April 25, 2011 – Blurry Lines Jumping Frames

No matter how hard I (consciously or subconsciously) try, I am unable to compartmentalize my life into colorfully, albeit neatly sealed Tupperware containers.

I burp and I reseal, burp and reseal – to no avail.

Home seeps into work seeps into writing seeps into relationships seeps into reality seeps into dreams seeps into logic seeps into chaos seeps into me.

All of our lives are so full.

April 24, 2011 – Reading, Writing and Arithmetic

The comparison game can be dangerous if played without reinforced buttresses surrounding all sides of an already impenetrable fortress. I’d recommend a variety – flying, ordinary, clamped and French. The evolution of the Trojan Horse means the enemy has a greater chance of success when sneaking behind clearly drawn boundaries and neutral zones.

The most precarious presupposition one can take, however, is to build these cellular citadels with such obsessive precision so as to treat friendly forces with the same unbreakable strategy.

Where is the line? What is the perfect condition for an ally? How can one ever be sure it is a true alliance and not an alien invasion whose only intent is to take over the host body in order to propagate an entirely new mutated generation of automatonic clones?

we are all distinct
formed wholly united once
storms only wash clean

April 22, 2011 – homunculus me

tiny broken parts of myself
filter through chameleon blender
generating giant wedges
of splintered humanity
sputtering spasmodically
in time with tightly
wound clock.

edges ruffled stiff from worry
enhanced by conspicuous clamor
manifesting savage villains
in twisted exhibition
trespassing manipulation
of gut kept hushed in
lean trust.

eyelids flutter closed to protect
fortress from infiltration brigade
devastating native flora
and cornered protozoa
zigzagging deliberately
in case one misses
sure mark.

errant noises fill space around
safety zone supplementing risky
antithesis hidden inside
more formal mechanisms
dividing authenticity
among all who come
near whole.

April 20, 2011 – Growing up is hard to do…

I want to write.

I want to weep.

I want to turn the clock back eleven and a half years and hold my chunky baby who needed me for everything.

I want to fast forward in time, making stops at 16, 18, 21, 25 and 30 to make sure my handsome young son is healthy, happy and safe.

I want to be his constant shadow protecting him from harm, fending off bullies and off-putting-gold-diggers, helping him over obstacles I could never scale at any age and watching every cell in his body grow as the amazing human he is.

And yet …

I hold my breath, wring my hands and watch him ride his bike off to school alone knowing that he’ll be making the trek back to an empty house with nothing more than a key and a promise to call me at work when he arrives safely.

Which he did.

And we both grew up a little more today.