Fire and Desire

What the %&$#! is going on with pain and the body just slowly failing me. I'm ageing and desire to feel more than this and burn with fiery passion, and with love for anything not already filling my heart. I know my passion and it is weak. I need to burn with dreaming love of something. I understand but I don't burn with knowledge. It's just a place that I can stand and half-smile through the next obstacle. What to burn, when the fire is so low and the ashes write the story of life as it comes to be, to me. I'm a creature undead and smile when vacancies fill my mind and face. I'll bite and then complain even at the beauty of being, simply being there. Why? I still long to breath in heavy breath, and move weighted arms around an aging keyboard. Smile for a minute and then hang my head at surrealism of kissing death and breathing life into it. A strange mix, and perhaps deadly for anyone. 

At an Understanding Age

    Sometimes in my life and maybe your's too. I feel like the world is breathing age and understanding into my life. I can only accept it, being that I'm not a genius or anything really special at all. But I am understanding life in so many more ways. That I feel myself filling with a quiet realization of existence. I understand the frailty of life and the acceptance of death, my death. I'm just speaking out of a need to write this feeling down. I understand and therefore I am more than before. A man moving through life creating little waves and accepting the ones washing over me. Please and thank you God for this life and all the blessings you have bestowed on myself and my family. I humbly pray for your continued blessings. Thank you so much. Life is ........

Pissing Down A Rat Hole! Urchin Credo!

   I stand crooked pissing down the rat hole.  It's better than pissing into the wind, for all we are is urine spray in the breeze.  I find it hard not to leave my rat hole, to piss in a better place.  Sometimes all you knew is really more than you were.  Depressing and untrue, but sometimes all you have is half truth's and wishful, blissful, sawdust left from each character building block cut from a rather dismal lot of charred, sun bleached, and drifting wood.  Drift away..........A penny for your thoughts, A nickel for your dreams,  A dime for the time to try, to make a new way through the night and day.  A rat hole to piss down is not hard to find, sometimes it's the only trick I know. The credo for the urchin.......drift away....piss...off...believe....try again.... 

It's just that chicken with it's head cut off, running around chasing monkey's

  Strike while the iron is hot, in a crazy mixed bag of nuts kinda way.  It's totally correct to assume the worst of humanity.  Stricken ravaged, Broadway show collaboration, it all is without meaning.  I could talk about problems and solutions, but it really would be like a monkey pissing on the top ant of an anthill.  You get one, maybe two, twenty perhaps, but there are still a million more pouring out of urine, the city.
   I guess you can't forget your problems, but you try anyways. It's human nature to forget the good, the better, still yet the best.  We strive towards our destructive nature, forgetting the stop sign's even there. The wild ride, the careening, tilting, and whirling madness that is humanity. All bad no, but chicken running around with it's head cut off, yes, I think that's right. I must admit, I'm biased, and jaded, stricken with a pained heart. That is my humanity.  

Do Dreams Work In Hell, Or Am I Merely Drinking Too Much

  In terms of endearment the nickle falls between crumpled white bedsheets.  It matters where you're standing to really view how much a damaged distance or pressed closeness can do.  I'm finding the way to pick the garbage up in this graffiti filled walled alley.  In this fish-eye view existence, I think I possibly could have stumbled into someone really great.  I know that life is hard and even harder alone. But in the brown coffee shop gloom, you fill the room with happiness, that I love so much, cling too really.
   It's a strange world where a place in the heart is the place you wish to live in someone else. I'd die for the love given.  This is unhappy because I'm still learning about give and take. In rapid red flush of skin is all it takes.  I know that's not always the case, but "Ideally" is really just a children's playground.  It's fawned in blissful ignorance.  When everybody's knife is sharpened and behind those people's back do they come out to play.
   They are still dull to the flickering tongue speaking illnesses and spilling jaded poison into a new way to drop to the calico-covered stoned etched ground.  In which to crawl slowly,"gasping" back to your feet, knee to earth and blackened boot to dirt.  I find I only can find you to be the reason for my change. I'd be lost forever without you.  I'll find out how much love is given when memories of me seem more like bad dreams.  I dream only bad dreams when I dream, I wonder if I die when I dream, and Hell is my reality, my drink of a broken bottled beer.  I never really know how much glass is in my red lagered Beer.  I guess the only way, is to drink through your dreams.  So pitiful, I hope you see through the crap, and connect sincerely to another, to pick you up, as you do likewise.  Teamwork exists even in Hell, and Romance is just another mystery prize you have to buy tickets for.

Food For Thought

  It's an interesting thing, how a simple word or phrase when written or spoken.  That the tone of them is creating a world which doesn't exist anywhere, but in your mind.  I know for a fact, that I don't believe in what you're beliefs are. It's a simple matter of logical deduction.  My reality is cheeseburger hamburger helper, your's curry, chop suey, etc. etc. etc.. I believe in Sake, you perhaps beer, cola, or apple juice. It's a never ending combination of the foods that make our meal, our life.
  A simple slip of the tongue can turn the world upside down. It can mix the food and drink, and spoil the meal.  It can make you puke, heave, and hurl your way through each day.  A bitter hangover you might not have asked for, but got anyway.  I did not ask for a wobbly lime Jello mold with mandarin oranges suspended inside.  It's not that I don't like it, just hate it really. I'll eat it, but not happily.  That's life rarely giving you what you ask for, but sometimes, sometimes...  It's what you need.

Death!! Last Meal! (I'm Going to Skip out on This Check!)

  I like the snow, white and fluffy, cold, yet inviting.  I don't know why?   Really, I don't have a clue. I don't like being cold, but it is invigorating though.  I guess it's probably a morbid curiosity.  Cold, frozen, unmoving, yes dead, I mean dead.  It's a relationship I despise.  I do realize it is part of the life function.  A major part, although an unpleasant subject.
  A true calling, we all may not apply for, but get the task anyway.  I guess that's what is ringing so clear for me.  A taste of the end, without it being the end.  The weird delight I take in a joyful way of cheating death.  Even if only for pretend, and briefly, like I said before "I don't like being cold".  I'm pretty sure I'd like being dead even less.  So Winter is really a give and take from kinda season.  The end, mindful of a swiftly approaching gasp for the newness of spring.
  I'm just going to stand here and watch my breath roll from my mouth in a ball that's reaffirming I'm alive.  So enjoy the taste without paying for the meal.  But before you do try out Fall first, the leaves colors are to die for.