Where the wild things roam

Today I watched as an army, dead but for their feet all stomping to the sound of an intangible dream, proceed. silent warriors of a presumed glory. Today I witnessed the procession of an army not present. Guns are drawn, painting bloodred roses atop fields of rich brown skin. Today natives were murdered, and I was the only one to see them fall.
Here is the difference between a native and a pale skinned conqueror: one wears hand built moccasins with furry leather tails dangling from the top, which I love to watch dance to the rhythm of human movement. The other wears long, brown lace up boots. These specimens of another world resist movement entirely. they are stiff, persistently unchanging, such that each person resembles the next if you were to only see their ankle down, where the dress then covers continuous leather. No individual history was given to those leather boots, or at least none but what the shop owner witnessed. They were magical things which appeared sumptuously presented on wooden shelves, bought with metal coins, then shoved onto hungry feet. But those native moccasins, they were animals in a different form. Creatures sewn together by skill and culture. Those moccasins told a story, that every brown skinned was aware of.
Oh, how I longed to share the joy of that story. How I longed to race with the buffalos, my leather tails dancing with the thump of my feet, how I longed to be free. I was not born for a life of conquest. I did not thirst for the captivation of new territory, and the growing of alien crops in a wild land. I wanted to call this wild thing, this new world my home, not my investment. I wanted to be one with all that pulsed through the quiet trees and the cry of hawks. I wanted to be free.
My name is Mary Ann, and I am not a real pioneer. I'm just a bird in a cage so to speak, a bird waiting to be unveiled. To run and run into deep forest and never come back.

Watery heart

The eternal, unforgiving void of a desire unquenched, a desire instead fed by the monstrosities of the illogical mind...
"Come" it whispers, fierce and persuasive, "come to the everlasting cave of opportune dreams, come dwell with the rats and the kings and those inbetween, come join us in ceremonial thought. No hatred or demise will stir, nothing to wake you from pleasent dream, merely the sound of your own heart drowning"...

The Age Of Technology

What will this be... an expansion of digital nothing. Megalithic gears turn, a bastion for the creation of modern society. Still now, up in the grand, gleaming towers of corporate power, fate is decided. For fate is in their hands so long as we are compellingly lenient, consuming like hungry sows down here in our comfort boxes called houses, sitting here as those megalithic, synthetic gears turn to propel repelling magnets, to create the digital hemisphere of a new world. Now, nothing is tangible. Now, we are coalesced with a void of a crevice, pure and intangible idea. This is the age of technology.

symbiosis

A thick gauze of courage encircles a broken body. None see past this perfect guise, no clue preludes the soul's death. Yet, one aspect is present both below and above that gauze of courage: peace is eminant. Alone she fights, while that clever mask plays, carefree, with The minds of her comrades. In this way pride wins, but symbiosis is present still. Let the soul's demon live, but let the mind grow stronger in it's wake.

picturesque

Liquid. Translucent, liquid, I float...
no cuurrent shivers, no spark of unprocessed energy enters my platform. Everything, every being silent in the halls, the nooks and cranies of my mind but one strong voice echoing, reverberating along the tall stone walls....
my own truth, my own soul, my own reality.

This is the past: a robust figure next to a doorway, warm caramel color exuding amidst the walls and the people in front of them. Snow descending, hot chocolate by the fire. Another figure by an elegantly lavished stool. Eyes spark, and contrast is united. Peace. Balance. This is the future: black earth, fertile with the decayed remenants of humanity. Warm caramel has burnt to a powdery soot, chocolate grew to hot... it spat out the love and gave way to hatred, deep and rich as molasses. This is what the future ground consists of, beneath my tiring feet. the remains of a since gone decorum, an overpowered empire. to think, to gaze at the past and think, that this glory will soon be tred upon like scum. As for the present: the present is unknown, I live in the past and dream of the future, but we only know with certainty one thing of the future: Power will die. Weakness will die. death awaits like a silent guardian, menacing and yet spectacular, the fear of a territory unconquerable thrills our imaginations.

Rumor has it

Rumor has it that the earthy branches,
Fallen victim to years of servitude,
have come to stand
resolute in denial.

In denial of humanity,
They've come to play,
Their roots igniting,
Setting flame to
Hopeless enterprises,
And bland pride.


For these are your ancestors
There, between reality, and
The degradation of myth.
Their trunks,
They are dwindling-
Once kind master
To the upheaval of nature.

Yet still,
Look here,
The past is present
In the rough bark,
Laden with
Feeding termites and battle wounds
From the economic slaughter.

Here they stand, supreme
Cold reminders
Of our mistaken truth

thoughts of the incontent

Holding on to the undefinable,
The silvery thing called love.

In the midst of all this grey you seem,
Why, nearly solid
A dream
Consisting of goodbyes and
Broken tomorrows.

Yet grasping, my hand holds only
The common thread
The common thread of a blind existence.
Looking for you, I find the imagination.

Searching for you,
For it,
For my existence,
I find reality.

Looking for that silvery thing,
'Can't quite ever touch it,
yet if the earth can kill,
Why live a solid existence
When a blow
Why, a blow could take it all away

the present

dancing is my life. not to be too melodramatic, but dancing, is indeed the air I breathe. it is in fact what I once thought was my future, but now in fact is my past. I gain my oxygen from watching others pass me by, then I might glimpse a bit of the ideal reality. this is my present and future, not my fate. future can be changed to the ideal, where as fate cannot.

A short note on the validity of a movie

Movie credit songs are corny. But if you don't listen to them, the movie wasn't worth watching. I don't care if I laughed, or smiled, if I didn't listen to the credit songs, it means I wasn't moved. I wasn't moved enough to sit for five minutes,still, soaking in overly used catch phrases and ridiculously harmonious tunes. All the while contemplating  the idea that I just watched something that was born into reality, yet remarkably nonexistent. fictitious, yet clearer then the food I just ate. Perhaps its the blank droll of the bland, empty space sitting there, practically saying "I'm here! fill me with your ideas", but watching those small little white names move across the screen is one of the most efficient time periods of not only the one hour in which you watched the movie, but in some cases, the day. yes, you pick up information which you could never  pick up staring at a black screen, but you never processed it until then. if you watch the movie credits, it means the movie made you think. it means there was so many valuable emotions and information coming from the actors, you needed that extra five minutes of silence and drab liquidity to figure out why that movie spoke to you.  I've always preferred books over movies, but when I watch a movie, I tend to get inspired. 

Rising

I am whole
I am
nonchalant
rocking
rock
rocking
below the depths of a flood
arms outstretched, tunes seeping
but not quite touching
the bowls of
the heart.
it is broken
it is insanely sweeping,
gracefully before my eyes
but not quite touching
the depths of my mind.
for, I am lost,
beyond comprehension
uprising
rising from her own creation,
a flood
a flood emotionally erratic,
scattering towards an open heart
yet not quite touching.
this is a tune
just there,
above the clouds and moonlit skies
nestled between her heart and ours.