Looking Back…

 

DSCN4954, originally uploaded by ironyspeaks.

 

 

11-12-02
Stoned Gibberish
Words forgotten and thrown away. In a single moment I may have found my cure. Perhaps I’m weighted by the fact that I hold the words. Relentlessly hold on to the phrases and descriptions that thread my life. Possibly lending too much weight to the words—much more so than the actual action. I click “save” and forever frame a moment in my head thus creating memory from memory—each writing building off the next. When in fact had I chosen “do not save” I would have then created words that were instantly forgotten, words which carried no weight other than their effect, leaving no residue-just after taste. A wet mouth wanting more—each experience with new eyes, new vigor.

I’m not certain that any of what I’m writing will actually make sense tomorrow but what if it does because if it does then I will regret having not applied my new epiphany. Maybe that’s the fear itself. . .maybe it’s like quitting smoking. Maybe I hold the words because I afraid they won’t come back. Maybe I knew what I needed to know at a very young age. My mother told me to set the bird free. Maybe I, or what’s inside me, are the bird and I’ve been caging the soul of what gives me passion. Tear a sheet, rip a page, give to the wind a piece of your soul and hope that it comes back. Can one do such a thing?

Soul waves wayward in the wind. Destiny not written nor followed—a signature unknown.
Frail breath becomes deep sigh added to sound becomes slight movement in air touching someone’s neck becomes the soft summer breeze becomes the cold winter wind becomes the storm which strikes beauty into the heart of disbelief, ever evolving, ever soaring, as it is, not as it should be. This is the environment of souls. The soul wears word like fashion or a signature well known. It cannot be caged.

She said let the bird free. I was three but I knew.
Still, I click save.

~ by ironyspeaks on October 27, 2007.