The breath is drawn for nighttime
The curtain closed for morn
The eye first left and then right
As the costume guise is shorn

Like a flame, Thought licks the fibers of Idea
Burning and changing Knowledge and Understanding
into their new forms.
Sputtering and spitting
pop pop POP
the essential gasses and toxins leach into other areas of Consciousness
as the warm, musky smell of smoke clings to a winter coat.
Thought changes at once not only its current vision,
but that of those surrounding it as well.

Hey everyone! Quick update--I started a new blog--simplificationinitiative.blogspot.com. The new one is just going to be the random thoughts that I have in my head, whenever they happen to pop in. The less "refined and eloquent" (or so I'd like to think some things are) thoughts...just me thinking as me. I hope you all check it out and follow it! New postings soon to come!!!

Wiped clear of intention, the pedigree sat to fill a space that character lacked. Imagery could not be used to properly describe the players whose names were formed by the letters on the paper, neither could numbers lend meaning to their age. They simply were and had been forever just as the wind is or dreams are.
It is as such that I found them--that I left them--that I wished I could be one of them. But some beings only touch you for an instant, before they are gone, covered in the life-preserving amber of Memory's embrace.

This is what I live for:
Waking up to crisp morning air, speckled with the smell of rain.
The feeling of a warm sweater straight from the dryer.
A shower and a fresh bar of soap.
the moon and her halo of stars.
The color green.
Belly laughter.
A text from a friend.
Driving fast.
Homemade bread.
Waking up smiling.
Walking on the coast.
My little sister as she runs up to me, hugs me tight and refuses to let go.
Playing card games late at night during the holidays.

Stop. Don't speak. Words cheapen the meaning of this moment. The air's gentle breeze that pushes life from one reality to the next lays softly on my skin. Don't rob me of this moment of comfort, of solitude, of warmth by asking for a deeper meaning.
Nothing is me, but me.
Reality is found in perception's grasp.
It is as it is. It is in who I am.
Stop. Don't ask "why".

How oft do I look at another and say, "Oh, that I were you!"? I see the life, I see their fancy and I want it for my own. Their sparkles and glitz, their loved ones around.
"I would trade you. Yours for mine." I say.
But what is theirs to mine? Yes, the woman walking past is beautiful. But she kind? Yes. The family walking past seems happy...but what happens behind those closed doors? Yes. I...maybe they would trade me, too? Maybe in the changing and the rearranging of our identities we would discover our own discomfort of others, and our own love of self.
Would I change me? Do I wish that I were someone else?