23 Emotions: Rückkehrunruhe

Dan said,
now is the season for remembering what's past,
along with other words calling forth a world of glass.

Immersed in the now, and also before.
Calling up on one, two, three...

Some things are fading and some, sharp and clear.
Stones thrown in this glass house still shatter more than air.

One is fuzzy, distant, ok. We use our words as we work and play.

Two is clearer, yet distant some how... It's shifted in to neutral and moves without push or pull.

Three is the kicker and is kicking still. Perhaps that stone wasn't thrown after all.

This Now, that just happened, held so much love, but also the heartache of oneness (three, two, one).

I count it down, always back to one, remember, reset and wonder, when...

When will I share the adventure that doesn't fade.
When looking back means a fixed forward gaze.
When what I see now, I see in the morrow,
and the day after that,
tomorrow's,
tomorrow.

Rückkehrunruhe

n. the feeling of returning home after an immersive trip only to find it fading rapidly from your awareness—to the extent you have to keep reminding yourself that it happened at all, even though it felt so vivid just days ago—which makes you wish you could smoothly cross-dissolve back into everyday life, or just hold the shutter open indefinitely and let one scene become superimposed on the next, so all your days would run together and you’d never have to call cut.

23 Emotions: Mauerbauertraurigkeit

Sorry I haven't been here, 
and that I've gone away.
I know my absence hurts you,
but I just couldn't stay.

You know how much I love you,
and that I always will,
but in the moment, right now,
I can't swallow this pill.

No matter where I travel,
how far away I go,
though oceans may divide us,
I'll come back again somehow.

But please, just in this moment,
while pushing you away,
know this (and know it fully)
someday I'll come and stay.

mauerbauertraurigkeit n. the inexplicable urge to push people away, even close friends who you really like—as if all your social tastebuds suddenly went numb, leaving you unable to distinguish cheap politeness from the taste of genuine affection, unable to recognize its rich and ambiguous flavors, its long and delicate maturation, or the simple fact that each tasting is double-blind.

An Invitation

I am more than the sum of my parts...

and you, you boy, are not aiming at my heart.

Your question through Bumble is not "cheeky" or kind.

I'm surprised that you didn't think that I would mind.

Yes, I know my smile is white and straight,

but that's not an open invitation for us to mate.

My eyes are sparkling in the photo, it's true,

but they aren't (in this case) sparkling for you!

You see, you don't know me, don't presume that you do!

'cause when you do, it makes me really, really not want to get to know you.

Just because this app reduces us to a swipe left or right,

it doesn't me that I'm going to sleep with you tonight...

We've both been flattened into 0's and 1's,

and this modern dating, it just really (really!) isn't any fun...

But I am interested to see how your mind works,

and discover if we can coexist without turning into jerks.

I want to step away from this flattened binary code,

and with you by my side, hit the open road.

23 Emotions: Kuebiko

The middle of the middle,
day becomes the morrow.

Alone on the balcony.

Air forms my companion and has as much substance as one.
Hot.
Humid.

Dry lightning flashes in the distance.
(over the mountains)

Silent.

A world apart.
(come apart)

Wide awake with tired heaviness.
Quiet lightning at the dividing point.

One separating out into two,
and though it doesn't seem possible,
sleep comes.

The violence of the storm slips behind the front ridge.

...beneath our surface.

kuebiko n. a state of exhaustion inspired by an act of senseless violence, which forces you to revise your image of what can happen in this world—mending the fences of your expectations, weeding out invasive truths, cultivating the perennial good that’s buried under the surface—before propping yourself up in the middle of it like an old scarecrow, who’s bursting at the seams but powerless to do anything but stand there and watch.

23 Emotions: Jouska

Jangling 'round my head, 

a jouska, following the usual thread.

'round and around in circles I go.

A one-sided conversation, I know, I know!

It can't be helped, this dialogue of one.

I wish, at least, that it were fun.

The control is all mine, in this mono-dialogue.

Ha! ...and of course it has ended up on my blog.

I've reduced you, first, to words in my head.

Oh, I wish that it were somewhere else, instead.

Reduction continues, it plays along.

You've become a binary code, it seems just plain wrong.

Once you were a man, flesh, blood and bone,

but now you're nothing (just bits of code).

and I am alone.

Alone.

one

jouska n. a hypothetical conversation that you compulsively play out in your head--a crisp analysis, a cathartic dialogue, a devastating comeback--which serves as a kind of psychological batting cage where you can connect more deeply with people than in the small ball of everyday life, which is a frustratingly cautious game of change-up pitches, sacrifice bunts, and intentional walks.

23 Emotions: Chrysalism

In that moment,
chrysalism shattered.

Mirroring nature,
ourselves so, too.

Transitions require a break,
within,
and without.

Fluid movement, of moment.
Soft welcome fracture.

It started raining inside.
Fat drops falling from the ceiling.
(above us)

Water, 
washing away the dust from the broken wall.

We move to the other side.

Beyond the rubble.

A other space.
One in which to examine what built it.

The promise of water.

The promise of dust.

(the process of both)

You k(no)w
I know.

Promises require stones.
The "after-rain" requires stones.






Chrysalism n. the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm, listening to waves of rain pattering against the roof like an argument upstairs, whose muffled words are unintelligible but whose crackling release of built-up tension you understand perfectly.

23 Emotions: Monachopsis

The Metro heightens my monachopsis,
pulls that lurking shadow,
forward.

(Shakespeare said it better that I.
"The time is out of joint.")

my time is out of joint.

The pendulum swung wide
when the clock tipped over,
stuck.

and there I am...
a bird, on a bike,
pedaling out to sea.




A life line,
from an unexpected source and I am temporarily unstuck,
free.

and then it landed,
that soft heavy weight,
the midnight-purple-blueness of sorrow.

The world will never rest easy with you...
(i did)

Stop.
he sang,
stop "tryin' to throw your arms around the world"








Monachopsis n. the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place, as maladapted to your surroundings as a seal on a beach--lumbering, clumsy, easily distracted, huddled in the company of other misfits, unable to recognize the ambient roar of your intended habitat, in which you'd be fluidly, brilliantly, effortlessly at home.