hello
person inside of me
wake up
i want to feel again
there must be a memory
or a song
that can rekindle sensation
and a care
there must be a story
that can engage my sympathy
and attention
for more than a passing glance
my eyes are dead
and see the world
as a flat thing
the textures pulled
down and stretched thin
by the knowledge
that all mountains fall
and all holes have a bottom
that there is no secret
that won't disappoint
so hello you
hello!
respond.
responde si vous plait.
give me a stretcher
and carry me
through this death.
Saturday, March 11, 2017
Saturday, March 4, 2017
11. Dragon: Envision a dragon. Do you battle him? Or is the dragon friendly? Use descriptive language.
i am a dragon. i live under the mountain. essentially, i AM the mountain. after all, i am its living beating heart. i am fire. i am iron. i am death.
i spend long centuries sleeping, dreaming. my dreams are of the shifting shapes of fire, and the attendant smoke. all reality, after all, is fire and smoke: both the fire that consumes and changes the world, and the smoke that obscures it. being the creator of fire is a lonely thing, for there is the inescapable knowledge that all things burn and flicker momentarily, and that the smoke and hubbub about it is just a precursor to settled ash. there is nothing in the world that escapes fire. the beings of the world, in fact, are all simply forms of captured flame, some burning faster than others. the smoke are the words or deeds of those beings, pretending eternity, but only obfuscating the inevitable. i too am fire, but a special long-lived flame, an ember burning at the contradiction of my own existence, that something that has mastered the secrets of fire and smoke still cannot make sense of what is an apparent emptiness and absurdity.
there is entertainment in the lives of little flames. the little sparks. so short-lived, they pretend to eternity. with vision so narrow and brief, they generate such hot billows of smoke, words that lay claim to what they deem to be the universe, and what they hope to be eternity. i laugh at them, chuckle at them in my deepest dreams, but secretly i envy them. they are beautiful in their simplicity, their surety. sincerity is a luxury sadly lacking in dragons.
to never stir to action. every movement or thought ponderous and heavy. the air around me is heavy with contradiction and ambiguity. there is nothing that does not bely a world of shadows. that is the lot of dragons, powerful though we may seem.
so small wonder that, when challenged by fool mortals, the longest lived of us do not immediately snuff them out. for it is refreshing to inspire fear, and to simultaneously inspire hope. and what harm, to expose a weakness or two?
perhaps, perhaps, a spark can extinguish a conflagration.
wouldn't that be a story?
i spend long centuries sleeping, dreaming. my dreams are of the shifting shapes of fire, and the attendant smoke. all reality, after all, is fire and smoke: both the fire that consumes and changes the world, and the smoke that obscures it. being the creator of fire is a lonely thing, for there is the inescapable knowledge that all things burn and flicker momentarily, and that the smoke and hubbub about it is just a precursor to settled ash. there is nothing in the world that escapes fire. the beings of the world, in fact, are all simply forms of captured flame, some burning faster than others. the smoke are the words or deeds of those beings, pretending eternity, but only obfuscating the inevitable. i too am fire, but a special long-lived flame, an ember burning at the contradiction of my own existence, that something that has mastered the secrets of fire and smoke still cannot make sense of what is an apparent emptiness and absurdity.
there is entertainment in the lives of little flames. the little sparks. so short-lived, they pretend to eternity. with vision so narrow and brief, they generate such hot billows of smoke, words that lay claim to what they deem to be the universe, and what they hope to be eternity. i laugh at them, chuckle at them in my deepest dreams, but secretly i envy them. they are beautiful in their simplicity, their surety. sincerity is a luxury sadly lacking in dragons.
to never stir to action. every movement or thought ponderous and heavy. the air around me is heavy with contradiction and ambiguity. there is nothing that does not bely a world of shadows. that is the lot of dragons, powerful though we may seem.
so small wonder that, when challenged by fool mortals, the longest lived of us do not immediately snuff them out. for it is refreshing to inspire fear, and to simultaneously inspire hope. and what harm, to expose a weakness or two?
perhaps, perhaps, a spark can extinguish a conflagration.
wouldn't that be a story?
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