Is it okay if my text crowds up or do you want a little more S P A C E ? ? ?
Poetry can be in everything.
Feelings can be squeezed out of a person at any time.. But only if they want it to.
We all have limits that we put up that others must tread around, while also looking for opportunities as well to let our walls down as well, when its safe to do so
we put gates up, yet we are also social and want to let others in. This is human nature, we are a walking conundrum of lines this way and that, and unspoken rules for what makes a decent playmate in our yard.
That is why we say kids can be cruel, cause we pick this up young.. because we are all in a pot of sorts, mixing with others, and learning, it has to be this way.
I want to stretch my leaves and g ro ow…
But i don’t know how to grow.. cause I think I may grow sideways by mistake.. So I stay in a small pot, in a small room, and I am happy this way.
I never ever understood humanity, or people. The rules people have. I have watched so many people walking down the street in my life, it seems. I always watch, cause I have to see if I can understand, and yet never do.. I am a pathetic person this way. So I stay back even more, to give people their space. And I find it is good to do so, cause I can focus on what I want most in my life. My own pursuits.
Why is it always Us vs Them? It always has been. So peculiar to be stuck in a particular war of sides. And I don’t even *know Them anyway..
the circular swing, the metal alloy and a mischivous grin.after many years, it heaves it lumbers about to collapse.. Webs on the each corner, so many webs that look ancient, of spiderlings before and before. I walk up to it.a.. and my small voice a pale echo to the massive gate, “What is the story behind you sir?”
“What do you mean, what is the story?”
“Just what I said. Your story, who are you?”
“I am a gate. That’s all.”
“you’re a gate and nothing more you say?”
“Well I am the gate of the Sir Chauncer of York from 1642, always been home to noble people, from places far far from the likes of you..”
“Oh yes, I get it, I understand your no ordinary gate.. ”
“No, no, I am afraid you misunderstand, I am not special, but I house some people who are. but that is not me. I only serve. ”
“But..” I start.
“What do you mean But?? No more questions. I am tired, so very tired of your questions, so if you would please Go Away from me. Otherwise I will alert the hounds..
You can do that??
Of course I can. My lorde has of course given me that power to keep those undesired and uncouth away from one such as him. ”
“OK I can go, but could you, just tell me something about you?”
“Okay I will, but first you have to tell me something.. why is it you wish to know?”
“I just want to know. That’s all.”
“That isn’t good enough.”
“But that is all there is to it. What more do you want?”
“Nothing, I want you to leave.”
“Fine. I’ll leave then.”
I walked back down the steps, old and crumbling away, with a hole burrowed in. And I heard a sound like a creak or a clearing throat and I turned. The wind heaped and the gate shifted slightly. I stared up at it, it is looking larger then ever and all I could do was stare, so uncertain of anything else.
“I am sorry I was rude before. I do appreciate your asking. It’s just. One does not answer these sorts of questions normally.”
The wind had a sort of hollow sound in it and it chilled me.
“I understand, my questions were nosy. I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright. You know you could apply to the people I serve for a summer position. They have been looking for a window keeper.”
“Thank you. i’ll keep that in mind. ”
“I think it’s going to rain, you should get going.” I looked at the sky which was indeed filled with thick riveted clouds of a dark and menacing shade and i left soon after.
Here is a book I read recently and my thoughts on it.
Bleak House by Charles Dickens.. Okay I didn’t finish it. But I listened to 9 hours on audiobook, so i think it should count for something.
I started Moby dick like this one time, sure I would get through it all and learn heaps in the process.
You hear everyone say.. don’t read Stephen King or name favorite pop book writer of today which features all the things you are told you must write in order to sell a novel. Read the Classics.. The Classics will teach you.. something.
So actually read that bleak House was the most favorite and inspirational book to Alfred Hitchcock.. which I had been watching lately because people were telling me, don’t watch regular movies.. watch The Classics. But that is for another time.
So I am reading the monster, I call it that, 800 some pages, or just 100 shy of Moby Dick. Which is famous for a sea captain and a whale, I mean.. being a Whale of a book..
And some many hours in, I suddenly realize as much as i am trying to pay attention and keep everything together, and make sense of it, I suddenly realize I have no idea what is going on.. It was a truly scary moment as I have already put many hours into this, and I also don’t want to go back and repeat any of those hours..
So I read reviews, maybe get some mini spoilers to help give me some feeling, Ah that makes sense.. And fortunately that is what I got. Apparently it is all Dickens messing with my head is all.
But seriously, after part 7 or 10.5 hours so far (and no where near completion) I am taking a break, and moving on to something else..
Will I ever finish this, the outlook right now is Bleak. However I will say that people say this book is fantastic too. And I do find it interesting, despite my very short….oooh butterfly! (Britney Spears attention span in a Mozart concert…)…
Windy day, it howls.
Cat walks by the garden gate, she does not she in for pretty big surprise, neighbors are rustling out their pot and looking at poor kitty kitty with gleaming eyes. Come kitty, come.. Kitty walks, her tail hugging the fence post and letting out a shrill mew, like a tinkling bell.
The sun is starting to set, and sky turns a milky color. With all of it being washed out and hazy with overcast. When kitty enters their yard, the grass prickles her toes, but she notice the lawn perfectly flat square. She don’t notice before when she entered exactly but she see the fence around tall, tall.
Mama comes over, that is the name this human is called here, Mama look down and say what a nice nice kitty, and here is a saucer of milk for you. Well kitty very hungry and happily laps up this food. While a tall boy reaches with his large hand petting her soft fur.
Then gently his fingers curl under her soft belly.
Pick her up and carry her. My milk. Why you taking me away from my milk?
She feel the steam, warm, so warm. Kitty was cold, it has dipped below freezing several nights now. She hides under a cardboard box she found by an ‘old beaut’ car this week, and it helps only a little. She look down, The black pot. Water popping big as toads.
Wait! What are you doing to me? Mew Mew Let me down! Let me down…
Moral: None.. poor poor kitty.
Facebook and the internet in general is a really interesting experiment on how people change over time. I was reading a random facebook user’s page, based on one comment they had, which somehow sent me into reading every comment they made over time over the last 4 years they’ve been on facebook and it is really especially interesting to see the change over time. And yes I probably only was on facebook doing this because I was procrastinating instead of cleaning and preparing for Thanksgivings guests. And there are tons and tons of people out there with their stories displayed like this.
Though I have a lot of old facebook comments and posts which are terrible to me now. I went through a spiritual stage where I posted every sappy picture of a flower with some comment about the beauty of it, the perfection of life. Argh. And I also went through a political phase where I started posting lots of political posts too. Because I thought facebook would be a good place to not just be a face, but to share an opinion. Later I would go back through a lot of my timeline and delete some of that out of there. And yet some of the older posts do still remain, speaking of a time that does not exist now. A me that is no longer here, but still for a while was there, and the evidence is right there for anyone to see.
But still, this housing of our journal comments over time like this, the unfolding of people over time, is interesting. I wonder what that will mean. What we are going to do with these mountains of information? That is besides fill up the mountains of computers sitting in NSA headquarters for who knows what, that is. Is there some other useful point to this. Blogs are also like massive archives too. Where in the future there will be records of all these people and the things that they wanted to write about and say. What will people think of these entries then?
And for my random picture to go with this post:
facebook over time
The first time I died, I was nineteen years old, and resigned to my fate; the second time was a different story. I didn’t deserve it that time. The book said nothing about this in my fate, and so I knew this was all Crag-ash Bs. That Purym man was going to get what he deserved. I may be dead, but I still have some Cantrburm that I had taken back before just encase someone decided to change some of the writings around.
And so I walk the streets, like anyone else. But what I see is the soft flames of peoples soul as they walk by, there time shows to me, if I look sometimes I can read other code from the book on them. It is definitely not what I normally did before.
Yesterday I got a call from a man named Shannon, he wanted me to come down to his building which I later found was a private detective’s office. He said he knew about what happened to me, and he offered to help me find the man who did this to me if I would agree to work for him. But here’s the deal, I just don’t have a lot of time, my days are now very precious to me.
I don’t know. I told him.
This was a prompt from https://wordpress.com/read/post/feed/1312248/760397368
Part 1 The Death
He was ready to die he had said goodbye to his things. The disease was taking over everything and his immune system couldn’t stop it. For the last 30 months he spent in doctors offices with different treatments all aimed at stopping what was happening now. He had hurt, and ached, and carried on with the pain, trying to keep it to himself, but there was nothing good about those last 30 months. He gripped and tried to hold on, and now it was all going to end anyway. He let himself go, felt the shocks of a seaizure ripple through him, he reached for his pills, but they were out of reach. If he could reach maybe he could hold on for a little while longer, a few more months of t