to a saying they have heard a thousand times. When it was said it held no meaning. A cliché is an empty vessel, only filled with meaning when that meaning is self educated and personally informed. No one voluntarily admits they have turned to cliché in past, it seems to average, to warn and overused. So instead we seek comfort in them in silence, alone in the secluded shade of thought, quietly resigned to the fact that we go though the same hackneyed quandaries and setbacks as every other generation has for time unknown.

Can anyone really deny that you don’t know what you want until you can’t have it. You don’t know how much someone means to you until they threaten to leave your life forever. You don’t know you had a dream until you are awoken from it. And you don’t know what kind of person you are until you become someone that you never wanted to be.

1 month ago -

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What Would Jesus Say? WWJS

As I sit and stare in solitude at the white washed wall of my consciousness I sometimes wonder if God is watching, if there is a God to watch.

Would Jesus understand if I told him? Would he incline his hallowed head with recognition of the fact that I live as I can? That I follow the curve of expectations until the rainbow breaks and rains down Fools Gold on a cracking ground. That I navigate the unanticipated side effects of life with the upmost amount of grace I can assemble from the fragments propriety? Would a faint, slightly condescending, smile touch the corners of his lips if I said I worship in the church of introspective understanding, and external immobility, and blow my prayers to heaven on the back of a smoke ring? Would I receive a pat on the back for knowing a virtuous path from one of indifference, and choosing to have one dimensional sight when it comes to the application of this knowledge?

Or would he say anything at all.

But as I sit and stare in solitude at the white washed wall of my consciousness I can’t see his face. All I can see is that the wall is painted with the insipid, uninspired faces of this lost generation.

1 month ago

Resolution For A New Year

The wind whispers memories to me across the terrace

The only animation comes from the fluttering of the white puffy curtains spilling out on to the deck from the bedroom; obscuring my view of the room within

Scenes and recollections hang suspended before my eyes in the velvety night sky like the patterns of sparks which remain after the fireworks have gone out, and the others are already turning away; it is the imprint of light, of life, but not the material presence

The clang of church bells ring in a second chance across the empty square to my unwilling ears

So I drink down a bottle of forgiveness for my past, and a few swigs of absolution for my future

And I brace myself for a new year

1 month ago -

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