Feeling it pull and then it stops. The whirl the tumble and then she drops. The phantasm of it, a great a reeling corpse of laughter.
I feel myself being pulled after.
I know it isn’t real, but suddenly my hands are full of things I shouldn’t be after.
The life I see isn’t what I know it to be, I can’t respond to the crisis of my pain and I still stutter when she asks what I’m really staring at when I see her eyes so full of the great and drowning loss
I know I should, I know not what I see nor what could be. I drop what I’m doing to look at the spasm, my life’s not this everlasting dream I couldn’t see what really matters or what I’m craving.
The red sea, the great and growing disaster. Does the black mask or death really want me or does it feel like I’m after it and truly chasing after.
Great and wondrous I see this laughing and painful streak, what does it mean when I’m feeling that I see the chasm and train wreck before or never.
The whirlwind and it’s escape I see them guiding me and pulling the strings am I the cricket or the wooden man. What does this shit mean in the end.
* Not sure where this or where any of the other posts like it are coming from, but they may be a fixture in 2012 on the blog. Also I changed the Header on the blog. It is taken from a painting my wife did for the blog. Below is the original!