Why Does Life Leak?

It could be due to evolution;

Drawn to the loudness; to be alert, tend the perceived threat and danger.

There is plenty to feel threatened about.

I've little interest in pointing a finger towards fault; as if blaming would calm dread.

Even as I cloak chill with better recall

Distraction is environmental grappling’s for attention, the quieter voice get drown out.

Who has no experience?

with being made invisible by noise?

I'd be remiss to shrug it off muttering that is the way of it, moving along with self imposed task; an empty respite.

I am pained by abandoning treasures.

Even as I convince myself, in circumspect, life eventually and ultimately has us all abandon what we've gathered; when it comes our time to leave.

I resist surrendering to indifference; to lose the wonder and delight in what I've discovered and chosen to keep.

I protest hypnotism by the immediate, reminding my beloved of the satisfaction of being near

feeling desire to be close

since warmth of heart is so very rare

yet constantly ached for

That welcomed oasis of consideration,

to relax in

untethered, deep cherishing

so vivid and palatable I am prodded to utter

I miss your touch, even if it were just a passing moment

I felt thrill when I was present.

I am not unhappy, but dissatisfied I can't have always

delighting in laughter

humbled by tears

time once was

They were as close as my next drawn breath

  

Chap This

I was searching for substance, for direction.

A flash of thought suggested I might return to that sentence and change the word searching for others; seeking, hunting, or perhaps prowling? There are others to be sure, which is not the same as certain.

A habitual internal rebuking of how I handle my moment to moment thinking.

Until I submit to the idea we can’t control that, or so I’ve read; by extension convinced to believe.

I’m wandering off right now, I can feel it. Like at a party listening to a stranger answer a polite conversational query.

“What do you do?”

Holy shit, will this guy ever shut up about how he adores himself?

Revere or adore, does it matter? Where are the chicken wings?

But, I’m a vegetarian; not a vegan, that’s too confusing. The Hipster Vegan? PETA Vegan, Raw Vegan, or the Instagram- look-at-my-shit Vegan.

Omnivorous, I’ll eat what you give me; telling me it’s good for me doesn’t replace taste OK? That’s my criterion.

I’m drifting, I can feel it. Not just by awkward demand to endure the noise from this unwelcomed social stranger, but from what I wanted to construct these words into conveying in the first place.

Find out.

Oh, it’s back! It flittered back into my awareness like a hungry bird, (I decided on famished during my revisit) roosting near a bird feeder hanging near the back patio deck.

    “where’s the chow?”

I was reading postings about Chap books on the Internet. 

I had this notion I’d get my bearings for my own using other author’s honest professions on being.

I just got sad.

Sad that such tripe passes as prose.

That even I could do better, if I only had the needful desire.

I did, not so long ago.

Then I too wanted to convince total strangers I was important; if only in my confused mind doing so was equivalent to proof I mattered. If I didn’t matter to myself, then perhaps strangers would serve as reasonable facsimile; margarine substituting butter; unless you’re Vegan in which then it equates to zero.

That was ripped away from me along with trust in the Easter Bunny and Santa; a traditional ruse to make happy.

Mostly what I preferred was to be left alone, as in don’t mess with my choices.

I’m not even sure content is all that good for me for the rude awakening waiting its turn when I’m not.

I’m prone to revise the most fundamental things I took for granted; what does anger really mean?

And compared to hostile or violence would aggression be such a negative?

We make do with what we bring to the party, and nature never apologizes; we’re tourist.

So being patient with rude, or tolerating a bigot if they don’t affect your economic well being is any sign of sophistication, then I’m your guy.

Just don’t ask me to articulate the differences between Sunni and Shiite OK?

If you don’t know, I’m not going to take your hand and walk you through the nuances.

Crap everything depends.

I’d have a shelf of Ph.D’s to show off to visitors at my home if they’d award certificates for that kind of clarity.

It applies to everything distinctive as spice.  Nothing is remotely like Cinnamon, or Curry, or Garlic for that matter.

Yet we insist on describing characteristics using comparison; everything is this way near or that way from the taste of chicken.

Which by the way, where are those chicken wings? Separated from the function for which they had been designed; flight; modified for ease of consumption.

There’s a small folded card with neatly scripted message by the chafing dish; vegans please use recycled napkins.

Why not?

Lost Voice

   I lost my voice.  Not in the customarily Laryngitis sort of way where a virus invades my vocal cords and suddenly I can’t articulate sounds into words of conveyance.  Nor by singing favorite tunes in a higher than usual pitch.  Oddly enough, repetitive whispering puts as much strain on vocal chords as screaming does; but all of that is purely physical apparatus of voice. I’m talking about the voice of opinion had been silenced; and I was clueless to its cause.

   Perhaps clueless is not entirely accurate. If I could muster up some genuine honesty in my reflection, I might admit I saw resignation coming from years ahead. I just surmised that sooner or later I’d become weary with protesting the outrageous; then inevitably it’d arrive without a lot of fanfare. I recognized it was just a question of time before the fruitlessness of shaking my fist at the Gods for what appeared as unrelenting challenge to my happiness would become the norm; no one was listening. Or more to the point, the God fashioned by years of religious tutelage wasn’t one I could curry favor with nor intercede on my behalf purely because I obtained special status through sacrifice or suffering. I could puzzle out the merits of enlightened wisdom as hard fought products wrestled into possession by formal education; contrasting with a more realistic collection of subtle raw experiences showing that complaint was a poor substitute for effort.  As each door of the unknown was thrust opened I only found more darkness; it was up to me to screw up the courage to go into it without permission or assurance that it was safe. 

  I had learned early on, and then again in college philosophy, that all knowledge contained kernels of doubt; strip away the lazily accepted handout assumptions and what remained was a pool of questions that snared wandering minds as sure as the gravity of the largest black hole; where experience conflicted with craftily cultivated expectations there’d sure as shooting be dissonance.

  What mattered became a paradox; then an oxymoron, where a point of view defied vocabulary.  A place where words served the symbols of abstract concepts, those being mere propositions formed by conjecture; both true and false.  Words contained worlds of their own interpretation as they were coupled with other like-kind words, resulting in a train yard coupling defying the imagination as to designed intent or purpose; where any position could be interpreted to mean the opposite:  politicians had been playing that game for years, but then no one took them seriously at their word anyway, so it was forgiven and politely forgotten.  The trouble arrived when the rank and file of citizenry picked up the practice so then no one could discern what to believe; the worst of it all was, who could be trusted? Ultimately dissolving into a predictable reaction citing ‘it depends,’ and to be honest, trust always was a subjective exercise anyway. But we were lured for so long into the false belief that ours was a shared value system with agreed upon boundaries.  Only in the dire-straights of emergency was it noticeable that the thundering cacophony of the crowd was crying the same lament: Who’s in charge here anyway?

Soon enough, it became so damn painfully obvious. It was never a singular case of protest about personal situation, but rather realizing discomfort wasn’t anything that made me special anyway. Kind of like realizing the discount coupon had expired.

After that, what was there to say beyond apologizing for misconception?

My mistake.