Saturday, July 31, 2010

Shadows from Yesterday Come across on Red Brick Walls: Reflection on Perception

Lately I have found that my days seem to blur together. I can't necessarily recollect the previous week by a day-by-day recap. I suppose this is what happens when you get older, or perhaps not... seeing as when I am older I might remember every single moment. Holding onto what's important or relevant in those moments puts an enhanced layer called, "meaning" which conjures us into understanding or rejecting information. The stationary blend of layers, becomes a tower which one climbs to reach the end of life. If we begin to run, we may find that the tower comes too quickly and somehow we become discouraged by the realities that we face, perhaps before we are ready for them. This could essentially point us to a life based not upon discovering but of regret. Others may climb these towers in such a lazy haze, that they end up missing the relevance in the journey itself, finding that life itself conjures us into "issues" rather than events. To those people who find that they have never considered such a thing.... please do so. In fact only in recollection do we realize all that we have forgotten. Its as if they are shadows escaping us as they attempt to attach their souls to the spirit world. This world seemingly innocent and imaginative... perhaps holds the secrets that we all seek... yet we can never find it if we are looking for it... it has to find us.
In our imaginations, or dreams for that matter, we are given free reign over the reality of existence. We understand what rules can constitute this reality...but as to the exact art of its execution, we must conjure up the elements which compose our vision. I have always felt sorry for those who don't place vision as a priority in dreams. If we aren't able to visualize or envision things, then what do we dream of? Can we honestly find our humanity if we cannot dream, dream meaning whether awake or asleep we attribute our senses to the envelopment of our subconscious imagination rather than our perceived reality. Or do these things just constitute theory? Have the realms of society become the encompassing envision of what was and what will always be? can that be?
I cannot say.

Friday, July 30, 2010

I ran in circles until I could not stand

Knowledge of what is does not open the door directly to what should be.
Albert Einstein

My eyes open.
In a hazy half conscious gaze I slowly scan my surroundings. This is the same place I recall falling asleep in, and yet it feels different. This difference seems to weight heavily on me as I turn to survey the floor. Piles of clothing discarded along stacked half-written notes, and empty cans-scattered objects of the previous days ventures. The fan blades spin hypnotically as the air shoots along my face, shifting my senses alive in a cold burst of unwanted touch. Turning towards the wall I think of the time before my eyes opened. Having never being good at recalling dreams, I cannot place their exact nature. I remember so little when I place importance on doing so. It seems ironic to state, yet strangely satisfying that if I intend to remember something I will somehow keep the concept alive. The creation of an idea, the creation of a unique idea, seems to be a gift that only an individual can assess. I feel without the means to create in this moment.
In the fabric of my current state I feel the texture of the night before, seemingly lost in a canyon of missing imagery and rushed statements missing clarity. Cracking neck and sore old bones. My arms feel like driftwood as my tanker body seems latched to this palate.
Within the course of twenty minutes I haven't moved twenty feet. I'm in no hurry to rush out of my cramped space, yet perhaps the idea of freedom means more than the physical confinement of the situation. I took the clock off the wall, I don't really care to know the time. My eyes narrow again. Laying my head back down I slowly curl back into a state of disconnected fantasy. I have found the point of origination, and yet it feels strangely foreign. I feel like a ghost, drifting in and out of familiar spaces. I have given much to see these memories and yet have at times felt less receptive to their power. Moments of weakness trump against times of strength. All at once it seems as though these things are not linear. I can reach out and grab them. Yet I cannot dissolve them, regardless of how hard I try. These are what has been or what has been chosen, and not what can be changed without changing forwards. At the thought of this, I attempt to gaze through one of these moments. Its one I recall, but until recently had forgotten. A time of great change. I remember this moment, the moment I discovered I had become conscious of my actions. It seems silly; but I remember it. Maybe others would find these memories a bit too...reflective. At times even I see it that way. I continue to wallow through the mire of thought, when my mind recieves a sense of great urgency. Its as though all these elements: whether good or bad, has somehow connected me to something beyond myself. This sense is new and rather chilling. To feel so small in comparison to something so large, is mesmerizing. So mesmerizing that I can't seem to snap myself away from it. All that I have known of myself may be utterly off; but who is to say? Who is to say?.... my eyes start to meditate on the fan blades.....turning slowly....slowly looping around in a circle.... I can't look away.... and I drift back to sleep.