Ignorance

Absurdity is necessary for the most out of life. Just maybe, perhaps. I want to make crazy things. Events need to be unknown and spontaneous for them to continually spark my interest. I want to collaborate with others that hold the same amount of ambition as I and I want to start revolutions— similar to the beatniks who revolutionized literature and popular culture in the 50s. I want a group that explores madness that grabs attention in art and ideas. Great things need to happen because I have gotten bored with the same, day-to-day. No, this is drama. I’m content with the way things are… as I bite my lip while typing, thinking: “liar.”

I want intelligent conversations. Why does it not rain indoors? –as well as absurd conversations. I need to find a way to increase the sensory experience of this lifetime as well as our memories that carry. I need to dance and make music. And build. I need to not forget this feeling because it seems, at this moment to be so profound. However profound it may seem, these wants are unattainable so its probably best that I do forget them. Play within the walls of my limitations.

Ignorance is bliss. 

Perpetual Confusion

Every day that is not today feels like forever ago. And every moment that is not this moment feels like it is the only thing that matters.

I won’t ever ask for a good life because I want an entertaining one

Lisa says “You’ll never conform.”
I smiled but tried not to think myself so special.

I cannot keep a consistent tune. I think that I have brilliant ideas, but realize their fallacies later in my time. I want to know the truth when I look at this dogma behind tv screens. Living through listening has been killing me. I want loud noises in the morning. I’m throwing over chairs and standing on tables at school. Scaring the girls in the hallway. Yes, I’d like your attention, please. I want to remember my life and can I do that through these mundane routines? The world is a playground today. I need to dance when the room is too still.  Conversation has been dull lately.

Good Could

I will wear a flag
For the grass and dirt I love
But I will never give up life
Just to prove how proud I was

It’s Only Been a Year

He said it was easy to lose your mind to the voice in your headphones. California invades the bones of your chest and sends pleasure feelings up your spine. Cool like ice cream. We sit in patterned lawn chairs in the yards of summer while tepid clouds pan overhead. They float with fickle speeds as we hand them our eyes on the hour. And they make shapes; we’ve known this, yet their stories keep eluding us. So we wrote them new. We gave them names and purposes, relationships and pride. Each had a favorite song and their memories were nice.

Dilemma

What thoughts constitute good thoughts and what should I keep to myself and what should I not?

I know what I want with so much conviction… I know it but then I get near the point, my frame of reference changes and I’m gone. Everything that’s a good idea flips -upside down to bad.
What is real?
What do good and bad decisions make?
Should I tell a story or should I talk straight?

From the Sounds of It

I don’t need your sophisticated language talk to know what it means to say something beautiful.

I don’t need your sophisticated language talk. But I want it
And to possess tighter language and quick thinking knack
I want to be able to communicate on any hierarchy known

No. No, I like my voice. I’ll stick with this tone.
Elementary diction.

There is a Difference Between Hollow and Invisible

He’s got a veracious way of speaking

Yet puts filters on his eyes
So he can only see the dirt
He’ll sit and watch all of the flies
He’d like attention from you all
It helps to pacify his mind
Mother, can’t you see I’m trying
Father, how’d you let this die?

Revisit. May or Might

The room spins.
The room spins and so do I.

The stars speak but do they lie?
There’s a painting of four spirit guides
I’m in the basement of a cloud
It’s a supernatural high
Telling stories of the future
Ask me how, tell me why
What’ll come to pass or nevermind
Be what may and sink my sights

At her kitchen table I will write
While she’s telling secrets from her guides
And for only thirty dollars
She’ll sell you just what may or might

Untitled I

I may edit and recant. Does that mean my message is tamed? Not mind pure? If I edit my thoughts, does that detract from my skill and write eloquence?

I thought I was fair

These words were written

By my hand

Not with the mathematics of a machine

My human hands

Write

And type

Out my human girl brains

Just because I edit doesn’t mean I cannot speak well enough.

It just means…
I change my mind.