Project Rekindle

note: i wrote/vommited this out in 12/06. While not feeling the negative energy that i was obviously consumed by when i wrote this, i felt as though it were still a righteous period to a long sentence. It still makes me think and smile and sigh. I love the condition of Life, and the fallible minds we have to make the best of it with. I now see exactly why they are where they are, and why they're with whom they're with. Clay buildings set out in front of the summer equinox. They used to form a skyline at one point.....yea, USED TO. They still stand, just not tall. Swallow this whole, but not on an empty stomach:


When life passes you by, you wake up. In waking up, you move on. In moving on, have you caught back up to life? If it's passing, and you're moving, who's to say you aren't neck and neck? If, in being neck and neck, you move on once more, WITHOUT life passing you by, are you now ahead of life, and/or beyond time? I doubt that. I don't doubt that you can move past life though. Instant gratification leads to new you's and me's. I see through, though i partake, and find it hard to watch midgets try to stand in an ocean. Don't they know they won't be ready for the tide?

I met a man the other day who told me to stop trying. He said, "No one cares as much as they say they do." So, i asked, "Do they care more about what they don't say?" to which he replied, "Precisely, and our thoughts about ourselves are locked in our heads. Never do we speculate our own Self outloud."

To admit you care for something, then, is admitting that you've found room to care about something, or someone, in the midst about caring and thinking only about yourself.

You may be thinking, you cynic you, that i'm full of bull's shit, and that you, for one, care about tons of things and/or people, and not only do you care for them, but you care ALOT. Well, to that i say, such is proof of how much you truly regard yourself. If the self induced thought is unavoidable....well, then, you also fall victim to it. What my head is wondering is: How do you possibly find time to think about yourself as much as you do, and still have things and/or people you'd argue for and fight for and maybe even die for. Perhaps i'm one of these people. I feel as if i care, to an extreme degree, about others. I feel, sometimes, like i do for them moreso than myself. This, i know now, is untrue. Disregarding, hating, loathing, despising. These are all horrible thoughts one can have about oneself....but it doesn't mean they aren't solely thinking about themself.

I've learned alot over the past two years. Mostly, it's that nothing stays the same. 23 year old Wesley would beat the shit out of 21 year old Wesley. Not for choices he made, but for trains of thought he possesed. For not getting it. I still only get what i'm no longer able to change. In understanding yesterday, do we really have better opportunities for tomorow? I think not. It's mostly relative to hot and cold, right and wrong. We program ourselves, or "learn from our mistakes" in an entirely subjective way. If 23 year old me would kick 21 year old me's ass, then whose to say i'm able to learn anything from that boy?

Live in the moment then? Sure, why not. Live in a dream world. Where girls conquer their insecurities, and guys don't give them any. Where girls don't test boundaries, and guys don't give them reason to. Where a girls broken heart can't find room to break the boy who broke her. Where telling someone you love them isn't followed with a "but,....."

I smoke too much to dream anyhow...


note: 26 year old wesley would kick the shit out of both 23 & 21 year old Wesley.

you're god and my cloister (in awe of walls)

done and done. steps and tile and floor and hall. it's all we saw. a certain flaw. in awe of walls that feel the peel of paint, they steal and kneel before an ocean floor-like sunken saint. a drunken tape of love and hate that sails when played. the sails: wind frayed.

sin stayed and set opinions on the corner of my desk. it read:
"i must confess: i truly feel as though i'll rest."

it opens statements from the chest (the one at the end of the hall).
soaked in a blatant mess: apathy, the condition of crawl.

it states: ours aren't contiguous. well, figure it out;
separated by a body of water would define demur's doubt.

a body of water? decide to dishonor? denounce the dimensions of rotting's sick slaughter?
i feel like the daughter, who feels like a child, who flew, once, just to be gone for a while.

an abrupt ending. her corrupt sending
of salutations,
and infatuations.

i suppose i handled diploma for her graduation.

an abbreviation:
SMH

there, in the theatre, it's read:
"steps and tile and floor, hall, and bed."
(single syllable explanations are all that were said.)

i wish the forest would force it's full weight down upon us.
though, dawn is honest, it's light leaves me tarnished.

i feel like i'm garnish, and the world is your oyster.

no, the world's a buffet. you're god, and my cloister.

optimism retort:

resorting to pen and to pad, to key and to board, and after finding no real reason to thwart,
i sit there, as smile finds a niche and extorts.

empowered by flowers

eyes frolic, denying lacking flowers.
lilacs empower
the true vision of towers.

i've only seen them cower once,
though it lasted months.

the town that bound and gagged the seed
preferred their words skewed and diseased.
they thought,
and caught,
bought in to things.
to fit in --
fitting into all sorts of rings,
that fit into assorted dreams.

i sort of knew i'd find no peace,
just pieces that flowered away from me.

to gather,
i'd rather

next1

she's there, smiling. she loves the way he loves her back. i knew that laugh, but not the way the smile lingered. i know the fingers, know the touch, but not the femur. i hope she wouldn't let him touch it neither. a fever that feels it's best when sleepers rest, and knows that i would need it less. so, it stays and waits till eyelids bless the dark, embarking on it's quest. i know this dance, this ice charade. a puppet lifts me from this place. it seems as though i've learned to play, i know better than to let her stay. a place in mind; in mine, the veil is lifted, and i notice that a boat has drifted. it fades away, like faces do, and all that's left is what's in front of you. eyes focused on your worn out shoes, as they stumble through the path you choose. i know this now, and regret nothing. thankful for the cardiac thumping. a step. a new dance. a new succession of notes i could sing. i don't care about them anymore because they're only steps towards nothing. to focus on that would be hopeless, in fact, i would hope it's obvious they've turned themselves back.....and now they hopelessly lack. lift my head to show i'm able, and still strong, and that nothing that happened stopped me from happening. she stopped caring, and gave into her insecurities. they deserve each other. that's ok. a new. almost love. teach, and run. it's ok. a new. love, conditionally. her fear of magick. my fear of her. The Virgo, The Taurus, and Leo (saturn's misguided trio). her spilled head wades in mud bowl's perimeter. i knew it. that's ok. better because of it. much less worse off in the head, and the clairvoyant hope sustains the dent in my bed. and so i need her. i breathe her in, foreshadowing. i live to live, and aim to be. find shade in harmony, let them be. for me, it's next one, next one..