The Ramblings of Daily Life

 You could hold hands, with a shell of a man The shell of a man who didn't know what a shell was. A man who knew only what he feared,  not what he wanted, or would work for, or try for. And now he's perched on a comfortable cliff, a familiar precipice, a landing for the times. And he has it all, the things one should have. Your face is but a distant cloud, floating above  miles and miles of cactus filled land. Hunting endlessly for the spark of electric from your fingertips, and like fireworks we ascend the plains. We could skydive somewhere new,  falling gently, parachuting down from the Earth. I've been watching here, from this precipice. Because all that rises must fall, all that begins  with euphoria, surely must arrive at despair. I could shoot your pool, darling, exasperated. Wherever I land, there may be conversation  about starting, ending, tales and stories.   It's all so incompatible with experience.   For I might jump from thi...

Angels We were born with our genetics, and our bodies, and our brains And we were conditioned to shame and compare and beat one another for the superficial conditions of our existence. The little ways we survived in the world, and we grew accustomed to numbing the pain, or living out a story, or abusing others for our own relief. We could believe that we are the victims of circumstance and we are caught in an endless cycle of cause and effect. We could believe we are the endless drum of a world that keeps on marching, a runaway thought that never ceases. There is some comfort in the way it all seems, and the predictability, the inevitability, the infallable nature of all of it. And there is tremendous difficulty in pulling apart the layers of the ego, assembling the pieces together, seeing a whole complex person. It takes months, or years, or a lifetime, and some of us will never succeed. You could argue if it is a worthwhile effort. If you are lucky, you will encounter a mirror, a s...