Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Rambles and a Poem

So I started playing the guitar in August. Decided that it was about time I learned how to play an instrument and I love it! I only know a couple of chords, but my teachers are telling me I'm doing well :) On guitars, playing the barre chords is one of the most horrible things in the world. I can never get my finger to press down on the very last string hard enough so it always has this clangy sound. One day at a time though, I hope I don't give up before I get it. I tend to give up things that don't come naturally to me because I hate the idea of being bad at something. Its a pretty difficult place to come out of, which is weird because usually I can change my mindset like the weather.
One minute I'm a relativist, the next absolutism is the only way to live. I would delve into the political/philosophical ideologies but that would take forever. But I was saying, its a hard place to leave but I'm forcing myself to.

I came here to write a poem. Don't be fooled, I am not a poet. Neruda is a poet, Cummings is a poet, I sometimes write poems. Regardless, they're usually pretty decent so I think we're going to enjoy this. 

On my Wednesday night it is perfectly fall outside.
I am dreaming of other things than this in places outside from here, other people too.
In another life, I was a laugh out of the heavens, my name was blackphoenix and I quit college to become a writer.
I said diachrony and elucidation in daily conversation with light and I danced at night with night. 
My kisses were made up of grated tangerine peel with cinnamon corners in honey butter and they melted like snowflakes on sun-kissed skin
In a Monday-type place it was summer and the way the air said my name, the way the breeze touched my cheek, the way the yellow of the sun fit my ring finger was impeccable.
I held the notion of color in one iris and the pigmentation of the shades of gray between your black and my white in the other and together they constituted the rainbow reflections on newly wetted ivory pavement.

The shortness of my spring is like the fickleness of my love; not knowing what it is or where it lies it exists in limbo as a vapor cloud between two distinct seasons, nonchalance and infatuation of self. Always of self.

But the eclipse of night and morning has passed, and a new day is being christened with each strike of the suns rays. Renaissance. I'm anticipating enlightenment beyond stars and moons, suns and fire. The rich newness is snowing down heavily on my color parade and all my horizons are darkening. But there is death before resurrection so take my palette. Kill me and help me live, only hold my hand; it's hard to die alone.

When I open my eyes and see a Wednesday night where it is perfectly fall outside it comes to me. Onyx is now opaque.
Its like the eighth day of the week; something I hadn't thought of before. 
In the place of a place away from today, there is a newness with which I see.
I'm getting christened at sunset, and I hope you can make it because Saturn and Venus will be there in person. 

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