little things…
life or something like it
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a branch snapping in the night
photo by loveblushfever (c)
passages
photo by loveblushfever (c)
reclamation
Small things are gigantic. A heart on fire in the middle of the ocean. One lonely tree on a hilltop. An old couple holding hands at the market. A clock on the mantle counting down the moments.
I thrive on pretense and assumption, on hope and yearning. Some corner of meager existence, where things make sense in a small way, and little things are just little things, with a spill or two along the way.
Comfortably weary and restless. I hear there’s only so much time. And sometimes everything just has to be slow like snow falling. And sometimes there is no reason, just an idea.
A concentrated mediocrity. Boiled down, reduced, reclaimed, returned. A lifetime isn’t enough. There’s never enough time or hunger to go all the way round.
But to need a little less. To let in a little more. Of the world. Of you. So put on your face. And your dancing shoes.
Life waits for no one.
-loveblushfever
H. Jackson Brown Jr
Isak Dineson
“There is a time for departure even when there’s no certain place to go.”
Tennessee Williams
OBLIVION #3
photo by loveblushfever (c)
Breeze coming in the window. Quiet thoughts. Simple, unadorned images of faint, yet bright memories drifting into and out of view. What we have to say versus what we have to tell. Stories have all kinds of beginnings. I sift through fragments of thoughts, ideas of things, and hold on a little longer to some kind of meaning that continues to elude me. It feels like I haven’t slept in years. My keys are still in the door. I’ve left the coffee on all day. Laundry’s still in the washing machine. I’m holding on to the edge of the desk half off my chair. Either I’m terrified or I’m indecisive. Regardless, it is the end of something. I feel that whatever all of this has been is cascading to an end point where I don’t have to do this anymore, where there is no will to put myself through all the drama any longer. It feels at once relieving, warm and good, and absolutely horrifying. Anything that ends is this way. I’m not prepared to embark, to push away from the shore and just float along, no direction, just stumbling through, on undercurrents, fumes. Just get on with it. Inhale.
idea #3
photo by loveblushfever (c)
there is no such thing as partial investment
not when it comes to living
you either breath in and out or…
but do it with some noise
with bells on
in full colour
and whistling
while sucking a lemon
all while some bored god or two pulls your hair
life on the rocks
life
what is this progression of time
if time is nothing
well i’m full of it
searching, devouring, improvising
a play of too many parts
colliding
collapse
a friend once wanted to call his band that name
i said hurrah for saying yes
in a land of no
it is a busy thing
to feel and consider
the consequences of thoughts and projections
bubbles
conjurer of happy thoughts
bliss walks in
gleaming and shiny
i’d like to say i’m above feeling good
i’m not
passages into and through me
dictate that to feel is to live
and to live is…
to breath
in and out
at least once in a while
to believe that life is a process
like any other transaction
there is a price
what are you willing to pay to feel?
what is worth the bother of deconstruction
because to feel is to deconstruct
to analyze
to interpret
life is a ship venturing out into unknown waters
i gingerly set foot upon it
and hope for the best
and of course to think to myself
silently
or at least under my breath
that i am worthwhile in a selfish
all or nothing sort of way
that life is good
that solitude warms me more than the presence of others
it isn’t that you’re less
but that the absence takes up more space
because it is full of itself
and rearing it’s beautiful head back in a laugh
i crumble in the face of eternity
relishing every moment alone
-loveblushfever
handle – one
photo by loveblushfever (c)
handle – one
eyes closed
fingers crossed
leap
of faith
something as obscure
a tide returning
puzzle with too many missing pieces
absences filling up nothing
nothing to bursting
bursting to messy leftovers
a sink of dirty plates and tepid dishwater
objects of other
compare and contrast
non-fatal crisis management in a world of no
glass houses
made up faces
where is the parade?
eyes closed
fingers crossed
flesh be bone that breaks cleanly
not so far to fall
-loveblushfever
why has nothing to do with it
photo by loveblushfever (c)
life
is never a question of why
it must always be how
in what manner
motivated by…
to ask why is to miss the point entirely
-loveblushfever
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life or something like it 