On A Pedestal

Silence, I've never heard such a thing. Perhaps pleasant sounds, a river running untamed, birds in the deep forest, falling leaves carried off by the wind. 

It's quietude we really seek, cars hissing by, rain fallling. But never silence, unless it's the awkward kind, tension that mature lovers are unfazed by. Or the silent kind of cruel treatment, given off to signal something's amiss. It's the way some people bond. 

Silence you can hear yourself breathe. 

New Age music playing in the background, soundscapes, nature's majestic symphony, earplugs coupled with noise-reduction headphones to obliterate the loudness of sound in this sleepless town. 

It gets quiet enough that you get to hear your own thoughts. Quiet the mind, and you'll get that rare breed of silence. If momentarily only, you get hear the sound of the universe. It's the language God speaks in.  

If there's anything that the present teaches us is how wrong we were about preconceived notions in the past. 

What's next is a spinning cycle, as far as introspection woes;  in life we chase relative ghosts, rehearse tired dreamscapes, events seethe a spectral mimicry. No one wants to stop at once, just increasingly decelerate to a standstill. Extricate unquantified, egalitarian patterns in servitude of others to measure up the constant void, with vigorous, thorough action. So as to rattle the golden-ridden parasitic cage of ribs and vessels encompassing in sync an out of tune symphony. 

Lavish gifts ferment awaiting our appraisal, words of kindness screeching rodent-like sound bites. Freedom enslaves us. To be of service, as in bowing to save our head, holding a begging  bowl in the back and a smile upfront to receive the piercing dagger, come to the aid of the ungrateful. 

This world is in need of lending hands to awash the blood and sorrow. Lives of quiet desperation had at least the quiet part to contemplate. Mask the pain with colorful pallets, as it dwells inside, it dissipates...   

Let go and be inflexible. 

Keep actively and animated in the pursuit of nightmares. It takes a long walk but it doesn't move at all. It breathes the air like a mirror to your nostrils, it exhales fully back in. 

Kind of kindness no one's used to. Follow the light, my shadow. Make mistakes. Say the wrong thing. There are worlds all around us that do not venture out, fixed mental confines like walls raised all around us. 

It's been years and we still get the same childish response; the fact that we're attracted to one another is no reason to be rude. The fact that you're rude reveals this hidden pull, niceness doesn't stick as the glue of unpleasant bliss. You can't be civil and in love all at once. Revert to a childilike state, if you're in for a spanking; a lingering stare like an axe to the frozen iceberg of her proverbial heart, unsung, untamed, let this silence be the language in which we speak to one another. 

Most of our lives are lived in our minds.
We don't have to be enemies, we just can't be friends. Would that make us strangers all over again? If so, it'd be less stranger than what we are right now. We're strangers to ourselves; what is left for one another? We may unmask ourselves and hidden underneath would be another covert operation. Let's be in the unknown, not even aware of our mystery, embracing anonymity.

We can lick and makeup each other's wounds after the mating ritual. It's either love or hate, no middle ground; a double-headed serpent, pulling in different directions, feeding off the same the same appetite. Never did love proceeded falling for it, but we loved each other before falling for it. I'll dig in your mine, a precious stone. True lovers keep their mouths shut, food for this fabulous serpent tastes better that way. 

No one hunts with a full stomach. It's hunger that drives. 

When love affairs turn sour, as everything usually does, then you have to see each other for who we truly were before going blind. You shouldn't feast on what you crave. Just feed it like you would a pigeon. No se puede alimentar a un león con alpiste. 

Flirting is enticing. Just not bold enough, if done right, lock eyes with a fistful of hair fixing her skull in place. 

Luck is in knowing how to throw the icy dice, see where the annexed ego chips fall the next time around. 

We see each other every other day. I am always there. Not always seen. But it's easy to see me, and I feel like I should probably not go anywhere. I feel stuck in place, but comfortable; as if I've had grown accustomed to the agony it feels to be there, miles away, I'm a toy, we all play mind games. We all have fucked with each other mentally, somehow, some way. No need to place me on a throne, a savage by all rights, just a careless brute with a spark of wit, tall, strong, bossy. What else is there to want? You know, I'm not gonna kiss your ass.
I'll be cordial in a domestic manner, it's completely okay to just be there as if there were nowhere else in the planet where you'll like to be. I love falling in platonic love. It can be scary sometimes, but it's just fun as is. No need to drag others along into our discord and asymmetry. The way in which I deal with royalty is, bowing will save your head. If you look somewhat rugged, a bad ass... guys like me can have all sorts of adventures, so long as they happen out of that place. Accidents will always occur, but I am strong-willed. This year along, I made muscular gains, quit smoking cigarettes eight months ago, cold turkey. It's been so much easier on my wallet and my health; I gained more muscle mass, not much but yeah, it's obvious. I've stepped up my workout routines, five to seven times from a few minutes of intense lifting, push-ups or pull-ups/chin-ups, squats, dumbbells, two or three sets, 8-12 reps. It all adds up to less than forty five minutes, these mini-workouts fuel me and keep me energized throughout the day. The fact that you may choose to exercise in a minimal window of time, compensate by straining the muscle to the max, pushing yourself.

Were you curious enough to follow my writings? No way, I think you're just madly in love with me and this is never gonna happen and you know that that's the case and you rebel against this assertion of mine and we say absolutely nothing because we're all cool kids who feel nothing at all and have everything under control even if we drink a little more than our share every other day. Actually, I go stretches of not drinking, not even coffee, three days in a row. I am capable of depriving myself of anyone or anything. I've lived a rather sedentary life, with no real goal other than sporadically writing, exercising, sometimes even domestic travels. I have two beautiful baby boys, one is nine and the other is almost 3 yrs. old. If you care to know. They both live with their respective moms. I pay dearly for each one of them, handsome child support lump. I enjoy the small things in life. My life is a glorious mess. I use literature as a escape, a subterfuge, here I camp under the dark sky, only shadows thrive here.