Currently playing: James Newton Howard’s composition-The Gravel Road. Hilary Hahn can sure wield that violin.
A week and a half of fluff has finally gotten to me. Not that I’m exactly excited to go back to campus tomorrow. Back to tests, deadlines, expectations. Back to stress fits and panic attacks. Back to bloody work.
Oh well. The hazards of being a student.
Better than wasting away.
————–
"What makes you think he has feelings for me?"
"The way he never touches you."
The movie wasn’t all that good, but God, some of the lines were worth remembering.
————–
I love this poem. The first time I read it, I fell hard for it. To this day, I’m still not quite sure why.
(and this is that shifting impossible perspective that is the human condition)
by Rachel Kann
lately,
when i close my eyes to sleep,
my dreams
incarnate in variegated stages
of invasion
its amazing
the multiplicity of ways
the symbols instant replay:
my home overtaken by uninvited men holding out handshakes full of agendas and screenplays,
or
i’m so close i can see the faces of the snipers on the side of the freeway,
or
doorless rooms, air heavy with the cool spun glass icicle satin of fog clogging my lung passages with anthrax
and
does it really matter
that my stature
is completely out of hand
to
mouth existence?
and i am so far out of touch with my internal needs that i can’t even remember the feeling
of hungry?
for anything?
why scrutinize my own life when it’s all relative on the spectrum of perception?
(and this is that shifting impossible perspective that is the human condition)
i reside (like we all do)
inside my own decided mythology.
i can say i failed completely at said intended eventuality
or
flip the script and simply claim that another path choose me.
both smack of insincerity
leaving me liquefied,
more fluidity than history.
meaning, i can’t, with any degree of certainty, even give you a concrete map of what led me to this stage righthererightnow
terrified, trembling with toomuchtruth, all for you.
memory is as objective as the inconstant moon!
as a gaze at our own reflection or an earful of our own vocal projection
(and this is that shifting impossible perspective that is the human condition)
we are inverted paradoxes
inside-out stars
with the light shining in
contained in our skin
sweet little packages of magic that can’t unwrap themselves.
but i’m trying to…for me and you
trying to remind me and you that we are beautiful
trying to confide in me and you
the realization that we can only be safe
in this temporary, luminous universe of helium balloons and illusion
we are human beings
simply earthlings existing
this mortal’s coiled like childish livewire
trying to unravel rapture
delivering little scriptures
full of penniless potential
filling fountains with thousands of wishes
one c/sent to this planet with de facto struggles to overcome
and even with all the differing degrees of lucidity surrounding me
we collectively agree, at the very least, that this is where we are and this is when we be
and even thinking that that doesn’t mean anything means something
and all i want is to give u that single sentence that gets you all sentient
(and this is that shifting)
i wish i could cull it down to one word or better yet a letter
(impossible perspective)
or even moreso just a moan or less an intake of breath like (…) but you can never truly separate
( that is the human condition)
( even subatomic particles
change their behavior under our observation
…and here am i trying to capture life like butterflies )
(and this is that shifting impossible perspective that is the human condition)
and i love you
————–
Enough said here.
