Weblog

Sunday, 15 February 2009

  • The Ambiance of Experience.

    If I had never met you,
    I would have still known you-

    But only in passing

    For the distinction made between the likes of us
    Is that of rarity for close interaction.

     

                If I had never met you, we would have been acquaintances and nothing more. The casual hand wave and head nod of two strangers is all the regard I would have felt for you, for acquaintances is fitting in our situation. We find- in such an economy of class and structure- that we do not match and, therefore, we do not find the time to express ourselves in the attentions of one another. Rather, we fall into our separate spheres that intersect only in the expected interaction that society dictates to those who are not, and can never be, together. The simple passing in a crowd of people, the colloquial greetings absently given and absently taken, and the occasional meeting of eyes would be the closest breaches upon the accepted and time-ridden codes of society that we would attempt. And as these attempts would fail to produce any relationship between us, we would both venture further into the isolated cells of those akin to our like where our interactions would become fewer and fewer to the point where they would, eventually, vanish. We would be apart and perhaps, as it can be argued, rightfully so.

                I would not miss you and I would not mind, nor would you. A momentary flicker of your face or defining features might occasionally unfold itself upon the threshold of my mind, but there would be no meaning- no value- to the thought and I would discard it.   I would have known nothing about you and, consequently, no importance would be placed in your memory.  In the absence of knowledge, curiosity is limited by fact and fact is limited by experience so I would not seek you. And as we both would pursue our respective paths in life and perform the essential actions and movements necessary for these paths, we would forget all about each other- except for, perhaps,  a flicker of a

     

     

    moment or a misplaced image that would surface on our minds then float away slowly like a misguided ship. It is sad to say but I would have had no effect on your life and you

    would have had no effect on mine. Apart we would eventually complete the destined paths of our lives and nothing would be amiss- nothing different- than if we had met. We would have stayed without our bounds provided by the societal recommendations established, of course, for our good and wellbeing because of our contrasting views on life.

     

    However, we did meet.

                Upon this harsh medium of pen on paper, I write to you- though I do not wish to talk about myself. Differences are wrought, quite uneasily, between us because of the simple divergence in our lives’ experiences, actions, and events. But simply because of these differences, shall I stay in the corners of my fathers- in the rooms of my likeness? Or should I believe in the decisions of my character- in the image of my actions- and connect to you? Is it better to grasp forward and interact with those quite unlike yourself or remain inside a realm of relative similarity? Is it right value you as a person- but not truly know you? Or is better, wiser, to love, but to love with hate, a mirror image of myself such that I can see all the faults and flaws more clearly than the beauty which, in essence, are not foreign to me? Perhaps, the answer lies better in your hands than my own for I am biased by the idea that ignorance is not favorable when knowledge is available. Perhaps my idealism lies in the centerfold that difference can, and does, truly make a difference.
                In the fragile expanse of these ten minutes I have been writing and under the easy preoccupation of talking to you even though I am not beside you, I have realized that we are not alone. The canals wrought between us, even on the simplest of levels, are not ones made for division; rather, they hold inside their waters the richness of diversity. We may find that our paths- that our dreams- that our passions- are different, but these differences make us who we are and, with conviction and morality, we each may pursue the life in

     

     

     

    which we find most fulfilling to not only ourselves, but others as well. Our differences melt away at the wake of something better- something purer- something larger. We, as a collective body, embrace the idea of a common cause- a life worth living, a dream worth
    dreaming, a gift worth giving. We believe, and we believe together. We believe in truth- whether that means idealism or practicality. We believe in emotion- whether that means morality or consciousness. We believe in life.

                There is an oscillation between everything we see- everything we do- everything we are. And this oscillation, in time, tends towards balance and only in balance can there be truth. There is a need for lies to appreciate truth, disdain to comprehend love, sacrifice to obtain experience, wisdom to truly be intelligent, and shadow to make light. In this need, we obtain our differences- no balance is prefect, no scale is precisely the same- but it is the mix of it all- the happiness, the sadness, the good, the bad, the dreams, the paths- that makes us united- that makes us whole. You are me, stripped of my personal relationships and memories, and I am you, deficient of your specific thoughts and actions. There are some that still wade in the extremes, but when they find their balance and learn to swim, they become us. We are all together- even though in simple passing, it doesn’t seem as so. And although I haven’t known you truly, I would like to for this is life, and there is no more eloquent or meaningful a statement other than- we are alive, and we are together.  

    There is a balance-
    Through by the ambiance of experience
    That defines life.
    And by the understanding of morality,

    We have gained union and emotion
    In which a movement is set in motion-
    Away from the folds of uniformity
    And toward the light of multiplicity.

  • Dulce et decorum.

    Kissing your hands,
    Blood between creases
    Crinkled papers, eye-lit secrets.

    You touch my hair
    Blood vessels constrict
    The ownership of smoke,
    You breath as you stroke.

    Sing me a requiem;
    While you promise me dreams.

     

Monday, 09 February 2009

  • We could stream together
    Into strips of paper
    We could push together
    And seperate memory from our being
    Because one and one makes three
    And without truth,
    What is there to you and me?

    We could hold
    Ink pens and words
    In our hands
    And forget we had a committment
    I had a committment
    To another man

    We could watch snowflakes
    And push away our thoughts
    Into the people we see in mirrors
    So they can have them-
    They can have and fill and love
    Our emptiness

    We could sing-
    Sing into the rain, together
    But I know you wouldn't sing,
    Because you were scared
    So we could just lie there, silent
    And afraid.

    We could touch, in that cold night
    And try hard to remember
    What it was like
    We could pretend,
    To feel some worth in our bodies together
    Some warmth to let the frost mend

    We could put on electric blankets
    And peppermint tea
    And read to each other;
    But you would never do such a thing
    We could cut open hearts
    We could cut open wounds
    Late into the night

    We could see a motion picture,
    With characters and people and places
    And wish we were them-
    The girl with the beautiful face
    And the boy with the charm and grace
    And kiss, kiss in some sort of
    Apology

    We could love,
    Yes we could love together.
    With our voices and our bodies,
    And softly beating rhythms
    But we could never build our own hearts,
    Or our own Eden.

Thursday, 22 January 2009

  • Towers.

    A beautiful redition-
    Like carefully placed needles,
    Screaming-
    Coward, Coward, Coward.
    A tea pot that's overflowing with steam
    A lover's secret
    In the garden of Eden.

    Who have you forgotteen?
    Reservations were not necessary,
    In this body, in this mind.
    A call for discipline,
    A call for disciples,
    A call for medication,
    A call for redemption
    A mother crying-
    Sanctuary! Sanctuary!
    In an abortion clinic.

    What have our remarks got us?
    Our pleasures ends?
    A literary criticism; a poltical cynic
    Colours streaming
    In flags, that are sewn by machines
    Representations of ideals;
    Depressed women that forget what it is to feel.

    Apples fall from trees,
    A leopard cut for fur
    Hold me down underwater,
    While your caress her.

    Simple sentences, posed words
    A thousand watching, waiting, saying-
    More! More! More!
    And they ring, the bells, the bells, the bells,
    In some lost poem
    A million sirens for a half a mile over in the speeding zone.

    White coats, and trench coats,
    With blood on shiny silver instruments
    That screech in chorus,
    With patients' impatient sighs
    A clipboard, a checklist
    An eye for an eye
    Numbers diminsh, medicine saves the blind
    What's forgiveen is forgotteen
    With the padding of a courtcase liability fine.

    A notable situation,
    A company lost with the insurance of a five million pound vacation
    A poet muttering,
    Cliche, Cliche, Cliche,
    When you say you Love her,
    When you say you Need her,
    When you say Good Night, Good Day
    A brief case filled with affairs
    Queitly filed away

    Sunrise, Sunset,
    A melody left to theatrical decay
    Mounted on vanity and fallen with time,
    A man slicks his hair back
    And reads his lines,
    Up! Up! Up!
    To the top! To the Edge!
    Down falls the senior,
    From such a precarious ledge.

    Dance with me;
    Yellow, yellow leaves-
    Whispering-
    Time! Time! Time!
    Catch and fall, love and die.
    You coward! A Hero!
    Proclaimed by the papers.
    Tell me you love me;
    Tell me you do;
    Under hazy precautions,
    And without much ado.

Thursday, 15 January 2009

  • Projecturey.

    -----

    Therein becomes a distinction between truth and emotion in which either path leads to its own deterioration and neither presents the safe alternative; the question then transcends, does sancturary dwell in thought or feeling?
     
    ------
     
     

Top Tags - Weblog

[no tags]

decayindecadance

  • Visit decayindecadance's Xanga Site
    • Name: Kara
    • Country: United States
    • State: Maryland
    • Metro: Salisbury
    • Gender: Female
    • Member Since: 7/4/2007

About Me

  • "Do not be too moral. You may cheat yourself out of much life. Aim above morality." - Henry David Thoreau

Pulse

Chatboard (2)

  • CEC32
    I actually didn't recognize you without the apple.
    • Posted 5/24/2008 1:16 PM
    • by CEC32
  • WaitingForCandles
    Thanks for the comment, although my writing is hardly comparable to yours.