Tuesday, September 29, 2009

sleep paralysis

Have you ever experienced hypnagogic sleep paralysis where you are completely cognizant of your surroundings, can hear your name being called, but are incapable of moving any limbs, flutter an eyelash?

In those moments you are absolutely frozen. In those few seconds you stop being human. The light bulb transforms into an angel, burning in the ceiling, yearning to fly.
Have you ever experienced hypnagogic sleep paralysis where you are completely cognizant of your surroundings, can hear your name being called, but are incapable of moving any limbs, flutter an eyelash? Count an eyelash?

In those few seconds you are absolutely frozen. In those few seconds you stop being human. In those few seconds you feel an eternal pause.

The light bulb transforms into an angel, burning in the ceiling, yearning to fly to go beyond the edge of sleep, beyond the razors of dreams.

Friday, September 25, 2009

Stillness


I wait for it. That stillness outside my porch, so beautifully alive, yet so full of solitude. I imagine intertwining with the stillness -- smudged with earthly marks. Brief.Pure purple darkness. The ephemeral stillness leaves behind solitude.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Questions

I have a preponderant task at hand that seems so insignificant to the indiscernible eye, perhaps at times my own. Is it all that complex, or am I unconsciously constructing it as such? I guess I should continue to sit in the yard and ponder it...Now where do I start searching for meaning when my thoughts seem so gnarled?

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Murky Ink

My petulant pen scribbles capriciously—where am I heading, question mark, then questioning the mark—my hand placing a still shadow over the I. Murky ink--thickening. Heavy thoughts envelop the I. Then the shadow meanders over the loose page, searching, pleading, if not for an answer then for an end.

Deception

We think of ways to deceive ourselves, crown ourselves with laurels and thorns,
leave anonymous wrecks, bastardized dreams, severed vows, uncanonized hymns.
let us name the wrecks for once:
till the heart uncensored overflows, and everything that lies within lies without.
the melancholic heart, dry and feeble, lies flat, clutched by ignoble fingers
too weak to speak
it draws its pain as the sun sets
--strange marks—
and the world retreats into the night.
even when the self dissolves, our deceptions linger.