Tag Archives: future

In A Haze

Woken up again, I find myself responding to the light and to the chirping. To the stimuli, as I should. To all things, as I have before. Perhaps I must change again? I am too much the same as I’ve been, floundering in that sea of doubt and sameness that continues to rise and rise until it rests just below my chin. It stops there and waits, knowing I know of it and what I feel about it. Knowing the anxiety it causes me. Cognizant of the fact that its sentience and salience terrify me like nothing has terrified me before because, simply, the idea of stagnation is equitable in my mind to an endless torture. I find that hell would be preferable to purgatory in that I at least derive some comfort from knowing my torture, rather than not knowing my fate. Please enjoy the poem, friends.

Waking Up

Sick again

I keep doing this

I don’t know

It hurts again

I keep a head

Always in cycles

Moving in circles

Wondering why I did that same thing again

Why i laid my head to rest on that same lap again

To find my roots amongst the trees

And my legs against the seas

Tired of finding that i have weak knees

I’ll don my tricorne

And I’ll set off

Or I’ll set sail

And go there far beyond the pale

As friends and foes sit and wait,

I find myself not resigned to this fate

For it’s with destiny that i have a date

Princess On A Train, The Train

Today I have for you the story of a girl on a train. The story of a girl of such ethereal beauty, abundant character, and brazen intellect that one could hardly consider her real. The story of our lady, that one who is champion for us so that we may live again in that kingdom of golden plenty. The story of that girl who is the light when all is in darkness. The story of that one who I only hope that someday I can be compared against in half as favorable a light. Please enjoy the poem today. This one means a lot to me.

Our Lady, The Traveller

So many fears

And so many tears

The story of a girl on the subway

A girl crying on the train

A girl with eyes so vibrant and beautiful

The war for Helen of Troy might seem like a playground spat

Were she now to be the focus

This girl on the subway

With jet black hair

And the fairest of skin

Sweeter than honey

Feeling less than sunny

The days for her

Already long

Grow longer still

She waits for her mind to come home from war

For her love to come knocking at the door

Staring out the window

Seeing stations pass by

She tells herself that little lie

“I’m ok! I’m alright,” she’ll cry,

As her manicured nails dig into her thigh.

Recalcitrant as she is

In her rebellion against the crown

She fears now the forces rallied to her opposition

As their war horns sound

But our lady, my lady

The princess and heir

So beautiful and fair

Those horns that sound

Her allies to her aid

Riding down the mountain in that most righteous cavalcade

That girl crying on the subway

She’ll find the words with which to say,

“I’m ok. I’m alright.”

And on that day,

She’ll have the strength to fight.

Thereby, The Window

I sit here at this table by the window. I wonder what to write. Another busy day today. Painfully out of sight. I wish to be so found, so desired, as to be the object of such constant praise but at the same time, no, I wish to slink back into the shadows and watch them all walk by. To be apart from it all. How does one reconcile these alternate desires? Someday I’d like to be the one that knows. Please enjoy the poem today, friends. I wrote it just for you.

Table by the Window

Do I ever know what to write?

The very thought

It feels so trite

Something that so seemingly cannot be taught

I’m finding that i think of you a lot

My heart so burns with numbness

I wish that i could go away and find that wardrobe

And be with mister tumnus

For now I sit and stare

At faces seem so bare

A thousand different things to fear

Shed but not a single tear

No sadness left to turn

From that torrent to slow burn

I’m finding now it’s hard to earn

A place now to discern

What option is the best

Why yes! You might ask

“What options might you have?”

Oh, wouldn’t You like to know?

Let’s Do It, Let’s Fall In Love

Consider it, my friends. To be in Paris in the 1920s, to escape and find that magic! To take it and bring it back to the present to find yourself and everything you’ve ever dreamed of. Take that magic and that majesty you found in the past and apply it to the world at large. Oh, to be in a wonderful world of wizards and sorcerers, casting their magics on pages and canvases and the keys of pianos. What a wonderful world it will be, filled with art and song.

Carnival Comes to Paris

There’s flying and there’s dying

Both ending on the ground

Hearing that one final sound

Make refuge there, in burial mound

A man in a three-piece suit

Playing the piano

Can’t help but fall in love

Fly away, little dove

All affairs fair at the fair, long as you can pay the fare

Car broke down

Grab the spare

It’s a long way back to town

One day soon we’ll be back home

One day soon I’ll read that tome

Evil little lexicon

Stare me down, thereupon

Sitting on the shelf

Bore your holes

Whack those moles

Cross the bridge and pay the tolls

Find yourself and find our souls

Do You Believe In Magic?

Arthur C. Clarke once said, “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” We’re on the cusp of an era where people will no longer understand the technologies we have built from the ground up. They are now so complex that were you to ask a child today how a cellphone works, they might simply have no explanation other than that of magic. My generation may be the last to understand technology’s inner workings in any meaningful way, now giving rise to a society that is full of sorcerers rather than scientists. Imagine a world of science fiction. One where we fly on great space arks and control every aspect of reality simply by thinking. No one will know who built these machines or how they operate, just that they continue, always. You will find yourself surrounded by magic and splendor, finding no difference between the former and science any longer. Any notion of us having built these hulking, self-maintenancing, incredible wonders will have disappeared. We may become little more than medieval peasants worshipping great mechanical beasts that do the bidding of those savvy enough to claim their operation, though ignorant to the internal machinations all the same. None of us will live to see this potential future, but we are getting closer.

Transistor

It’s magic.

Don’t you know?

Every little arc and spark

Coursing through the board

Can’t help but find

Inside the mind

A billion little arks

Sailing through the dark

So complex

Are these effects

None of us remember

How it is they render

Those little magic words