More writings

[trentm32]

[joe_canadian]

[starseed_10]

see now you have countless twice in a row.

[joe_canadian]

[joe_canadian]

Bah! Here's what I've got so far. The first part blows.

This is the part about love.
The tongue will remain firmly in the cheek to keep things comfortable.
Or, better yet, someone else’s cheek.

A sense of humour is a necessity.
It is critical, in fact. A sense of humour will comfort you when you realize the extent of the biological joke God has played on you, when the finger-gnawing pressure of it flings you gleefully into insanity, or when the bloody mass that was once your heart explodes out of your chest and winks at you.
Because laughing at these things is important.
When you are locked alone in a cage, underwater, cut loose and anchored, sinking into black, be sure to stop and appreciate the hilarity of it all. Sit in the dark and take full account of the truly staggering trail of punch lines that has left you where you are. The jokes on you and everybody’s laughing, you will of course be a good sport about it. Smile and wave and pull up your trousers.
Be sure to tip the jesters.
Oh, the jesters! Blessed be the jesters! Think of where you’d be without them, the pure white goodness of their hearts. What would your life be like without the exquisite jokes they’ve played on you? What a fine time they’ve shown you. How effectively they’ve violated your secret places! Bravo!
So – stoke the fire and give them their hard-earned gift.
Pay your respects at the door. It’s all in good fun, after all.








Smirk!
Pulses pound in dark and stagnant smoke. Feet break through fire and sweat stings bloodshot eyes. Red walls fall and spirits break, wracking the sky with their noise. The opposition is dissected at breakneck speed. Shapes pierce the fog, reach the edge of perception and are devoured. People like starved dogs clamber at them. Words are barked, captains demand destruction. Obstacles impede.
Burn them down!
Drums are behind, pushing forward. Staccato punctuation marks of urgency. The horizon is six feet away – keep the eyes forward, look past the hands. What’s beyond the fist is all that matters. Feel, find. Reach out and tear it. Do not stop, there is no time. Teeth crack. Rush, this is the blitzkrieg. Push forward, burn, repeat.
Do not think, do!
Bodies collide. Children snarl and ash flies upward, spinning round. But here is a break in the line, a puff of cold and a pause. A standstill. Blood flows and breath splutters. Chests heave and eyes loll. Knees are tended and one head is scratched. There is an end to this means. It can be found and claimed and held crowned. It is over the next crest, or over the next. Or the next. The scarlet heat rolls in again. Breathe slowly. There’s only one way to see it.
Push!






It is a particularly laughable fate, a grinning, shrugging irony: working so hard for so long toward something and having it come within reach at last. Then the realization that you don’t want it anymore. You find that your dozen-year dig has brought you out of your safe machine and into a place with no walls. There is an astonishing lack of pattern, a brilliance that hurts the eyes. You feel for the things that you leaned on but don’t find them. You find your legs instead, weak and shaking. Once strong against the weight of your burden, they and you are gasping under the lightness of the clouds. Everything that was close is far away – so, march.

You never thought of it before – what you wanted. You were convinced that under the gears and steam nothing could be gained. The end was a myth, a bedtime story. An ethereal thing to be cried for, a thing to demand, but not something to expect. Your harried breath steams before you, this cool air confounds. You realize that what you worked for is empty space and loneliness, and now you have it: trickling between your fingers and toes. There is nothing left to do but walk. You must build in the dirt now. A sandcastle of your own device. Go and form the shapes and write the words that will carve something new into the empty wastes.

Head for the hills.
Find the sea.

[joe_canadian]

[clumsychild_]

[joe_canadian]

What do you mean?

[clumsychild_]

The repetition of "and all of it". I like the way it sounds actually..

Just wondering if you meant to repeat it.

[joe_canadian]

[joe_canadian]

[clumsychild_]

Wow, that was really heartful and pretty. Very real. The thoughts and emotions you were trying to convey really came through.

I like it a lot, and I'm sure he will too.

[tasha]

that made me cry

[joe_canadian]

Really?

[tasha]

[happening fish]

[half jill]

that made me cry, as well. i just didn't want to say anything cause i thought it would sound stupid.

[joe_canadian]