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Trails into empty spaces.. shooting down.. standing and sitting. Watching the star filled sky. They come around like the blasting cars on highways. A space where the rocks slide. Routes around tall hills. Dead quiet roads. The hoot of owls, one big, one small calling from the darkness.
Impersonations and times that slide, and crawl like chalked sweat to the roof of the mouth. Fields and fields of green grasses and purple pink flowers and just when one might think there is nothing else.. but fields forever and always.. a small oasis of trees bunched together, stalks like strong beams, like personalities in their endurance and steadfast meaning to reach to the sun filled skies, as they're passing. Yes, clouds always rolling making shapes and faces down on the humble walkers in their robes and hoodies, watching silently in admiration.
Lively fluttering sounds from the shadows. The city sleeping. Ignoring completely, the kids walking on the outskirts, in giants circles around the center. To exist in such desolate isolation is addiction, to be unseen is so relieving. The kids on bikes like pack rats moving from here to there, there to here. Groups, internal struggle. Broken friendships. Endless debates by camp fire light. Drama by the shouts in the houses on 7th and 9th street.
Attempts and attempts, they try so hard. Finding someone, come together, it's never enough. It never seems like enough even when everything is perfect. It's not feeling to be happy. The burst of emotion comes in times of struggle, like lighting matches in gas rooms just to put some flavor in the air. Just to keep things interesting. Burnt smoldering bridges, and the new planks we bring to build anew.
The shallow. The bar-stones. The rippers. Home-wrecks. All the broken families. So much strife, so incredibly common place. Tragedy so every-day it seems natural.. all this hurt so destroying, yet so constant it's allowed. Accepted. Bitched about in bar stools and around tables with friends.. or screamed into phones or instant messages.
The trails we walk. Journeys of our lives. Seeming so lost. All things testing and testing our resolve, our hope, our morality, testing all we are. Dropping us down to the bottom, just one more time, number 37, just to see.. if it can be done.. can we climb out again? Born again. Rise again. Is it that we do it to ourselves? Or is it done as a consequence of who we are, unconsciously, is it a consequence of our social system?
Maybe it's all in these little towns. We made it that way, without even knowing. Just running on auto-pilot, unknowing to all the waves we kick up, all the stones we drop in ponds and all the ripples we spread out into these miles and miles we roam about. Our homes.
Our lives in connection to one another, you me and I you, all one and everyone all together in these little ant hills in the dirt spread across the local communities, state sections and country regions.
Every thought, every word and action shaking the playing board one by one and all in such patterned motions, it appears like a strange ambient techno music video as the cars hit stop lights, the trucks weave in and out of traffic on the highways, the people walk the streets, the bikes pass one by another, friends meet and speak.. lovers fling themselves on one another in quiet bedrooms laced in soft colors and open windows. The weather patterns, spraying rain, thunder, cold overcast days, the sunny times.. the jobs being worked, coffee cups passing hands to the desk where the old man works, the young woman works, the kids sitting at the city block strumming guitars for quarters, the paupers picking cans from the garbages.. the sounds and scents and tastes and feels of all these motions of a day, like a guitar might strum over all the motions to play the music video of a single day.. as it all flows together in such a beautiful rthyme, such a melodic tone to these ant hills, and our journeys..
Our lives, like movies.. dramas, epic stories of sadness, strife, struggle, love, bliss, defeat and victory.. over, over, over.. circles and circles, we are all here part of this song as it plays out every day in our waking, and dreaming eyes.
9:20 AM
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