Indifference Aside

(or: Writing for Release)

If I write a fantasy, is it real?

I'll write regardless. I'll kiss the page electric. I'll finger sing my songs (because I'm just too goddam lazy to play them properly on six strings) and it'll probably sound better this way too. It almost always does in my head.


If I'm without any other recourse (from inside of course) then at least I'm alive to take it in from the outside; the often more real, world. It would be a shame if I lost interest right now. So soon.

If, all of a sudden (or even creepingly so,) I'm no longer looking for what I'm looking for. If I'm everywhere but where I think I need to be looking.

It could happen. I think it did, but I was losing focus and finding another tangent to explore without caring what I was looking for because of what I saw out of the corner of my mind.

(Bothersome, that.. .)

Sometimes I'm just too easily distracted, like a baby with an idea-mobile dangling changing repeat attractions. Losing connectivity to any one of them, even though I'm inside all of them. Regardless that they're all of some part of me.

1 and 1 is only two; no matter how many different 1s and 1s I put mellowdramatically together inside of my self-pitying daydreamer's skull. If it happens in my head, I'm (so far so) sure that it stays there.

But if I send a "poem" into the blogosphere, I'll be quite unlikely to forget it, and I probably ain't gonna bother to chase it either. Prob'ly not. Though, and as is so often the case, I just can't (won't?) say for sure.

So I'll ride the electronic magic blanket of humanity(Made In USA), and home in on anything that thrills my muse to some kind of life! Sure, I'll stop for any reflections of internal bullshit that my mental meandering may force back on top of, or inside me.

I'll do it regardless of how strange it makes me feel. This one, silly man.
Maybe (it may be) I'm really building a temple,* I just don't know in what style yet.

I'll peaceably make sense of my own single self, where no one else's opinion matters; where only what I decide gets decided. I'll do it out there in the never air. I'm paying my own way, right...

It might happen that my insane cure for pain arrives, as it is received, where ever I'm sending it without a care, without concern. It can't burn (even though I'm constantly wishing that I could, and quickly {coward that I am..}) like the back of my neck is right now.

I should just relax, and not think of what anyone might think.

That has always seemed like it's probably too much trouble though.

ow and ow and ow and ow...

* Allegory. Meme. Metaphor. You know, just some stuff to help me remember...


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