20121018 the things you say part 17

20121018 the things you say part 17

For fucks own sake. What the fuck can I say. It is so many steps forward and then three times as many steps back. This is my heart.  My heart. Lurching and shrinking, growing and hoping. Recoiling. Feeling embarrassed, ashamed, part loved, forgotten. Make up your mind. What is it? Huh?

So, then, time passed by slowly, and the small word received rescinded, fell into an abyss of meaninglessness, nothing. How can something remain something? How many times does it need to be retold, reaffirmed? Are words or actions more telling, more true? What is true? Where are you?

So word came. I blew myself wild and alive with the pulse of it. Possibility. It faded. Flat lined.

This has become a ruled line, straight and flat on a back lit screen. Darkness helps the white line illuminate itself. Bold. Clear for all to see. A ruled straight line is a nothing line. There is nothing here.

So, then, the word came, and it was good. And so then, the sound of the word faded, my soles gained wax and thread and twine showed its scratchy face to the world. In the corridor I heard a new sound, new whisper. I am coming back. I listen to them speak in spat tongues. This has done some good so they say, there is marked progress. I hear them.  I wonder at progression. How is it marked? From where to where? How judged. A successful stay away. Success? How is it measured? How judged? But my preponderance is short lived. I care little. So little. The main point, the point that matters is this, I am coming back. Tomorrow I think, I will be on the way, back to you to you to you.

Yeah, great, and what. What? I come back and am here. Back in this place, trying to keep out of sight of the others, the fuckers, the no good pieces of shit who will fail. If there is judgment of success they think that they mark it, but they fall short, fail short, mis read. Those acquisitions mean nothing, are short lived, are mere triflings to trick you, inbred thoughts of 'I'm happy' placed in your silly ego centred souls. Fuck wits, fuck ups, fuck off.

Ha ha

You, you fucker. Half this half that. Twat.
Give me something real that I can feast my eyes upon, sink my teeth into.

So then, and this is true,  I am suddenly given the opportunity to go into the hall and look at the results of the baring of the souls. Not mine. That is still hidden away, bearing fruit under the five year rule. But the others, the others. I am intrigued. Alarmed at the plentiful futility, moved now and then by a snap shot a thrill of something real.  In there, weighed down with the earnest appraisal, the talk and the showing you throw more words at me. Sudden. Unexpected.  More small words, tiny, telling me in a half sentence about you. Your life.

More exaltation. Delirious at your consideration of me your wanting to share that news with me, with me. I can neither wait nor think but must tell you straight away how wonderful how brilliant you are.

Since then, since that time, the net has fallen over me. There are no flies in here. No space for words, no paper. Lost, again, as you step back find new distance. Into formal.  I stoop bow down and wish.

I lose my charm, my power. I am humbled by my wanting. I wait on.