Thoughts #2

I was between sleeping and waking the other day, I had a serious debate as to whether I had killed someone. Or at least disposed of a body. I couldn’t remember killing anyone, but disposing of a corpse logically follows that, and that I could remember.  The anxiety of someone discovering the secret was overwhelming. I don’t believe I’ve ever felt more paranoid… And it wasn’t even real.

Do I not take life as seriously as I should? Is there a graded scale for such a thing? I feel as though everything’s easier with graphs and scales and equations.  Even if I don’t fully understand them, just seeing things represented thusly makes them feel simpler, more manageable, more knowable.

I hate pulling the nihilist card, but there’s so much I don’t know and so much I can’t know that it does seem overwhelming pointless to try and discover or try things.  But then I always grow tired of the monotony that accompanies not exploring my life and this world. And so I try new things for a bit, until I’m overwhelmed.

Maybe it’s my lack of focus. Which isn’t so much jumping from one thing to the next, it’s a constant step backwards to look at the whole of my existence and wondering what sort of person is this making me? What sort of person does this?  It’s the neutral answers that give me grief. “People do this, most people in fact, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to…” The things that aren’t inherently wanted or unwanted by the person I’ve become.



Thoughts #1

I feel as though I’ve always thought too much. My mind races when it’s unoccupied with tasks, either significant or menial, and there are things I contemplate that may seem to be odd fixations, or plausible fears, but in an attempt to share some of myself, these are the thoughts and questions that cross my unburdened mind today…

Statements that are unprovable, yet plausible:

There are exactly 5 colors that no one can see.

Plants have frequencies of communication that we can’t hear. Every time I mow my lawn there is silent screaming. Every flower I pick gives a last gasp before dying.

I die every time I fall asleep and a new version of myself is born whenever I wake up.

Everyone else sees the world in a different manner than I do.

Everyone else doesn’t exist.

That this life is Heaven and I don’t appreciate it enough.

That this life is Hell and I don’t appreciate it enough.

That I can’t feel the full spectrum of emotions.

That I’ve missed what could have been the happiest moment of my life.

That I won’t matter after I die.

That I don’t matter before I die.




I’ve been twitching lately,

My muscles acting of their own will.

First in my temple,

Then in my fingers,

Lastly, mid-back.

I told my doctor of the first.

“Would you like to do anything about it?”

No, no. I’ll see if it goes away.

I sat and stared at the second,

Feeling a helplessness and anxiety,

But ever confident in hope.

The third is crippling,

And my thumb still twitches in time with my heartbeat.

I am still but a moment

And hope always returns

Only to fall on glimmering rocks

Of reality and to abide a rhythmic aberration.




I hope to share more of myself this way. Hence the #1 in the title. Until then, unless my muse strikes a different chord.




My Writing

 In an attempt to maintain order, I am posting my poetry and works according to the order I’ve written them.  There are countless numbers of words and phrases and rhymes that I’ve written and lost over the years, but these are the scraps I’ve taken the time to type and edit, either because they adequately portray my feelings, or I just enjoy the story and style.  There are changes in style from age to age and I expect the same of the future.  I vary my mood and so does my poetry.  I find an inspiration and I showcase it in my work.  If you find something you don’t like, try the next one, it may be more to your liking.