I am the Ever

This is something I wrote literally two minutes ago and it is extremely rough, but something worth working on I think. I'm not exactly sure what my goal was with writing this, a combination of sweet food and sorrow, and it moved into bodies of the earth that the dead are our ever and are forever in the ever of our world... Most of the time things like this don't make sense and I hope this makes just a little bit of sense.

The inside of a mourning group is a wind tunnel. Souls swirl together in some hellish wide-mouthed image that Mr. Munch knows too well but doesn’t know it like this. When the sky opens its ducts and allows its heart to split apart like two clouds traveling across the sky, slowly pulling away from each other like cotton candy from the paper stick, like cotton candy from your lips. The sky fell on top of me, it ran down my head over my cheeks like rolling hills and inside my mouth, it dripped over my sloped nose and onto my chin like syrup over the edges of pancakes. It found its way deep inside my shoes and soaked through the stockings I decided to wear today even though I hate stockings, it soaked nonetheless just like sponge cake and strawberry juice. The birds fell around us and echoed their wailing through the tree branches, bouncing off everything that reverberates sound so their voices wound around the tunnel and fell into beat with us and the falling, their little bodies and fluttering wings beat against the ground. My little body and fluttering wings beat against the ground. A mallet beating meat, thinning it to transparency, my face fell into the mud and yearned to be buried into the sea along with her, my one true Gaia, shouting from the depths of my, depths of me, depths of my heartwoodcorpsecoreskeleton.
I am the cotton candy stuck to your mouth, clinging and holding on to your lips, dissolving on your tongue in sweetness spreading across your soft and red, warm cavity. I am the clouds pulling apart, swelling with years of wetness, soaked with the sorrow of every land and filled to capacity, reaching across the velvet night onto your cheeks, in your hair, down your face, crawling inside your shoes to keep your toes company. I am the hills of rolling cheeks, cheeks of rolling hills, green with pasture and dotted white with woolen life. The teeth of lambs bite my verdant skin and nip off bits of nourishment. I am the rushing waters of time filling the spaces between your fingers and ear drums as you leap into my body of azure sparkling just for you.
Inside a mourning group the ever is for ever and there is nothing else left except the birds on the ground and their bodies beating, beating, beat and their songs, their song, filling the spaces between now and ever and accompanying us into the ever of for ever until I am no longer the cotton candy on your lips and I have dissolved into your sweet sweet teeth, nibbling my green pastures for your sustenance and lapping at my azure skin for relief. I am the ever for ever. I am the ever.

ee cummings

the most delightful of all things exist inside his words. I want to crawl into this book and live there for a while

"in time of daffodils(who know
the goal of living is to grow)
forgetting why, remember how

in time of lilacs who proclaim
the aim of waking is to dream,
remember so(forgetting seem)

in time of roses(who amaze
our now and here with paradise)
forgetting if, remember yes

in time of all sweet things beyond
whatever mind may comprehend,
remember seek(forgetting find)

and in a mystery to be
(when time from time shall set us free)
forgetting me, remember me"

There is a sadness coursing through me, a wave of ocean that wants to drain itself out of my eyes. I think it's out of loneliness but I'm in the middle of the world, in the middle of the U.S. of all these people and things and animals and life. It's hard to realize your friends aren't your friends anymore. This transitory part is difficult to get through, sloughing off the old and holding onto memories and looking for new, looking for more. Music is my friend.

"and if you ever get lonely just go to the record store and visit all your friends."
-Almost Famous

"calling come on thunder, come on thunder, sometimes when I look deep in your eyes I swear I can see your soul. Sometimes when I look deep in your eyes I swear I can see your soul. It's a monsoon" - James

I had a dream last night that she was in a bed that was her bed, it looked like a condensed version of her room with those pictures of mothers holding babies. The other two lived there also, they could talk through the hall way and Jake told him it was enough. She had on a sweatshirt with Jesus as an angel on the front. It was blue and strange and I laughed at it. My mom was there but she was doing something else, maybe she had just made jake and I breakfast, something like that but Susan wanted to go out to breakfast, she just wanted us to go with her. He suggested someone, who they used to go out to breakfast with in Portland when they lived there ... I don't think they even lived there. But it was like she had just been away for a long time and had forgotten things that are here. It was her, her smile and laugh and hair. The only explanation I have is cold medicine.

PostSecret

Every Sunday for about two or three years now I've read postsecret, something I know a lot of people do especially a lot of my friends. I have never written to PostSecret but more often than not it makes me cry. I guess I am just really into humanity. I love the beauty and genuineness in all people, the possibility of having a real human connection instead of just walking past people without wondering. This is why I write, this is why I write about people in particular. I want to get it, I want to have this overwhelming connected feeling all the time and if I write about them and if I create them, then they are a part of me and my writing and my life. People who are happy, people who decide to be real instead of putting on their facade of "in-person" talk and personality, people who really care about the world, others and the things that they put into the world, make me want to be a better person.

I am really just a major sap who wants everyone to be happy and real and see the beauty in realness but I want that as part of my life too, I want to be real, I want to have that personality of truth and genuineness. I want to talk to that kid over there sitting on the couch by himself to let him know that I see him. Although, I could be a total pompous jerk who has every good intention but why does that kid need me to say that to him, or to even say hi? Sometimes I just get too far inside my own head. Too analytical of everything. I think that's how a lot of writers/artists are though. Instead of just experiencing things, there's a lens of distance to experience something and still analyze it and take it in a different way to later use it for a creation.

It's like that argument between Yeats and Whitman, I can't remember which said what but the argument is one thinks you can only be happy in life OR work not both and the other says you can have both. I'm somewhere in between right now. That's okay I think.