It is a distressing thing when your thoughts appear to have abandoned residence and the only notions in your head are squatters, tresspassing all certainty. The corpratisation of my headspace is strangely not to blame. If anything its the brief moments when you come up to breath between the clammers and chatters of "ought to"'s and "shoulda's" that leave my world dissected in doubt. Bisected by it. Split open two halves, two paths, diametrically opposed, and yet the outcome is inevidably some place called home. And so I feel lost and wondering like a planet with no trajectory, no grounding sun or teasing lunar counterpart. No.
A solitary wanderer, questioning the world from way up above and clenching my fingertips at that the excrutiating, unbearable lightness. And yet it is calm up here. peaceful, serene. There is no up and down, no in between. Just here and now and trying to be. I speak of the stillness when you've questioned everything you've been taught and renounce everything you think you've learned and open yourself up to some still, safe inner truth. And it gleams like a light shining, not from above, but from somewhere behind the tonsils, somewhere between the ears and reaches down with one equal breath and out.
I speak of that place that is only vacant in a moment of revelation when all things make sense and nothing is witheld. When all solid ideas, certain truths are lucid and the similarity of all and nothing can be seen. Blink.
blink. blink. blink. Down comes a tower of cards. Like a foot in my sand castle or a splinter in my heart. Because all things were once renounced now all things become questionable and such is my current state of creative confusion. An oxymoronic delusion.
There is certainly certainty somewhere that is not nearly so brief.Do I venture out to find it capture it and bring it home, a poacher of truth, or do I wait for it to arrive as an unexpected guest. A foot on each path, is no way forward.Until then i guess I'm just biding my time with coffee and that very occasional cigarette.
