juke
Being thankful for what you got to appreciate what you get.
prevailing winds
When we're full of bliss, we advertise it. out of their periphery, people notice flashing lights, a typical backdrop of the night. when we're not so thrilled, we retreat to our shell without a word. the lights flicker off. like an immigrant in the wrong side of town, i can't find my way home and i can't reveal my papers unless i want to swim with the fishes. it feels silly to ask for help when you're only blocks away. i'll just walk some; let it rain, let it pour. i'm feeling demure, but defenseless to a change of pace if the wind picks up. strangers' eyes don't phase me--i can hack it anytime around these parts, but only a fool would waste the time trying. if only they left the lights on. budgets sever lifelines and you're without a friend tonight. and here i am trying to find something familiar to get back on track. grandma is sure to worry about me. she's as lost in thought as I. which footprints are mine? have i left a mark anywhere? what am i made of? answering these existential riddles will turn the lights back on.
left my keys in your pocket
At the fork in the road, we exchanged a farewell toast and each took a separate path. what little we knew, the weather that day, and the shirt we wore would become a significant piece of our nostalgia. soon enough, time exploded and years spewed outward. minutes turned to months, you grew close to your respected profession and made a name for yourself. i took the long road of deciphering my feelings, honing my own craft to guide others. a single colour split into different yet similar shades. whenever will we cross paths again, we'll make a collage of then and now. I left a spare key in your pocket in the event you came knocking.
No notes - what's up
the crux of every fighter
There's something i don't know
something that remains amiss in the mist of my naivete
at large in the fog of war
cannons and soldiers stare into the haze, awaiting orders
but i cannot lead them into the unknown
that would be insanity
yet i continuously send them to the dogs
what else explains my repetitive demeanor
only to arrive at the same sub-par revelation
a physical age marching forward
disregarding whether the mental age catches up or not
late to the party or stuck outside the gates, shivering
the crux of every fighter is that point in the 11th round
when they see their luster in the camera's eye begin to dim
everything they throw at the beast before them
is brushed off with a grunt as it creeps forward
its shadow spreads across, touching his feet
as free as you were to begin this odyssey
how do you want it to end?
life did not choose for us to do anything other than to live
however one sees to it that they use this space and time
whoever and whatever one chooses to believe or deny
is more or less a blank canvas in need of color
the blood of a champion finds its way to one such surface
when there appears to be no recourse
but a tainted victory or a grand defeat
the insanity begs to differ, and sometimes shocks the world
something that remains amiss in the mist of my naivete
at large in the fog of war
cannons and soldiers stare into the haze, awaiting orders
but i cannot lead them into the unknown
that would be insanity
yet i continuously send them to the dogs
what else explains my repetitive demeanor
only to arrive at the same sub-par revelation
a physical age marching forward
disregarding whether the mental age catches up or not
late to the party or stuck outside the gates, shivering
the crux of every fighter is that point in the 11th round
when they see their luster in the camera's eye begin to dim
everything they throw at the beast before them
is brushed off with a grunt as it creeps forward
its shadow spreads across, touching his feet
as free as you were to begin this odyssey
how do you want it to end?
life did not choose for us to do anything other than to live
however one sees to it that they use this space and time
whoever and whatever one chooses to believe or deny
is more or less a blank canvas in need of color
the blood of a champion finds its way to one such surface
when there appears to be no recourse
but a tainted victory or a grand defeat
the insanity begs to differ, and sometimes shocks the world
i think i am
Sitting against the wall opposite to a panoramic view of the rolling hills just beyond the hospital, I graze on a field of thoughts. As usual, suspended I am in a place far from here, writ large by an equally distant stare overlooking the vast expanse of a wintry Wednesday. With laser-like precision my sight pierces straight ahead through trees and traffic, eavesdropping on a barn under the mountains that frame the horizon. I turn back to the newspaper in front of me, then to my colleagues working with patients. The ambiance of small talk provides space to bask in the usual, jumbled arrangement of colours and voices parading in my mind.
used to be
When the hair recedes and the skin thins
heroes on paper are human at heart
heroes on paper are human at heart
the stress spills out under 3 hours of rest
i only fall asleep with my socks off
the food i eat do not use coupons
my degree of kindness seems so much a novelty
that it's easily overspent from abuse
so i bury it under layers of apathy
so when i'm cornered into a situation
with helpless souls hanging by a thread at the mouth of hell
i become the reluctant leader
the guilt urges me to bail them out
though there's no vested interest to rescue
those who clearly would not do the same
perhaps too much time is spent in such acidic conditions
eroding my confidence in people
downtrodden folk who have given up inside
that area i cannot guide them through
they need to go dig up their mojo
and bury the self-pity in its place
there's more to life than these willing victims
my energy is better spent with those who want it
the fish swim away when the water grows stagnant
the selflessness will come through like an underdog
as long as i don't look back in anger
i only fall asleep with my socks off
the food i eat do not use coupons
my degree of kindness seems so much a novelty
that it's easily overspent from abuse
so i bury it under layers of apathy
so when i'm cornered into a situation
with helpless souls hanging by a thread at the mouth of hell
i become the reluctant leader
the guilt urges me to bail them out
though there's no vested interest to rescue
those who clearly would not do the same
perhaps too much time is spent in such acidic conditions
eroding my confidence in people
downtrodden folk who have given up inside
that area i cannot guide them through
they need to go dig up their mojo
and bury the self-pity in its place
there's more to life than these willing victims
my energy is better spent with those who want it
the fish swim away when the water grows stagnant
the selflessness will come through like an underdog
as long as i don't look back in anger
lost
Q: It is easier to love or hate?
I don't have time to hate, just moving along if something bugs me. Accepting that people are different shades and strokes, it comes to pass and before soon, I'm back in a comfortable setting having fun. I prefer killing with kindness to prevent the guilt trip of spitefulness.
I don't have time to hate, just moving along if something bugs me. Accepting that people are different shades and strokes, it comes to pass and before soon, I'm back in a comfortable setting having fun. I prefer killing with kindness to prevent the guilt trip of spitefulness.
MindSay Quick Update /
I am feeling like history is an unopened book to many.
do you know the lyrics?
If it's so clear to one, is it so for the others? the graveyard shift claims many victims; the first year is easy, the second year hurts some, the third is where it gets good. they find the urge to engage the daily gossip and petty platitudes to be a persistent fly in the ointment. little by little, some give up, accepting the notion of the bright light light years away is a boat long sailed past. maybe these delinquents see more than me and the reality of their destiny overcame their fighting spirit. maybe i haven't had a reality check yet even though i feel i've seen plenty so far. i know what an old man would say to that.
Maybe I haven't been tested yet, to gauge spirit and wit in dealing with situations that will smack my ear at a most unexpected hour. a movie theatre from my teen years closing its doors. locking myself out of my apartment wearing only boxers and a t-shirt. my dog's hereditary handicap lending to a shortened lifespan. and then my parents. no matter how unpleasant, an idealist type stands tall and blindly optimistic to such a looming (and inevitable) fate. In my case, guilty of dreaming big and hanging on lofty visions of grandeur. Is this how the others started before they came crashing back to earth? maybe some of us are destined to serve a selfish, unruly master, unequivocally servile to a shameless beast at the cost of self-identity. 'the saddest thing in life is wasted talent.' some are stuck in the water well yet if you ask them after a time, they will not accept the ladder. a sort of Stockholm syndrome where the ego becomes shipwrecked by despair, but loosens the anchor to stay put and wallow in this new backdrop.
One harsh reality is that some will not make it beyond the womb. More will not get far beyond graduation. Then there's the rest of us who survived and work the daily grind. However dry the road ahead appears to be for the mentally defeated among us, it's clear enough to me that the ideal remains the same. rain or shine. dark wave or folk rock. a wardrobe purposely colorful and random in style. a shirt sits over a chair at the end of the day; it doesn't feel, but its beat up, sweaty pelt symbolizes the struggle. blindly hopeful in lieu of fatalist and retired.
Maybe I haven't been tested yet, to gauge spirit and wit in dealing with situations that will smack my ear at a most unexpected hour. a movie theatre from my teen years closing its doors. locking myself out of my apartment wearing only boxers and a t-shirt. my dog's hereditary handicap lending to a shortened lifespan. and then my parents. no matter how unpleasant, an idealist type stands tall and blindly optimistic to such a looming (and inevitable) fate. In my case, guilty of dreaming big and hanging on lofty visions of grandeur. Is this how the others started before they came crashing back to earth? maybe some of us are destined to serve a selfish, unruly master, unequivocally servile to a shameless beast at the cost of self-identity. 'the saddest thing in life is wasted talent.' some are stuck in the water well yet if you ask them after a time, they will not accept the ladder. a sort of Stockholm syndrome where the ego becomes shipwrecked by despair, but loosens the anchor to stay put and wallow in this new backdrop.
One harsh reality is that some will not make it beyond the womb. More will not get far beyond graduation. Then there's the rest of us who survived and work the daily grind. However dry the road ahead appears to be for the mentally defeated among us, it's clear enough to me that the ideal remains the same. rain or shine. dark wave or folk rock. a wardrobe purposely colorful and random in style. a shirt sits over a chair at the end of the day; it doesn't feel, but its beat up, sweaty pelt symbolizes the struggle. blindly hopeful in lieu of fatalist and retired.
No notes - what's up
hiccups in our sleep
Before i even set foot in the war zone, in my mind i am doing donuts around the beast, teasing it with mocking sounds, sending its anger over the edge. it begins to give chase, my swift maneuvers keep a distance between us, never letting it catch up as i hear its feet stomping the ground, charging up behind me with earth-shattering ferocity... intent on crashing the party. i have it by the horns. I'm in control. but alas, death makes psychics of us all because it's the fate of heroes and hoodlums alike. one misstep, one lapse of judgment is all it takes for the Cinderella story to end on the wrong foot. humility is often hijacked in the pursuit of greatness.
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