Lentils in tow
pardoned by snow.
ripple of light.
Lentils in tow
pardoned by snow.
ripple of light.
A pattern, deeply pressed
into the arm
of another sentient yawn.
Light trickling in
past canyons of cheap plastic
slowly filling the imprint.
A river of dewlight
following the indentations,
pooling in the palm.
I'm pretty sure
there's a goddess stalking me.
Not entirely sure why.
But hey–dear goddess,
in all the forms you've appeared to me
I have loved you.
You're hilarious, kind,
too good to be real, and
I know I'm a mortal,
but I bet we could be friends.
Tripping over shallow pores,
my eyes find no purchase
in their attempt to digest
every aspect of your face
Freckles of flame, resting
atop lakes of gold
like sun borne lily pads.
With a final leap, the eyes breach
your cheekbone horizon
only to freeze
at the glacial tides
pouring forth, forward
"you may leave now."
at the frost in my joints,
I do as told
too cold to wonder
how such separate states
live just a nose bridge away.
all but Aphrodite herself.
Working on Saturday is sort of like "working". Much less noise on the roads, far more in the buildings. I can see the cold mist of 7am, draped over the autumn infused trees, few obstacles between my eyes and the distant suburban forest.
I'm feeling better than I was. I'm not entirely sure of how much that's worth. Then again, I'm probably still emotionally reeling from recent events. Personal as well as national. What else is new?
It sucks when people close tell you they are proud of what you've done, how far you've come, and you feel anger. Does that happen to anyone else? I don't feel I've done anything worthy of praise, which is fine with me as a rule. I am an improvement on who I was. I think better thoughts. I'm much, much better at managing anger. Sadness not so much but hey I'll take what I can get. I'm more active, both physically and politically. I'm doing what I can to build a person who is helpful to those with far less privilege.
A hornet chased me away from the bench at the bus stop. "No rest," they kept saying, circling the nearby trash can. "No rest," they repeated, lost. Far from their friends. Their home.
Every moment I allow myself to relax I feel guilt. I know I should always strive to do more. I'm hoping I'm working my way up to that amount of activism, that this isn't just some blip on my journey, where I go right back to being ruled solely by my addictive personality.
Still. Good things. I'm in a better headspace than I was this time last year, the entirety of last year, the beginning of this one.
It feels sort of like a much simpler version of depression. Usually it comes in bursts, and I am incapacitated by the illness for days at a time. I'm much more functional recently, but I feel it always there. Like that mist, over the autumn trees. I see, I hear, I feel beauty all around me and around most of my actions. I feel the new vigor in the love I pour into what I do and how I interact with people. Still, the mist. Nothing is perfectly clear, still and wonderful. The mist is light, translucent.
Why do anything about it? It's nice. I get to be helpful in small ways, I use my mind to assist in the fight for equality when I am able. That's who I want to be. I just want to help. It's not a huge deal if there's a pall of sadness and lack of self worth that doesn't affect anyone else. Except in the case that it escalates–but I mean, I'm better at recognizing when I'm worse. Managing. Taking steps to deal. Working myself through it mentally.
It seems awfully tragic and overly white knight-like. "Wow what a martyr, sacrifices his happiness for the betterment of others wow so cool" like…fine. I know it sounds that way and I don't care. All that matters is I'm being even a little helpful, I have the potential to be more helpful, and all I have to do to keep it up is live with a mist.
I've always had poor vision anyway. You see a single rabbit spring into the brush, another, smaller, following. I squint, wishing I'd seen it, pretending I had, imagining how nice it was. It's almost as good.
"All in all it's been okay–I've lived well."
Jhene Aiko is pretty corny sometimes, especially in her latest album. But Eternal Sunshine keeps me going. It says, "it's okay. Everything is okay. Not perfect, maybe not great. But it's good, it's alright, I've lived well and I should never stop appreciating that."
So that's how I'm feeling these days. Fairly happy with a constant pall of depression. Maybe it comes with the territory of activism against systems you yourself are complicit in. Maybe it was bound to happen regardless. My current strength of belief in hard determinism would agree with that last.
I'll just keep rolling with it. This path presently sucks for my self worth, like a lot. I don't feel very good about myself or very important. But it's much better for the world, and a continued trajectory has the potential to result in actual…well, results.
It is my hope that this will eventually bring me out of it. When I feel as if I have brought about real change, even in a small way, I might love myself? That'd be just the best.
The mist clears as the dawn turns into day. I'm hoping my sun continues to rise as well.
Prepping the liquid embezzlement
entranced by the journey
of air to sand to stone.
The lakes of you, feeling a presence,
making it a point
to break apart my favorite boulder.
An oasis only exists
for those in need of sustenance.
you stand empty
surrounded by empty
a droplet sharing no notable meaning
I think I’m in the middle of one of those nights.