College Motivation


Wenatchee Valley College commons during summer with the fountain running,.
Wenatchee Valley College during summer.

Heighten your aspirations,

Get ‘em up where they see the sun,

Float like something lighter than desperation,

Blood soaked to the tarnished beat of your life,

But succeeding despite.

Dude,

Just get the fuck up and move.

Do it,

Even the schoolwork,

Even the homework,

You’ve had the harder lessons,

The ones that left the scars,

Now put some time into the paper ones,

The ones that will lift you to the stars.

Frivolous waste of time you once said,

Now absorb and baptize in the act of learning,

Walk onto a campus,

Where you can be something and never look back.

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Into the Blaze


Burn baby burn, home on fire.

White toothed grin wholesome and out of place, build me a river with curtains of tears from a different space.

Washed out playground full of mice and mace, deny me witheringly those indulgent ways.

Nevermore inside compulsive daze, shackle those bodies into wandering maze.

Labyrinth mode to occupy the days, if not for you then into the blaze.

Smile Damnit


Hit me with the zap darling,

Break apart the cheek sockets,

Gimme a zing that chews joy,

Spits grit and evaporates misery,

I’d like one for the road,

Splintering that jaw bone,

Forcing the brightside parade of glee,

And even if,

I’ve got tongue sized words to disagree,

They don’t matter much,

When eyes twitch out of touch,

I’m lubricated,

Half insane,

Thank God for magic moments,

Watching sadness drift down a drain.

Overloaded


Stagger and stumble,

It’s nothing if not simple overload,

So when you hear my voice fumble,

I wasn’t trying to goad,

There’s maximum saturation,

No matter how clear you flowed,

My mind lacks your maturation,

Information gets lost despite how you sowed.

BPD Splitting


If it were to be the way that BPD were,

You’d be a goddess or a demon all cut pure,

In gleaming shards of perfect,

You’d hate with everything,

You’d love without anything in reserve.

There would be no middle ground,

No gray area to be common found,

I’d split your single you into two,

Burn effigy of the one not true,

Until the times they changed again,

And I realized that you were my truest friend.

Thank God you’ve showed me to look beyond,

Hear the words your actions write,

When ears signal music to a different song,

You’ll remain imperfectly perfect,

Beautifully flawed,

Like us all.

Glass Walls


Glass maze image from overhead.
Labrynth

Putting pieces back together in a maze made of glass,

Seeing clear the future goals to move beyond the past.

These walls that edge without blotting out my vision,

They feel so tight yet loosely fit and lie about position.

I thought myself to be far in, so buried deep indeed,

Nearly neglected thought and action calls to change for want not need.

Quickies



Truncated meat sticks all bundled up warm,

I’d advocate for less layers,

We’d look less like worms.


Ever have that moment,

When you have to peel words off your brain,

There’s almost a physical sensation,

Like the tactile release of an orgasm,

Only small like,

Sometimes.




Externaphizing


Hoping the jury is out.

I’m coming to the realization that on so many different levels I am either a remarkably calloused and demanding individual or there is a screw truly loose (several more likely) upstairs. It’s the only thing that can, or would, account for such indiscriminate moments of self indulgent burbling and behaviour as leads me to regularly overlook the concerns of those loving figures in my life. Unless I am well and truly an actual certifiable dick.


I’m even finding a flair for it in the fact that I tend to fixate on my own reactions and actions in situations – pre-emptively justifying some flagrant display of asinine “my way or the highway” choice making prowess with a fixated smile plastered in disregard on my face (which I will only later realize to my own chagrin). If I were to explore the world around me, step outside of this little glass room and observe that what I previously represented as fun was actually a brazen push off of my wife’s emotions and verbalized needs (supplanted by my own), irresponsible actions that drained coffers and put us at risk, and a worthless extension of a wonderful day into the doldrums and mire of a night huddled at opposite sides of the van.

Somewhere along the lines there is a lynchpin moment – like when I say, “wow, we are getting along great recently!” Klaxons should go off inside my head that any moment now my own self-destruct sequence just silently clicked on and started down. If I can chase back that singular moment as it happens and repetitiously drill it into my head that this is the moment where a choice can mean the validation of goodwill and genuine happiness being experienced and a continuation thereof, or disaster and a repeat of the same overplayed mistakes once again.

It seems intuitive that anyone would want to sustain positivity and goodvibes that are making themselves felt in an interpersonal dynamic – so why does my brain blank to suddenly and with seeming intent when it comes to taking the basic neccessary steps to do so? I don’t like the burned out husk of joy that is left when I don’t, no one does. If I have to be self serving enough to recognize the discomfort that the miss of that moment will bring to myself in order to identify the external impact that will precede, so be it.


I really hope I’m not just a dick. That would really be terrible.

Stuck


Stuck on,

Wash, rinse, repeat,

Stuck on,

Reading the same page.

Stuck on,

Making the same mistakes,

Stuck on,

Being stuck on.

Topographical


Not so specific is the way that it should feel. Like a chronically ill patient who has that stomach twist around that nobody can identify. It’s probably just gas pains, or a thought caught in between sternum and outlet, one or the other seems most likely, but who knows at the end.

Hyperbolic is the chance meadow we sit in, a graduated course outline on desperate measures and abject failures coated in sin. Nothing but molehills as far as the eye can see, though the weather on the far side is anything but sunny, I’ve heard wind and snow.

That’s the kind of character building exercise I’m all down for, you know how they mean. Where it walks up dizzying heights and then crashes into the burrows beneath. Even rodent beasties are terrifying if given the right scale and these ones have eyes the size of saucers, lips peeled back in screamless fright, tongues lashing about with tastebuds signaled that there’s blood in the water for their sharkish moods.

There’s even games that outfit gumballs with the kind of attire to tackle this kind of noise, give ’em gauntlets and the like so as to hack and smite. What about limit broken soldiers with shuddering penflaps and a sackful of ink leaking all over the place. What about the child outside blubbering with an appeal that it can’t sound out between the emotional climaxes stuck to the morass of its shattered soul?

What then are we to do? A minefield abounds and there’s literal fancy footwork needed to parade across the land, I’d hazard event a courtesy or two to be handled as appropriate.

Bloody topographers got it all wrong this time mate, time to ship back the other direction and pray for anything but the doldrums to keep the ship going.