This wordpress thing and I aren’t really working out. Guess even a gypsy, when she’s planted roots, feels most comfortable being herself in a certain spot. Writing is already difficult enough, not to mention highly exposing, to try and force it where you don’t feel you belong.
Hence, if you’d still like to find me… I’m back where I started, here: www.ferriswheelbohemia.blogspot.com.
Thanks for enduring the foray into wordpress that more or less ended up being a sabbatical!
People are built for different rides.
Meant to travel at different speeds.
Yet, I consistently fall into the rut of grabbing people by the hand
trying to take them places
where they are unable the breathe.
I tell them they’re in for the journey of a lifetime
to which they eagerly agree, and start to run along with me
but inevitably fall behind, gasping.
I cry out and keep my fingertips outstretched
urging them to take hold
but am unable to stop my velocity
and as time tears me further and further
from those who crumpled when their lungs started to implode
I wonder – why do I have to go here alone?
it only happens rarely.
the sense of sitting on top of the world. at LAST.
staring into a plunge.
sensing through the vagueness how it’s going unfold. with velocity. with things getting left behind.
and wondering how you will manage – to hold together – to swallow with your stomach ballooning into your throat.
yet getting giddy at the thought of ALL tHaT VERTiGo.
that is how my days feel lately.
i hope it is at least one of your tomorrows.
well? yes? no?
no? did the question unravel like you’d been asked about a length of masking tape? flat. beige. separate from yourself. something best kept on a dusty shelf.
yes? did you concede in spite of having to respond to the vacant ring of a cliche? unable to prevent your deepest instinct from rearing up & scoffing: “LIKE? that IS me.”
’tis a polarizing query. yet, perhaps we misunderstand each other.
for what is poetry but conviction & mystery & the passing appreciation of the grandest and minutest details of this world? the darkness when we go to bed at night.
and who doesn’t like that?
2010 is still fresh. there’s still a chill in the air and writing “1” before the “0” feels forced – unfamiliar. we’re still getting used to who we are here. there’s still time for us to say, “this is how the rest will be.”
for promises. living them.
there’s a marked difference in the wind of this decade. as if it’s changed direction – or perhaps increased its force. but the rush is different. no, there is a rush. it’s as if we’re on the cusp of something. don’t you think?
what is it that’s coming to us? no doubt it will have something to do with the fortunes we’ve written for ourselves… those promises we’ve made and buried and will inevitably rediscover in the sometime future – either broken or changed to gold.
maybe we don’t make our fortunes in their entirety. not always. but we certainly mold them. form them. in some cases, kick them into existence. we go with the tide or against it. we make our micro-fortunes with how we hop from one moment to the next, whether it be with grace or rhythm or a smile. right now, i am making mine.
yes, greetings 2010.
for me, this is how the rest will be: Read more…