rain on the window

and we’ll jump to the middle. maybe we’ll circle back or maybe we won’t. but here there’s hope. fear. yearning. questions that need to be asked. questions that want to be asked. to early and to late and somewhere in-between. here at the beginning of the middle. but not really.

everything that happens from now on…

it’s overwhelming. it’s 0 to 60 in no time flat. it’s constantly moving forward. hoping there’s no trip. no stumble. it’s the only way it can be. fill it all in and take the pause later. because when it comes the pause is always longer then you think. and it all works out. even when you think it won’t. and there’s a reason. and a cause. and a result. and never as bad as the late nights imagine it could be.

there was a turn at some point. from one to the other. and I don’t remember when that was. but it was for the best. even if it’s hard to keep up sometimes. but it’s the only option.

swimming through the mud…

And the sadness wells up at the strangest of times. Over taking when you least expect it of course. Not like the anger. That you see coming. Feel building. You can deal with it how you like. The sadness doesn’t give you a choice. It just forces it’s way in when it feels like it. Not that any of it changes. Not that this is anything new. Or unique. It is as it is. And it will be. And has been. And for me right now. These aren’t linked. These are separate. Maybe you can see which is what and where. Maybe you can’t. But it doesn’t really matter. It’s all universalities. One of many. One of few. So it’s burrowing down into it. Covering in the familiar and the new. As long as it’s moving forward.

nobody raise your voices.

I’m trying to leave things in the spaces between words. Hanging the meaning there. Not that it should be hidden. Not that I don’t want it understood. It’s just where if feels most comfortable. Where the pause means so much.

And the music plays on. The melancholy hopeful sadness. Accordions and violins. Voices from other places. Other times. Yet still perfectly from. Right. Now. Wrapping around my heart.

And none of it is about what you think. Of course. Drawn into my head space, making jumps I can barely follow. Losing the path as it goes. Maybe it touches on it. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it means more writing. Or more silence. Not sure just yet.

norman

it’s all sadness for the moment. lose and yearning. grasping at all the moments that are gone. the only one i was comfortable dancing with. thrown over my shoulder with great happiness. headbutts and couch nap demands.

he’s gone. and it’s going to take a long time for it to really really sink in. i’m still expecting the meows and the run to the door when I get home. still surprisingly heartbroken when nothing wakes me up in the morning before the alarm goes off. he would let me bite his ear and I don’t know why. he had a little crazy one toothed sneer sometimes. he would crawl up onto my shoulder so I’d be forced to hold him there. the house seems so quiet with out him.

he never wanted me to sleep in. it wasn’t about being fed either. he just wanted me up and into the living room. he was quiet happy if I got up and went back to sleep on the couch. he’d curly up and sleep with me then. I’d wake up with him next to me on his back all stretched out. he’d look up at me in what seemed perfect happiness.

this isn’t the whole story by any stretch. these are just the good memories I’m focussed while I can’t sleep.

tell all my friends…

it reads back different then it comes out. it always does. and i don’t write as much as i used to. twitter even borders on silence. and it’s dark and sleepy. of long days. doing what it takes. and it’s eyes growing heavy searching for the song to close them. from yesterday to back again. hundreds. of monsters and men. and it’s always and. repeating. songs of dusty times past. butted up against sparse dark drums. echoing in minimalism. and falling asleep in cars.

my tiny little plastic world

and I listen to it loud. but. it’s not. loud. enough. never loud enough. it needs to hit in the chest so you feel it. the breaks bring a shiver. and the dreams hit hard and fast. vivid. and short. with a kick that’s far to early. straight to wide awake. so it’s how the turn happens. how to stick with it. how to take it as it comes. even though the urge is far different.

run fast

there’s a volume that gives the shivers. the rise up the neck. a tense wonderfulness. just before the pause ends. a build up in the silence that you know is going to break. and it won’t be there if it wasn’t right but it hits hard at the right volume. set the dial to where you can feel it. thump in the chest. almost making it hard to breath. and you’ll read into this what you will. you’ll read into it who the you even is. always seeing what you want. and nothing will change that. the you. the you you might think it is. when really it’s not you. or you. it’s an empty collective you that isn’t.

So pick me up stranger, pick me up softly

it’s a little to. quiet. itsalittleto. slow. but there’s still a pause. for awhile. and it’s coming back. in bits and pieces. and getting lost along the way. with nothing to do. nothing to help. taking it as it is. unseen and uncalled for it. with time spent searching. on the unimportant things. but focused. time will tell. something. i’m not really sure what. it’s time for drives at night. to close by places that feel far away. for moonlight and cloudy rainy darkness. and the joy and hope found there.