I am starting to strongly believe that the emotional content of people is much like the universe.
When the body lies, the mind runs. When the body questions where the mind has wandered, it rarely looks within. One cannot simply roll their eyes back and look through bone. No, unlike other organs, the exoskeleton is much harder to access. Even if one were to miraculously break through the rigid, rocklike structure of a skull, the mind itself is impossibly impenetrable. Still, anything can be broken. Sometimes strength and will power are not always the mandatory instruments needed. Sometimes you just need to play a different tune.
The day is gone. You enter the safety of your home. You lock all your doors, turn on every light, and ready the alarms - assured relaxation.
ASIDE: It is as if we as people are always hiding. Though we may relish in the venture of travel, knowledge and love, come nightfall we reside amongst ourselves, and once our eyes are shut, we claim not to see, yet we do. We can see eternity.
All is quiet. There is stillness for a brief moment in your conscious day, but it is that very stillness that commands the mind to move. It is the stillness that directs direction, instructing a person's internal instruments to sound. Each thought buzzes, reverberating off your skull until memories, dreams, and imaginations become a terrifying reality of what could be. It is hard to believe that in stillness much can be stirred.
ASIDE: "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself." What a true statement after being dissected. Fear is worse than Death. Death does not seek you out, Death merely waits, and if you filled your life with good intent and right doings, He is easily thought of as an escort, a limo driver to a glorious afterlife. Fear is not like Death. Fear consumes. Picture a smaller fish being eaten by a larger fish. Fear is the larger fish, and you the smaller fish. Your body is enclosed in its body, fighting for escape. Regardless of your struggle, you can only move in the direction in which Fear moves. Though you may have been devoured, you are not dead... yet. Only your own actions will guide you to Death.
There are lessons to note. Do not check the peephole once your door is locked. Whatever may be out, cannot get in. Do not look under your bed. You will find nothing but what you left there. Once the lights are off, they stay off. Light cannot expose what cannot be seen. Do not run to your bed. Running in the dark is more dangerous than the fictitious things that wish to catch you. Do not hide under your covers. Comforters are not made to be shields. More importantly, note what you should do: always look up.
ASIDE: It is curious how people feel small when they are afraid, yet they never look up. If you are literally small, you almost always look up. You have to because so much of the world is above you. The same should apply to those who are figuratively small, for if your paranoid mind is correct, up is where they will be hiding.
to be continued...
- afm
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Reconcile
I talk to statues for their words,
But even monoliths can lie.
I asked a deaf man what he heard,
But I recognized the answers
Before he could reply.
The chase is just a waste of time.
I plant the dead weeds in the stone,
But under moonlight they will thrive.
It's so intriguing how dead grows,
Treading ground much like a cancer,
Eating up what's left alive.
The end is such a friendly sight.
I'm breaking bread after I eat.
I'm hiding crumbs under my case.
I'm putting static on repeat,
And I'm begging for the let down.
I'm begging for the chase
To be over in the next town,
To be finished posthaste.
- afm
Monday, January 30, 2012
The Alex show - Episode 34
- Making ends meet is like juggling in the dark.You might know the weight of it all,You might even know the physics of it,But without the comfort of sight,You are helpless.- afm
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
The Alex Show - Episode 33
Somewhere along these lines I have lost sight of the big picture - assuming my body still lies within a canvas these days. I would certainly not be able to tell. Though my conscious moments tend to rupture with a most mystique exuberance, I find the pallet to be faded, somewhat outdated, and sadly berated. Where did I lose sight? Then again, was it even my own sight that created the frame? I know the answers to these questions. Whether I wrote them or not, I am forced to forget until the idea of remembrance is long forgotten. Ten. Ten Commandments. Ten demands. Ten guidelines.
ASIDE: Even though the lines have been drawn, surely I can be my own guide.
I have longed to escape these boundaries. I have not been the one to make them, yet I have restored their purpose. To move off topic from this extended metaphor would only further prove my point, so I must awaken from this coma and from this fabricated comatose. How can a blind man sleep for so long when there is hardly a difference between dream and reality? If the canvas is painted black, it need not matter if the man is asleep or if he is blind. Regardless of which state I am presently in, I must urge myself to awaken. It is the only option I have, for if I am asleep, my will can prevail, and if I am blind, then it is no question as to why I lost my direction.
Revelation: A blind man can easily differentiate between dream and reality, for in dreams, he regains his sight.
- afm
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Monoliths End
The wolves at night are nowhere to be found.
There's not a single howl.
There's not a single sound.
All this calm is driving me insane.
I call for clouds to come
To come and bring the rain,
But rain won't fall when you tell it to.
You cannot be brazen with a maker's view.
Control what's around you.
Kept the young and hid the old.
How was I supposed to know?
February, I could never let you go.
You kept a fraction of the whole.
Now I'm missing part m'soul.
The sky at night is nowhere to be seen.
The shades of blue and gold
Are now a blackened screen.
And if I die before I sleep
I pray the earth my body keep.
Control me, control you.
February, you were oh so very cold,
Kept the young and hid the old.
How was I supposed to know?
February, I could never let you go.
You kept a fraction of the whole.
Now I'm missing part m'soul.
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