Once More...

Let me live
You are not me
I think.

or

Please, allow me to live.
I do not know you, you are not me.
This is because I think, and I think that you do not.

What do I know?

... With Meaning

Period
Trying
Method
Control
Partial stop
Full stop
Punctuation
Punctuate
Punct
Punct...
Punct...uation
Meaningful symbols
To aid the reader

Two pieces of prose

Static:
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/Xelanath/444561/

Prelude to a Conversation:
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/Xelanath/478629/

A Mirror, Despite Itself

I see them and I want to be them. If but for a second.
I buy into their projected identities. Am I lost?
I wish to be a cypher. An amorphous shapeless
ever-changing Everyman, or noman.
To be everyone and everything.
Give me time.
We will always struggle against the tide.

My Self and Not I

I walk, and a memory emerges,
Sudden and uninvited.
Overwhelming, it controls me.

I bite my tongue, I curse it.
Precious tears touch my cheeks,
What pain; it fills inside me.

Bursting into external action.
What hope, what life,
do I see before me?

Barely I resist, but now I'm only failing.
I see it; time. Ticking ever closer.
Desperately I exist, but now I'm only fading.

Appointment Kept

Must try harder
Again the bell tolls
Given what we know
Lucky tender souls

Hiding from trust
Free for want of this
Slow to gain the same
Easier to miss

Time for open hat
Ask what are we here
Grasp the empty knot
Only for our fear

That it came whole
Glad for longer day
See not in the sun
But further away

Be Me

Would you define my nature
Would you erase my choice, for me?
Would you like to control me as
You believe yourself free?
I cannot maintain the struggle
Dead or without will; I need to be.
Or not to be.

We

Life. Absurd.
Desire. Disorder.
No judgement.
No justice.
Is.
My needs will never be met.
Temporary at best, hunger never sated.
I learn. I conflict with external forces.
I think. Considerate. Selfish. For no one.
Sparsity.
I hope. And I continue to.
I finally recognise the futility
Of existence.
I must consider suicide.
No more.

How

Ideological society.
Lack of identity, humanity.
Tyranny. It is art.
Turning on self, no one is exempt.
Melancholy, grey, silent. Oppression.
Good. Progress toward nothing and nowhere.
Learning the meaningless. Unable to speak.
Truth is irrelevant.
Logic is circular. The.

One Divided by Infinity

We craft our material identity continually to more easily be digested by others. Present ourselves in sound bites and snippets. We are not ourselves. We are who they think we are, who we appear to be. Ever-changing, ever-constant? Even the self we project is governed by society, by our perception of a societal truth. What remains? Nothing. Nothing identifiable.

Flawed, Pro Bono

I have long been a fraud
Too tired to follow my own advice:
We believe in love, we think
but the feeling is not so easy to find.

We assume it will be
Just like that
You'll know, I'll know
As a matter of fact.

But it's only opinion
Right from the start
Subject to manipulation
You're left from the heart.

Repeat it again
What does it mean?
Is it a person or people
Or something unseen?

Are you grasping for an alibi
Someone you once knew;
A couple who are happy
They are the lonely few.

Don't waste your time chasing
An abstract idea
By waiting for an abstract person,
Who will never appear.

Live and be passionate
Enjoy what you feel
Embrace your desire
Remember what's real.

Actions and unforeseen consequences can sometimes be both astounding and intensely insignificant.

Define: I

You can try to be objective
but you never will.
Subjective by default.
You are an individual,
no matter how much you wish
otherwise.
Your eyes, your dreams,
your doubts, your life,
your death.

The Struggle

What have I done
What can I do
Where am I going
What can I prove?

Are you proud of me
Do you know who I am?

If you speak of me
What do you think I'd say?
When I'm gone
What will you dream in my place?

Why does my mind matter
If no one will ever guess?

I should concede while I am still just
Even these words fail to grasp the point
That my fingers are faithful I can only trust
What could be closer than this?

Healing Blues

Can you tell me why
I have suddenly lost
What was confidence
In my voice?

Is the answer simple,
Was it a myth to begin?
Was I blind,
Was I drinking straight gin?

I don't believe it's true
Which means for all of you
Nothing and nothing again
The one tale I cannot prove.

Just keep the rhythm going
Perhaps I will wake up
Only to question where I'm going
And spit in a paper cup.

Back and forth I wander
Wearing down my brain
I'll need new shoes by morning
Or I'll have to catch the train.

I doubt it is sincere
This crippling crutch of mine
A depth it lacks
And heart it attacks
Yet still it won't learn to rhyme.

Passion

You are the
one who
drains from me
what I need
to live.

Exhaust me, wait
you will be
rewarded soon.

Contend for hope
against your wishes
against all chance
to cope.

My means,
my dreams
what I cannot
show.

Forgive the dead
for they do
not know
what you need
to live.

To Achieve Momentum in the Manner of an Object Without Propulsion

The gift is what keeps us moving
I once knew what that meant.
Now, in my single room, I adjust
When I think that it suits me.
The future has lost its appeal.

A journey. Soft and close but not.
Only the road could understand.
Only a metaphor.

My eyes turn outward
It is hard to turn in
We listen so readily
We forget our own skin.

Count it on Your Fingers

I'm going to walk into my life
One day it'll all make sense
A dream faraway
Will carry me for a trade
And then leave,
So I can wake up.

Such selfless action
A thankless task
Giving it all for
What we daren't ask.

It remains to be seen
And it'll stay that way
If it can be
who it should be.

I'll then join in the fun
That comes from running long
And then stopping,
Breathing the air.

Each gasp then serves
To remind me of what
I have; and what
I can then surely be,
not and miss.

Escape, and laughter
The energy to live
A dream bent on
Succeeding at any
Or almost all cost.

The Only Point on the Horizon

I was thankful that I was alive, so I dived.
I reasoned... "this is life, this is being. Have I taken life or was it given to me? Never-the-less I am it now, I am one, alive and - dare I say it? - I exist."
Yet this in itself does not mean that I am obligated. Not least because I know only myself, and I choose not to be obligated to myself. I agree.
Then why would I dive, why would I step toward the unknown? Should I be afraid? What is there to fear? I am alive.
The answer is simple: desire.
You may tell me that it is selfish, but who are you? You are a voice of my own creation. Me. What is it to be selfish? There is only I. The rest is extension.
Desire.
It beats like a heart does beat. I feel it now as it overwhelms me; again I feel it when it doesn't. Does this imply control? Perhaps. But by whom? Me... my desire? Must desire be absolute? Remember the beat. It graciously ebbs and flows like the sea but I am not the moon.
Not blind when I dive, I lie in the truth that I see.
Content to be alive and to witness eternity.
I am aware of my contradiction.

The Inevitable Life and Death of Writing

'"Care had been taken to spread the most sinister rumours..."
I had thought out this sentence, at first it had been a small part of myself. Now it was inscribed on the paper, it took sides against me. I didn't recognize it anymore. I couldn't conceive it again. It was there, in front of me; in vain for me to trace some sign of its origin. Anyone could have written it. But I... I wasn't sure I wrote it. The letters glistened no longer, they were dry. That had disappeared too; nothing was left but their ephemeral spark.'
Nausea, Jean-Paul Sartre (translated by Lloyd Alexander)

They Know You Well

Who am I, that I have done something,
been somewhere, met someone,
or that I haven't?
What makes me different or the same?

As I think I see; a space where I am blind.
Who is in my mind?
How can I know the past, when I am living in this moment?
How can I know that I did anything?
For now, what is left?
And what was there to begin with?
It doesn't matter. I can still strive.

If it does, what can I do?
Identify my uncertainty, single it out:
You have caused me pain.
You have inflicted confusion upon me
And all that I know.
Where is my life?
I cannot locate it.
Just as I cannot locate the colours
In a rainbow, or a quilt.
What is this I touch?
Who have I become?

Debt to a Travelling Song

The chocolate wrapper is unnaturally loud,
I hear every tear and then every bite - through me.
Johnny Cash even fails to drown it.
Imagine his disappointment.
Of all the adventures in life, being unable to modify
One's own volume from beyond the grave
Must be the worst. Of course, I wouldn't know.


Unable to understand where my self is
(I do not know where my limbs are)
Enclosed in a coffin of my own making.
But it is warm like a body.
I feel no fear, tranquillity has earned its place.

The window moves further away,
A lack of focus causes the vehicle to fall apart.
Am I alive to see this, or is this because I am alive?

You tell me 'observational testimony',
But how am I to believe you?
How can they trust what they see?

Yet We Speak of Progress

To be deep is not to be mature.
Maturity is akin to sublime immaturity.
While to consider deeply is a symptom of the process of maturing, it is a means
and not an end.
To continue to have deep thoughts is thus a sign of immaturity, an inability to
mature.
Acceptance is king. Bigot.

The internal monologue masquerades as a dialogue

Language in my mind.
For what purpose do I use it? To formulate ideas? I think not. To articulate notions that already exist in my consciousness, to help understand and process them? I think so.
How can I 'speak' of 'I' in my head? What is my head? My mind? Yes. Mind.
Once aware it is ever-present, a feeling perverse and alien. Alien within myself? It feels like the keeping of an internal diary. I am telling ME about the world, about my life, about experience. Do I experience?
Am I two entities? Two streams of consciousness? Or two entities and one stream?
The soul.
Is the soul supposed to be what is dictating or what is listening?

When we have all the answers will we still dream?

One of the main reasons for philosophy is one that is shared by religion: we do not have all the answers, yet.

Without answers we can ponder, question, consider, hope, fear.

Should we fear scientific progress? Is there a reason for holding on to a romantic idea of life? Why should we cherish our abstract imprint?
That is; ignorance.

Again, connotations of words confuse matters.
Ignorance <-----> Knowledge
Negative <-----> Positive
?
Why?

Clinging on to fascination.
Is natural human inquisitiveness at odds with itself? We need to know and we need to question. As we know more we have less to question. Or do we?
Will there always be questions?

Desire, Blind Choice

If we are ruled by desire then are we not surely ruled by a pursuit of what we want?
And if it is what we want then how can it be bad? To be a slave to desire is only bad when an aversion to slavery is introduced.
It is a misuse of terms.

In this way, if we exercise choice just so that we can call ourselves human, but that choice is against our desire, are we not merely punishing ourselves?
What is our abstract idea of humanity worth?

Why Are You Afraid?

To overcome death
We must first accept
That life as we know it
Isn't what's left.

Visitations by infinite forces
Lead us to be deluded
So
Dreams may tell us
And we think we deserve
But we're caught up
In wishful valour
And hopeless verve.

The result is ever closer
Than we first thought and think
We address them in their masses
And prepare to slowly sink.

We wave goodbye
At the harbours of our brain
So sad to see them leave
We now have all the time
Left in the world
To contemplate and grieve.

Suddenly, An Eternally Fleeting Truth

What if... ebbs away?
What of..? It diminishes.
Or of..? It will deteriorate, undoubtedly.
They are already not what they were. If the whole declines, how can I justify myself?
Is not a realisation of mediocrity the best route? There is only pride at stake. It involves no one else.

What do I value?
What do others value in me?
Does this answer my question, or is it all still subjectivity?
Useless and unnecessary?
Why should I have confidence in myself?
Do I need it?
Am I thinking outside of myself?
What of my needs?
Does a person need to be delusional?
Am I speaking of life, or of existence?
The personal I or the societal we?
Does anything matter?

Welcome the Relief

It is written in the stars
meetings and meetings in bars
we'll laugh and play the game
though it's always the same

The air is tight
nobody has the right
to tell us anymore
what it is we're doing
we're only young and poor

We prefer when it flows
forget the feelings in our hands and our toes
what we know is not desire
forget the passion, the morning fire

If only our memories
did not serve us well
bodies abused, existing
only for what we sell

We force ourselves to comply
fear of the lonely I
two is safer for life
you; my husband, my wife

Ever Hopeful

What is the point in holding
On to a negative youth?
When existence turns it back
The fragrance exposes truth.

The world, an entity
Given life; it did not take
We modify the boundaries
We know; it is not fake.

We exaggerate, but are real
Always with a dare to feel
Evil, moronic, sarcastic flight
Always with a task to write.

Creation in an Enclosure

Look at them.
Return to the page.
Ignore the others.
Smile.

Do they think you're mentally unstable (worryingly psychotic)? They shouldn't. They suffer for their art. Why are they respected if others are feared, shunned? Personal bitterness? No. Bitterness has no place here. Gazing provides happiness. It will suffice.

Look around.
Dart the eyes.
Wonder.
Stop.
Smile again.

Like Any Other

"I'm just about ready to turn this into a movie"

As he dances he spouts theatrics
A jab follows verse
Tongues lash like arms.

You owe it to me.

Should we...

She is a presence, and will be felt
While we pack the past away.

"I had to go see about a girl"

She's still so self-involved.
What changes?

Memory fades of what I used to be
I'll grow old.
Who were we pretending to see?

Listen. Learn. Dance. Forget.

Oh so dizzy, dizzy
Until it goes away.
Again we find
That what we thought
Was further from dismay.

This is no time to be self-less
Choose your order, point.
Come between it and they
Feel the lingering joint.

Behave in a way that nobody
Expects nor ever fears
Grant a wish so that only
It is he who really hears.

Yesterday or never
Pretend that we first met
Don't tell me, don't tell me
It hasn't happened yet.

My hope is quietly drowning
The pool a joker made
Beneath feet of silver shadow
And light of ghostly shade.

Loathing Toward the Delta

You came to my senses
Bewildering and stylish.
The perfect example of
Gendered flattery.

Stop it, come on.
Your suspicion is
Sadly misplaced.

Hold back the crying
A neck that's too good
For jewels.
Exceptions are made
in our dying
The destruction of
Guilty fools.

Hear them sing.

The Contradiction of Infinite Patience

An inanimate object somewhat dampens my spirit
Though it comforts me to know
That it's just a blip in the road
Friends like them will be long forgotten with the years.

Half-way to understanding,
A picture, confused
But damaged and distorted by time
The last barrier now falls.

The silence becomes you

Addressed to another
But suited all the same
Hear this muted vengeance
That breaches no name.

We whisper openly

musing

How do we know that life and death are real? We say "what of the animals and of everything else in the universe?" But we only perceive them. We privilege ourselves because we must always be selfish, we exist as selfishness.

An Inner Monologue's Outward Manifestation; or, How I Came to Be

Too close to know what is.
Further, the process becomes discernible
But inevitably irrelevant.
The option is not happy
We never tried to pretend.

Let my own lack of a voice be heard.

We don't. The reality is far tamer.
Through necessity or apathy?
Maybe I only exist in your head,
As real as anything else.
Positive.

We privilege by our own position.

Belief in the self.
I cannot affirm you.
Only conviction of I.

Empty with such fullness.

Dreams are like seasickness
They are real as long as they last.
And things are just starting.

To say yes to one instant is to say yes to all existence.

No self, but that which we wish.
Outside forces are felt, sporadically.
Fleeting in acceptance.
Once or again to be.

Why is it not a story of progress,
But of exception?

The first step is acceptance of ignorance.

Pause and Correct

Oh, Whom
You do suffer
Passed, your share
Is also more than fair.

Can we hope to change
The ways of men and
The ways that have
Come unto them?

The past is there
But will it be
For after all
Humanity?

The designs we pry
May get us by
But we are blind to
Whom we hurt.

A cry, a cry!
What's that,
A lie?
Return us to the dirt.

A solution can be
If a problem is
And a process
Gains momentum.

But this just can't
Confine itself
To singular aim
Or dictum.

So be prepared for
Always causing
More than you
Had planned.

But in the end
We'll ever be
Right here
To lend a hand.

Learning

Am I searching?
I stop and find no connection
What am I doing here?
A feigned grasp at happiness,
And love.

I don't remember agreeing to this.
Were there classes?

If they will always worry -
They don't understand me,
They're not enough -
Then why must I bother?

Who am I addressing?
Am I listening?

We believe in pressure,
Or the result.
The chasm will only widen as time goes on.
Unless I reach for it
And my grasp then becomes honesty.

Hope must never meet doubt
Dancing for life
The mirrors in a hall,
Turn. Shield.

Imperative to understanding
Or what we take it to be.

Jack

Sometimes I am the only person who will understand.
So I just talk to myself.
I am my raging incomprehension.
I am my melting spoon.
I am my rotting ego.
I am my reaction to inaction.
No one asked, so I told them again and again.

Pursued by Ignorance

What do we need?
What do I?
How much of what I perceive to be need is false?
Cushions for my ego, for my ideals of well-being.
Societal Pressures.
Why do I need friends?
Can I not only have them when it is true?
Do we not all rely on others?

In-Ex

Why do we see icons where none lies?
What becomes of our empty eyes?
Let us not see, to ease our suffering.
The sound of the spectacle - it invades our cries.
Oh, too serious. Why do you persist with mirrors?
They only shape your crimes. First and last, we give all.
More than; we can die.
You will think that this is fabulous.
Look at what I can try.
A looser grasp on morals. Not at fault, I do.

Draft for Desire

Awake and four years older.
The picture never changes, only the focus tries.
When alone, sound is again pervading.
Wading through memories, so deep
The bottom I cannot perceive.
Or would not, if so able.
Trapped by the knowledge;
What we become haunts us
And what we were is true.
An endless melody,
The means justified by the intention.
Remain composed
Listen and breathe in.

Camus

An honest truth cannot betray me
And the pavements make us sing.
So how do we dance
When it's not about fiction
But what it leaves in?

A Meandering Stream Finds Instinct to Be Stronger

Needs dictate; must focus.
The colour in a green field
Gates, but the cows cannot jump them
Now guns, booming and screaming
The birds become disturbance.
Return these views to freshness:
A Sunday among others
Nestled and warm
To be abused
Routinely.
Forgiveness counts not
In this reckoning
But the phallic debate
Continues to rage.

Dire Patience

We gave it a second
We waited.

Obviously we were impatient
But we had our reasons
Justification beyond it
And us, we didn't know
What it meant.
Good, clean hollows
Gaining in measure
Between eternity and
Nothing else.

It cannot now
Or ever matter
Despite good will
And prevailing winds
Always a step ahead
It remained
And we behind.

Everyone & I

Of course he's a writer!
How could it have been any other way?
His air reeks of pomp and insecurity
With hands untouched by kindness or labour.
Blindly staring, struggling with his muse
Why doesn't he give in to the plain blue sky?

When it's blue and clear; the clouds threaten more than just rain.
We pass so much beauty, instantaneous and for us never again
But for others, yes. There must always be more.
For what is life without appreciation?
How does it count?
I don't think that they will remember
Your endless yarn, when time matters.

But my opinion is certainly as invalid
Or do I elevate myself above and beyond?
The fate of many; disillusionment and pride.
Despair, only later.

Who will be remembered?
What will come to pass?
Where is the worth in trying
If nothing will ever last?

A Voice of Reason

As high-handed as we know
As mighty as we read
We are and will be
Of the human creed.
Ongoing and ever-true
God-like in focus
Perhaps that is what
It truly means to be.

Submit, you unworthy soldier
Be mine, and be still.

But to express
Is to grant perfection
To anything that
We don't know.

Possession

A time will come when frustration
Marries itself to best intentions
Whose and when we see this
Another day may tell
For answers are never easy.
You mistake my eyes for glasses
And my tremble-hands for holes.
I am not your Harry, Selma
I am not your silver shoe.
Forget we were ever parted
Miss me like you do
And when the dream-like distance
Catches you half-asleep
Grasp your straws for sickness
So health knows you're weak.