a night club, or what can happen in 3 seconds

Our eyes just caught,

  I walked away. 

You followed me.  

That moment though,

  I saw it all. 

Our brand new life. 

Odd, uncertain

  I, too eager. 

You are distant. 

We get along,

  Get through it. 

You, happy now. 

The nights spent out,

  The city ours. 

Thinking too much. 

I know better,

  But I press. 

I should back off. 

We both felt it,

  It's perfect. 

It's scary though. 

You walk over,

  I say hi,

It was a dream. 

In progress

"I suppose that I've settled into a sort of bourgeois nihilism of late. So little seems to matter a great deal and the days slip by uncounted." He shifted in the banquette uncomfortably. We'd now been talking for two hours. The wait staff hated us, four coffees and two hours later. 

"Are you sure you're not just bored again" I asked, adopting aloofness. 

"You'd be so reductive"

"You'd be so melodramatic."

He idly stirred his coffee. My eyes wandered out the window into the always busy streets. 

"I suppose. But it all is intractable, however you choose to label it. We can't actually change anything of worth. That's a sort of boredom I suppose."

I hadn't heard him. I was too fascinated by the large man outside trying to thrust flyers for some local titty bar in the the hands of every passerby. He caught my eye because he seemed so enthusiastic. He wore ill fitting clothes, a smile seemingly the platonic ideal, and an honest swagger. He stood in stark contrast to the man before me. 

The point

I'm there

         now

Quiet. Still. Listening. 

       void is better

         now

than pretty lies

      told by prettier people

         now

I speak. Certainly. 

Tick tock

Tonight I miss routine,

And ever her proper bonnet. 

Tonight I miss represent,

So that I'm actually understood. 

Tonight I miss take,

My heart as my own and no longer his. 

Tonight I miss label,

A frown as a smile and walk about my life. 

Tomorrow I miss apply

Me. 

Tomorrow I miss direct

My friends. 

Tomorrow I miss appropriate

Time well spent. 

Tomorrow I miss match

Socks most likely. 

Tomorrow I miss align

A smirk for a boy. 

Tomorrow I miss speak 

For when anger is sought

But now I must stop

For I am completely wrong. 

Reflections on sin

I've done one you know,

  The unpardonable kind. 

I've worn bright colours

  On a dreary day. 

I've trusted beyond my ken,

 Causing damage beyond my mend.

I've said what's on my mind

  When yes was expected. 

I've fled. 

I've lead. 

I've caved. 

I've been late. 

I was so early that one time that I stood out like a sore thumb. 

I've been silent. 

I've been absent. 

I've not told you everything. 

I've told you too much. 

 

A little dance

It moved. It moved.

The damn thing moved. 

Violent but welcome

A sound understood 

Clattering against the granite. 

Length, wit, banter, turns

Cadence, tap, shoulders, hips

Commas

A future oddly, frighteningly in parallel

A dance in two parts from afar

Motion and inaction

Desire yet commitments

A chance thwarted yet sought

Tango across the pond

Waiting isn't skipping the beat

Furtive glances. Silent granite. 

It finally moved. 

Never today, hardly tomorrow.

More dancing. More in step. 

Empty spaces nonetheless. 

Tuesday isn't here 

Can never be

Monday never ended

Thrice thwarted spaces

Timetables ever triumphant. 

Since some of you have been asking...

Some of you might have noticed that I've been traveling a lot recently. It's for highly personal reasons that I don't care to share at large; some of you know why or suspect. Those that don't—I'm fine, I have all my bits and bobbles and everything is working (better) than specifications dictate. I've also managed to go three weeks now without roller skating into any walls, though I make no promises for the rest of this trip. 

I've rediscovered an important aspect about life. It's not about where you go or what you do per se, it's about how you do it. I'm headed to Monaco as I'm writing this. In the past two days I've visited my uncles in Fort Lauderdale, spent a half day in London, meeting new people and visiting old haunts, chunneled to Paris, walking around the city in the dead (that city is never dead!) of night just looking at places and observing the quite frankly beautiful denizens of the city of lights. (Seriously guys do you ever sleep? I thought I was bad!)

In a few minutes I'll jump on a helicopter to fly into Monaco. Why a helicopter? Because almost no one else will. It's not a train or a taxi or bus—it's not the usual route. That's my point and my continuing vow, to approach life, situations, and people in ways that almost no one else will. 

It's not a question of means, it's a willingness to be open to new ideas and new methods when opportunities present themselves. I had no idea about the helicopter option before I heard about it. There was no plan other than my standing plan—like Alice do three impossible things before breakfast...wait that's someone else's plan. I'm sure I have a standing plan around here somewhere. 

Do something new today, if it's only taking a new way home. Call a old friend, make a new one. Smile. Drop your grudges. Your soul will thank you. Who knows, next time I decide to up and just take off (that happens a lot it seems) you might be sitting next to me. 

Musing

Beat down, time needed, a shell, they've said.

 

A shell is structure. A shell is framework. A shell is all that is needed for massive coral structures to grow and thrive and provide shelter to life abundant. 

Does a shell need courage? Or just to be?

Of course...

Of course we rush in, we closet romantics of the post-modern age. We who can't help but to love to the core in the world jaded. 

Of course we ignore the battle scars, the wounds earned despite our better judgement. We who can't help to bleed over and over again. 

Of course we are to become twisted, doomed to be the worst of the dead. We who have tasted purity in an imperfect world. 

Of course the darkness bites at our souls, ravenous to sup upon the once alive. We, the fools, compelled to try again and again. 

Be foolish I say. Be alive I say. Be the spark and the light that no one can bear to look at. Bleed. Bleed. Bleed. For we are the hope against the banal. We know, we KNOW the path in the world of the lost. 

Phantoms

Constructs surround us all, wisps of the earned and unearned reputations, ivy-covered ruins of our lover's well-meaning but limiting boxes, threads of memories half-present, now more story than history. We are more idea of a person than person. Like Cylons, we all live in an augmented reality of our own delusions.

Am I talking to, loving, hating, bantering with, sparring, one-upping, and helping him, or the construct that I carry of him? Do I ever really interact with people? Perhaps Plato was ultimately right and I've only been dealing with shadows.