Aphorisms, fiction fragments, random bits, poem bits

River

Active member
Form is a trap and an illusion.

Form is crucial and necessary.

To feel--fully feel--while thinking, really thinking ... is revolutionary.

To open up is to play with finger paints.

This is no brainstorm. My whole body is involved.

Play is serious business.

+ + +

They met in the Plaza. Had never seen one another before. Both were the death of art, of fiction, of poetry.
Both knew form in formlessness & vice versa as an inescapable fact and uncontainable mystery--the heart of
every glistening moment--, met each other as that. They did not speak. They weren't on meds. They had
escaped the prison of normalcy and abnormality. Their dazzling freedom was no affront, needn't moltov coctail
or advertise.

Silently, having just met, they sought each other's gaze and held it. They had never seen one another before.
They came to the dance and held still for it, gazing.


[ To be continued ]
 
We grow weary and bored
not with "the mundane"
nor even the familiar
but with our own
stale
habits of perception.

The trick is to forgive ourselves.
 
[I have a "blog" here called River's Blog. This is just a sort of public sketch book for scribbles done nakedly in public -- though sometimes I'm actually wearing clothes. Don't get too literal!]
 
Okay, what this place needs just now is a good soup recipe. Got one?
 
Whichever -- or both -- please.
 
Remember honey bees when you were little? When they were utterly new?

Wildflowers, couds, lizards, turtles?

Utterly new?

At any moment we can draw such a breath.

Why wait?

How deep is this breath? How free?
 
Me

(Since I had a layer of poly-struggle in writing this poem, it seemed appropriate to post.)



I don't know which Me to Be.

The Me who is overly emotional
- or so it would seem -
or the Me who holds it back,
and in,
and together?

The Me who shares herself, completely and intensely
or the Me who closes off - (insert above adverbs).

I have no middle ground
here
where the real Me is
shaped
and jaded
and sheared
and shattered.

Every time I choose a Me
and Be -
it seems
I've made another mistake,
chosen wrong again,
and You're unhappy with Me
or some form
of fucked-up vice versa
where I'm unhappy with Me.

I don't know how to figure Me
out
without
disfiguring
You.

All these Mes around.

The Me that I dream of Being
(full-time)
is the one
causing
the
most
trouble.

I'm afraid
to make
another
wrong choice.

So You choose the Me for a while, would You?
 
I know some things

I know some things about some people.

I know that

most have questions
and few have answers.
a few openly use others,
a few aren't open about that at all,
and a few find themselves used
a little too often.

some want in it,
others want out of it,
and there are those that just want
to make it through.

some are in love...for the first time
some are in love...still
some are in lust
some, in limbo.

those who don't get enough sleep.
those who get too much sleep.
those who cry themselves to sleep.

there are a couple
who are so open
that it makes me want to cry
and there are a couple
who are so closed
that it makes me want to cry.

a lot who make me want to sigh.

some have been addicts
to this or that.
some still are.

several have grown,
are growing,
need to grow -
and others who have been touched,
are touching,
need to touch.

some love being parents,
some do not.
some never want to.
some can't at all.

some have hurt me,
some I've hurt.

there are those who struggle
doggy-paddle-like
in the pool of happiness

and a lucky few
who take laps,
cutting through the water
like warm knives and butter.

some knew me before,
some know me now....
few can claim both.....

2 don't know me at all.

4 love pets over people.

2 hang in there without medication.

5 can find laughter every day....
5 can't.

1 was brave enough
to make amends
and 1 did it
and became a best friend.

1 doesn't believe in God
a few more just don't get him
3 absolutely do
and a 4th gets that I do too
and then there are those who
are like I am
and use a different name for him.

Half are stuck
in ruts
in their lives,
ruts that span a wide spectrum....
half don't seem to be stuck at all,
never have as a matter of fact.

I've felt love for many,
and have had it in return from a few.


I know some things about some people.
So many of them are different from me.
So many the same as.
It's good to know I'm not alone.
 
There you are

There you are.

Behind the invisible wall.

On the other side of the imposed boundary.

There you are.

Every day.

There, but not.

Here, but not.

I can see you, nothing more.

No other senses are allowed.

Snow White encased in glass.

I can look all I want.

And I do.

It's the only sense I have to use
while you exist on the other side
of the invisible wall.

There.
 
tease

You enjoy this, don't you?
You like to tease, I understand.
Well, if it makes you happy,
ain't that just grand?

But it's a double-edged sword,
slicing up the flesh of my hands

to see you everywhere
and there's nothing I can say...
because this tape you've sealed over my lips
won't tear itself away.

And I can't reach up
and just rip it off
and break the rule
that was made for you.

I'm doing my best
with my bargaining chips
but with every hint of you,
the glue from the tape
is irritating my lips.

And they have already been burning
from staying silent for so long.
So while I get where the tease
might be good for you?
From my point of view,
with my bleeding hands and sealed lips,
it's just wrong.

The worst kind of torture,
unfair and unkind.
I don't understand why
it's communication you mind.

And my frustration's grown
to a critical mass
from being bound and gagged,
forced to sit on my ass
and say nothing
while you dangle your carrot
in front of my nose -

But this is all harmless, right?
No offense meant I suppose.

You like to tease.
You enjoy this, I understand.
Well, if it makes you happy
ain't that just grand.
 
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