Strange and Sad
The world changed. I don't blame the world or these people in it, it isn't their fault, if anything it is mine. It just seems clear that there's no place for me here, at least not as I currently am. I guess that's fine, but nevertheless I feel strange and sad that I've let the world change on me.
These days explorers are out there mapping the landscape of fear. But they aren't doing a very good job of it, I hear. They're only noticing certain things and missing others. You know I know. I say good luck. I mean, I've walked this land for many years, long before they were born. Trust me, their maps suck. And I'm still here. But I'm increasingly unsure why, or to what end. That's the feeling I fear, the attack I can't defend, ‘cos I feel strange and sad that I've let the world change on me.
No you needn’t worry, this isn’t the lowest low. You are good to ask though, cos I've been there and I know and it was way worse than this. I'll rally I suppose. Eventually. I mostly just feel tense and strange and sad that I've let the world change on me.
What can you do to help? Just being there is good. I am old enough to remember rallying before and I should eventually, and hopefully be there for you when you next feel this way.
There’s an Island on the Other Side of the World
There's an island on the other side of the world. The odds of us seeing it are slim, but it's nice to know that it's there, an escape from the tedium. Lately there's a feeling in the air, the loss of all things gracious and fair. Instead, a synthetic aesthetic is there, in the movies, in the media, devouring our time voraciously. Feels a bit Late Cretaceous to me, but, if so, what shall be the meteor? Or don't I want to know...
There's an island on the other side of the world, caressed by an ocean breeze, but it seems at this late stage we've forgotten how to tell stories. I've had a lot of memories lately, but less energy to fend them off than before. It's quite exhausting really, feeling and healing like this forevermore.
There's an island on the other side of the world, ringed by a primordial sea, but one cannot solve one's problems geographically.
Where You Take and Take and Take
I see you in the flood, in the lights, where you take and take and take.
I see you in the flood, in the lights. That's the thing with iron: it can be molded into anything, from weapons to bells to weapons to bells and it can take and take and take.
I see you in the flood, in the lights. Melt and flow over.
Like Birds After The Rain
Sweet storms of spring don’t do anything for me save providing the water I need to survive, to stay alive.
What to do when there’s no one else to blame?
What to do when it’s all on you?
It would be better if it was the weather, because once the storm moved on I could just fill the air with song again like birds after the rain.
To Each Their Own Armor
Yaw, old friend, what did they do to you that you need such sharp edges and barriers too? You’ve become quite invulnerable, or at least you appear that way to me. I respect it. Really. It’s impressive, very, but sad that it is necessary. You have lived. I’m trying to, so it can be hard for me to see what your defenses are for, but to each their own armor, to each their own harbor and ground and home.
Yaw, old friend, you came a long way to end up here with us face to face under slanting beams of sun. I mean, I could be anyone. You’ve held up well despite everything. Now, I’m awkward around people, small talk is deadly and make believe is just patently untrue, but I feel I understand you. Don’t take it personally though. I would hate that, you know. My only goal most days is not to make anyone afraid, myself included, and you have lived. I’m trying to, so it can be hard for me to see what your defenses are for, but to each their own armor, to each their own harbor and ground and home.
Honest, you didn't deserve this. Neither of us ought to go out like this. But let's not pity each other, because you have lived and I'm trying to, so it can be hard for me to see what your defenses are for, but to each their own armor, to each their own harbor and ground and home.
Seashell
What if I die and never see again that look in your eye? That would be so nebulous.
Seashells burned in the drying bed. They’re ancient, they're Cambrian, with no place left in the modern age for them except on a mantelpiece or in a museum.
What if I die and never see again that look in your eye? That would be so nebulous. Away!
Absent Friends
All the best stories come to rest on your lips with ease. Yours is a life lived.
Night walks on cobblestones buried deep like dinosaur bones: murder-dark stumbled ends best unwound before absent friends. Yours is a life lived.
Tomorrow sky bruised and grey, curtains of rain wash the colors away
Darkest heart made to roam, if only you’d told me, if only I’d known what could have been.
Ship of Clouds
Some days, sunlight feels so inappropriate.
Flat-lined Bolognese rain feels right for these porticos and passageways.
Orange and salmon turned brown and grey, curtains of rain wipe the colors away.
Is there a place for me? Where is the place for me?
Ship of clouds, sail forever.
Ship of clouds, of salty sun, borne over heaven and weather a place for everyone.
Ship of clouds, steer me home. Ship of clouds, steer me home.
Surmount this weathered edifice, broken by empire and echoes of song.
Let me find where I belong.