Gotta Wonder Sometimes, If You Keep Digging For Grace, At The Bottom, Is There A Giant Box Of Irony?

Words.

Concepts.

Truth.

Strive.

Honesty.

Doubt.

Effort.

...

Keep going with the list above, you've got your own terms and you know you want to add a few. You can make each one a knot on an infinitely long (Gordian) knot ladder and climb it, or swing on it (my preference), and shit, maybe even one of those knots comes up sevens for you. "I don't know." In the last 5+ years I realize that I say this phrase like every fucking paragraph when I am having a conversation with someone. The irony is, even if I know or even if I don't know, I seem to prefix it or suffix it with "I don't know." But what do we know? What do you know? If we all knew, we'd either be a saint, luminary, billionaire, or something at least more than we are, and instead, we all buy books to find the guide to make us something more than we are. My thought for tonight was that all the fucking saints died in a sad, depressed, and miserable state, and here we are all are, chasing their supposed canonical BS and really -- likely all that they had to say was some sort contemporary meme that survived history in some ridicu-miraculous way (or was bankrolled or financed by someone who had a a vested, but non-humanitarian, interest). I don't know, you know? 

You're on the thrill of the chase and I am cowered deep in the bushes, frozen, because freezing is a skill. You're making yourself the talk of town, the most illustrious of the illustrious conquerers, but when you miss shit, that -- in and of itself -- is a very unwritten story. Perhaps that story never gets written, I'm guessing it never does, but "shit never found" doesn't surrender its allure just as well.

The Box In The Hall Is Gone

When I was a child (I thought as a child no no no no!!), I was sad and reluctant to use things that required batteries because I knew the batteries would run out of energy and that I couldn't afford to get new ones. Same with magic markers, soon they'd run out of magic and then they couldn't be used to make fanciful pictures with loop de loops to a better place, real or imaginary (in some childhoods it really fucking doesn't matter).

Stream of consciousness prose (from last year) 🤢:

The Whiskey Buddha:

Sometimes you drink the bitterness to make the sweet taste better,

There’s no BS in my blood. 

There’s unrelenting light 

There’s the arc of a madman 

There’s the edge of the moment 

As only the moment knows. 

There’s blistering demand 

To the Demian path

To the things that shatter comfort

And ring the silenced bells 

There’s no pageant with a permit,

My sandwich board don’t have no neon lights. 

There’s demand

There’s demand

There’s demand

To take the pain for the gold,

To paint pictures with loops and curls,

To admonish the mirror, 

To the appointment with the stone.

Deliberate prose 🤮-- written for my beautiful cat who never wanted to let go -- better to have known (than not at all) for absolute sure. Carry on: strength, perseverance, resilience, adaptability!!! 

The box in the hall is gone,

It's tangled in the earth.

And the price that it takes to love,

Is set by the cost of the hurt.

You followed the road to yourself,

To its appointed end,

You never looked back

To the things that might have been.

The light from nothing

Is always there when you're down.

And your light from nothing will be here

When you're gone.