Tag Archives: disorder

Threaded Risk, Eye of a Needle

For one prolonged moment,
wandering, waiting, here,
or loitering, perhaps;
the cold death lies within its certainty,
holding to a lie, certainly.

Such a lie, and one of many;
like candy,
a sweetness that follows a bitterness eternal;
to regret, to anger,
and fear one’s attachment to the maternal.

It repeats, it reminds,
a course, one different but the same;
the actions, of oneself unchanged,
in all attempts to manage or recreate;
an edge created instead cuts into law.

Unrenewed, that self, quite chained,
before a straightjacket or pair of cuffs
and a destination, so close,
for a thoughtful zombie,
one that would fail to live on the streets.

To feel a rise, and fall so far, so often,
subducted by the impulse,
wired, but deft in the small;
tired now, and once without end,
a sleep, and a want of not waking.

Holding dirt before holding water,
tracking mud, and dragging behind;
fruitful tripe becoming overripe
with time lost listening,
too often for absorbed answers.

And left to answer alone
in a tower made with invisible beams;
it means to be seen when shifting;
a surprise, the eyes feared are blind
with another order built on disorder.

A smile appears, for creation occurs;
crafty, yet childish, absurd;
meaning lost, the support dwindled,
the threads have frayed, and warnings were given;
suddenly serious, whole days are ruined with speed.

Seemingly harmless, well-known for their tease;
irresponsible tones made common with ease,
it makes those blind the more scary at first,
but child’s play this all is,
compared to the worst.

Why Impoverished Observers Have Exceptional Difficulty Contributing

Why I Haven’t Been a Good Contributor, Period.

Honesty has its virtues, but…you’re probably not going to like this. But before I start, I want to say that the last post was humiliating.  But necessary. My standards are above me.  I’d be glad to invite someone else here.

As the saying goes: in life, alter the world the least.  Or something like that.

But I’m a “rebel.”  And I pay the price for pointing out to the other children that the “9 with a line over it” is a freakin’ underlined-‘6’ — rotate the card!  But the boy in front of me refused to see that.  It could of been the other way around.

I was five.  Add stature disparities and accidentally walking into an occupied bathroom. It was the time when my “super-conscious” anxiety started.

Continue reading Why Impoverished Observers Have Exceptional Difficulty Contributing