The Dodecahedron (#1)
Welcome to the (possibly first of multiple) Dodecahedron, a series of 12 short form writing pieces by yours truly. Some of them poetry, some of them prose. I announced this in October and apparently I shouldn’t have because this isn’t necessarily supposed to be a massive project but I ended up distracted with other projects along with a little bit of writer’s block and now here we are about half a year after I officially started it. Sorry to my father who has been asking me about it for so long, here it is. Probably not worth the wait but it’s worth something.
Writing such as this is not particularly my strong suit, this is an exercise in vulnerability and willingness to accept imperfection on my end. I’m not by any means ashamed by what I’ve written here, but there are definitely more moments that come off as awkward or pseudo-intellectual than there would otherwise be in something less abstract. I ask for some leniency in that regard.
This is going to have a rather… nontraditional format to your typical post. Listed below is a link to a Google Doc to every listed piece. You also can simply scroll down on this post to read each of them without the formatting that an external program provides. You do not have to read these in any particular order.
Content Warning:
These pieces (certainly not all) contain varying amounts of existentialism, grief, and general “edge” or angst. There is no directly graphic depiction of anything violent or sexually explicit.
an affirmation i wrote at 1am
I did well today. I tested my abilities, I did something that I wanted to do, and I achieved what I wanted. This was a success. This is a success I knew I was capable of, and it was achieved precisely as I wanted. I am who I think of myself to be and I am capable of doing what I believe myself to be capable of doing. There was no loss today. The only things that feel like losses were directly because of wins. Because I am a winner.
eventually, five billion
Eventually, five billion years from now, our sun will become a red gas giant and swallow our planet whole. That doesn’t really register for you and I, it’s like well, I’ve got at best 100 years on this blue ball. What’s a billion going to do to me? But soon enough for our poor little sun, those five billion will have come and gone. Like those years for us that we didn’t keep in touch with the ones we should have. Eventually, five hundred years from now, we’ll be in history books like we view the 16th century today. Holidays named after the wrong people, a collection of lives lived that seem completely foreign to modern times. What you and I think and believe will be seen as archaic, as part of a time gone by that we’re better for having defeated. A few of us will be in history but the rest nothing but branches on a family tree. We fear if we became able to travel back in time, that any small changes we made would alter history forever. But doesn’t that mean any small choices we make now would end up doing the same? Five hundred years of a cascading kaleidoscope, all from something you chose to be. Eventually, fifty years from now, I hope I’ll be old. Or at least far older than me now. I suppose my bones will be either way. Beyond life’s halfway point, most of what defines what I ended up being set in stone. Today I’m so constantly caught up in what I haven’t been, who I’m not yet It’s hard to think of a day where I am all those things left with only the thought of what I would have done differently The wish for the freedom I hate now. All of whom I look up to will be gone, and will the rest look up to me the same? Eventually, five years from now, maybe I’ll have someone special I love. Maybe you will too. Maybe you already do. I look forward to it, I really do. I think about it more often than I should. Where will we meet? Who will we be? What will we have to explain about who we are to each other? Someday I may have to explain that my hands are incredibly clammy by nature, that sometimes I make promises I fully intend on fulfilling yet tangle myself in too many, that my face and body language doesn’t match how I feel how you think it should. Am I able to commit my life, so much of the time that I get to be anything, to be with someone else? Will they make it worth it? Will I be worth it to them, or will what we built all come crashing down? Maybe, someday, we’ll be sitting on a bench with your head leaning onto me, and I hope that someday after that I’m not left weeping with my head leaning into my own hands wondering where I went wrong. Eventually, five months from now, I’ll be back at school, halfway through my junior year of college. It’s a generic sentiment but time flew by so quickly, yet each day felt so long. Those incremental steps towards self sufficiency and eventually surplus that feel so large in the present day. Yet with each passing hurdle, I ended up overcoming it with relative ease. Still, each one is the biggest one yet, do I stick my landing? Or do I finally fall? Will I make any new, real friends or still feel like at best a name to everyone I was supposed to know? What myriad of activities and moments will I add onto the list of my wistful college memories? Eventually, five days from now, maybe we’ll have that project I’ve been working on submitted at my job. I never thought I'd be working on something so meaningful so soon in my life. Thousands and thousands of people helped by my hands. Yet I feel overwhelmed by the doldrums of the daily rhythm, as though I'm doing nothing but floating along destiny's plane. Everything I say seems to turn gold and yet I just can't figure out why. Using the talents you've spent your life cultivating are fantasized as though to feel like soaring high above the clouds, yet when actually living it, it comes as naturally and mundanely as breathing It won't ever be able to feel special to breathe air inward and outward, but there are also times we choke where breathing becomes all we can think about. Am I a fraud if I were to ever lose my spark? Or is that fleeting panic more a sign of what I had to begin with? The billions of years I was “dead”, the ones I never existed for, before this Earth was even formed felt like nothing. Way shorter than some of these sleepy nights I have. Maybe death will feel the same as before all of what I am occurred. Although only life can give that warm, fuzzy feeling of waking up with your eyes still shut. Eventually, five minutes from now, I’ll have my eyes closed on my pillow, and dream about all these things.
folk song
Why do I make art? It wasn’t always this way. I used to never do this Never felt any need to chase much of anything, let alone a feeling. I feel so quiet, left unheard Push and push to get it out as though I'll pull through Sing my la-dee-da-dee's for la-dee-da-you I… just wish we could talk I'm putting on a song and dance and what for, y'know? As though my further presence would allow for your eyes to open You never will, you never were going to I'm sorry that I thought otherwise. Singing louder and louder despite the fact no one I’ve ever wanted to listened to me ever has Fate’s my only audience, fate’s decided this whole thing for me already Break the dam to release the damned Fight the fight and defeat the man No one can outsing a lonely spirit No one can speak for those who can’t be spoken Even in my dreams I end up crying In what world can I translate the heavens? Ouroboros on February 2nd Cassandra with no esophagus A rock pushing Sisyphus down a hill Oxymoron, Oxycontin Mom’s well-worn green guitar sits probably in a garage somewhere Where fireflies used to illuminate the sky by the thousands I was convinced they were the stars themselves Now there aren’t memories of even a whisper where I try to find them I stare up at the night and talk to it as though it's you You never answer back My face is buried in my hands considering the absurdity of it all All these self floggings and general turmoil from the burning question of is there true light in this world I haven’t forgotten where I came from at all Where the sunflowers and the violets coexist Where the violence of my heart meets its martyred end Staining my world deep crimson red Within my troubled self is still your little boy Wishing he could sing because it's what you did How sore the l feel from anxiety tensing my muscles The involuntary quivers, the burning of the throat The fight against the downward spiral, the warriors bout to relentlessly see the world as a better place the day beyond today A big mouth to hide a scared soul A self sabotaging razor tongue disguising the desire to just be adored for what one contributes I didn't have to put this shit into words Someone just understood them And now even if I wrote the best words ever written, no one would get it, there would only be compassion This inherent feeling that life is to be loved, and the everyday struggle to actually believe it We lived it together, I had something to look up too Now when I tilt my head upwards it's just grayed out navy blue Thousands of stars telling me that the struggles of my individual soul aren't much of anything to them They're so real to me. They're… so, so real to me.
plight
The world is in entropic decay If only you were anyone else but you, you'd be special, you'd mean something The eyes gaze upon me I weep blood
legion of gazes (plight pt. 2)
“Sadness in my eyes No one guessed and no one tried You smiled at me like Jesus to a child” Jesus to a Child by George Michael (1996) At a moment’s notice, tens of thousands of eyes can appear before me. It takes a moment to catch my breath after the spiral begins Many dream of all the attention, and yet here I am Left to stare into the endless horizon of blue, gray, green, and honey brown irises The eyes gaze upon me I wipe the blood from my eyes and look back What is it you want? What is it I want? It’s so bizarre to me When I try to be social, be with a crowd I get a sense of loneliness so sharp it’s physically agonizing I end up running away, only to be a prisoner of my own mind Wardened by the voices of some abstract social collective, some generalized other. With each pair of eyes is a mouth calling my name, yet When I’m with these supposed others I feel this pressure from I feel utterly invisible To the point I wonder why the hell I ever even bothered talking Everyone has their people, there’s no room for me I don’t belong, I never have Didn’t I learn this? Didn’t we all learn this? Perhaps I learned to enjoy observing because I was always so isolated to where that’s all I could really do But all it’s led to is me obsessing over observing myself The generalized “they” always tell me that I’m something What about me grabs attention by its own merits? My unimpressive physique? My pedestrian grades? My still pertinent immaturity? I am not exceptional despite my desirous dreams to be If I was, I wouldn’t be having these issues, would I? People would listen when I spoke, they wouldn’t crowd me a corner and out the room What I created would be enough, it would be desired to be shared. It would create attention for itself. The longer the eyes look at me the longer I’m left to talk to myself The closer I get to just admitting defeat, because they’re right I didn’t put in the reps to be the greatness I needed to not feel this way I simply don’t have the fortitude, I am not strong Who doesn’t want all the glory without all the pain? Is admitting I’m weak enough? That I can’t possibly satisfy you? Why can’t you just go away? The eyes come closer gradually, it’s like they can stare straight through me As though my flesh is translucent At this point all I really can do is beg Why is it I don’t want these things? Why do I just not put in the effort? Why do I have no desire to be someone who works themselves to dust? Where is my nobility? My bravado? Motivation is supposed to work logically, yet I can foresee fearful things yet do nothing Why? Why do I do that? Why do I act like life will just sort my problems out for me? I’m far closer to being a beggar on the streets than any other form of status I’ve been gifted so far as to have been given a hammer and a chisel yet what did I carve? What bust was I trying to make? What the fuck am I even looking at? I made this thing? Please stop watching me, it’s so embarrassing I can’t believe you all came here to watch me and all you got was this I’m so pathetic, I promised you the moon yet never even crossed state lines I said what I knew was right to do, what someone who was morally correct, who was strong, who was courageous would do, because I knew it was right for those things to be done. But I didn’t do them. I passingly thought about doing them, but let sloth overcome me, and now you are left with the creation of nothing. A sculpture that looks like any other stone, and yet I dare desire your attention on the little work I did do As though I deserve any praise. I am not exceptional. These eyes are just the delusions that I am. If I just acknowledge that I made you, that you’re not real, will you go away? Will you watch what is actually worth it? They don’t go away. Oh my god, I am loved. Oh my god, it gets worse? Out of my existence, a dozen people chose to give a shit? WHY?! It makes it so much more complicated if I’m dejected by 99% but then the 1% are like “Oh yeah sure you’re doing something right, keep it up kiddo” It’s almost as if I’ve… made that ratio up How many people do I really know? Just how many of them truly dejected me? How many are just… unaware? The eyes get misty, glazed like stained glass Professors who told me I was smart, family who told me I was able, friends who told me I was enough It’s what I’ve been hiding from, because I don’t think I am And so this assumption that I am these things overwhelms me I take on this burden as though I’m being watched, because it’s true, it is me watching me, but it being me watching me doesn’t take away from it being sourced by the pressures created by the love I do end up receiving Because the love is real, the eyes are real Watching this kid who just doesn’t get it, who just doesn’t understand what the hell they see And sure, I’m invisible to many more people than I’m not who I try to get to hear me But why the hell else am I also running into people who give me affection unprompted? Especially those who often only get to know me out of obligation Isn’t that the worst demographic to have to try and impress? A father doesn’t ask for who his son is, only that he has a child at all I’m not exceptional, I’m not strong, I don’t work harder than anyone else, I don’t have some level of wit infallible to regular ignorance I am lovable, I care, I’m present, and even, shockingly, just a little, I’m seen I haven’t learned to let that be enough, I don’t really even know how But knowing that I am brings me comfort as I bleed profusely If only you were anyone else but you, you'd be special, you'd mean something The eyes gaze upon me I weep blood Sobbing because even though I know I’m not life’s magic X factor I am something anyway “And what have I learned from all this pain I thought I never feel the same about anyone or anything again But now I know When you find a love When you know that it exists Then the lover that you miss Will come to you on those cold, cold nights When you've been loved When you know it holds such bliss Then the lover that you kissed Will comfort you when there's no hope in sight” Jesus to a Child by George Michael (1996)
wishful thinking
I don't even know if you exist, but I’d love to spend time with you. I’d love to lie next to you, feel the small weight of your hands and across each small bone that creates it. Individual strands of your hair that's likely much longer than mine with follicles that create a different natural shade. Brown, black, red, blonde, dyed any which way. I'd love to look at you and remember all the nice things you did for me. The times you looked into my eyes and I knew that you cared. How nice your head feels on my body when I hold you.
You may not even be real and yet I wonder so many things about you. The name I give your contact on my phone, whether I give in to pet names or like your name for who you are so much I keep it the same as anyone else. I wonder how many times we call each other, or if we prefer to text. What my favorite thing is that you’ll say to me that I’ll keep stored away for when I need it. Maybe you’re really good at keeping in touch with everyone, or maybe you're just like I am.
I wonder what ways I’ll be imperfect for you, as we are to everyone. What it is you’ll think is wrong about me and what it is I’ll think is wrong about you. I wonder how brightly each of us will shine in each other's eyes to the point that those flaws are just afterthoughts, the cost of doing the business of love. How excited will I be when we're officially together? How many of my friends would I want to tell? Who are your friends and who would you tell? I hope they're beautiful souls too.
When I think of you, I don't think of you as failure, as an episode that eventually ends. I can think of struggle, of disagreement, of tragedy, but I can't ever imagine loving you as a mistake. For that to happen I would have to have been together with someone who didn't love me too and I just have too much self respect for that to really happen. I don't need you, but you can mean everything to me, and I think that's a wonderful thing.
I hope you're able to see me as strong, as a sturdy place to hold onto when you're unwell whether sobbing uncontrollably or distressed as all hell. I hope you're able to see me as ambitious, as proof that valor bleeds true, and someone who will always believe in you. I don't want to be your everything, but I want to be your special place, a place where some dreams can be alive and the concept of spending your life with someone stays full of gratitude. I wish I knew what your giggle sounded like when I’m on some stupid monologue. I wish I knew what your heart felt like when you say “I love you”. I wish I knew how it felt when you were frustrated with me about something, and even more what it felt like to know you still adored me.
I can't imagine you as anything much beyond being a woman and that's just due to the confines of my sexuality. You could be anything, and that's exciting to me. I want to hear all your stories, everything you overcame, everyone you’ve ever loved, every time life just made you laugh, and every moment you couldn't help but run away from. The clothes you like to wear, the way you like to dance no matter how awkward or smooth, the way the sun bounces off your teeth crooked or square. I want to be so fascinated yet utterly bored by what you're interested in, and be happy with that because it means we have our space to be different.
What's your take on being a woman? What spin do you have on it? What do you experience because of it? What's it like to have your body? What's it like to desire mine? How do the butterflies flutter in your stomach and when do they roam the most? What do you love about yourself? How does what I love about myself differ from your perspective? Are you okay with how sweaty my hands are? Am I okay with how often or how little you like to touch?
I’ll have to ask you when I meet you. I don't know when that will be. I’m just looking forward to it, and that's all that may ever be.
vincible
When I think of my dad, I think of this impossibly strong, invincible figure that can carry boulders and stay steady through any pain imaginable. Even when he explained what happened the night my mother died, that he went in to save her but couldn’t otherwise he’d have died too, it never once crossed my mind that he had failed, that it was even conceivable for him to be able to fail. I often find myself telling my stepmother when recalling stories about my dad that “At the end of the day, Matt King wins”. Midnight struck that day, and soon after he called me defeated, even losing to the words that couldn’t escape his mouth. 657 days have passed since that quiet phone call and only now have I even thought to ask how that could have possibly felt for him. All that time to process all that happened then and since, and for so long it never registered that my father was there when it all took place.
For me, it was something I heard through words, I didn’t even bother going to the burnt remains of where the fifth wheel it took place in when I flew home the next day. One day I woke up and my mom was there, then I went to bed and woke up in a world where she wasn’t. I have no memories of the heat on my face, no swirling panic in the moment of what could possibly be happening, no survivor’s guilt of wondering what I could have possibly, maybe done.
I don’t know why it never crossed my mind. Maybe it’s my love for my father, maybe it’s some subconscious gripping to the idea of a savior, my dad’s never failed me, so how could he have failed me? Superhuman still contains the word human, and the supernatural has no concern for humanity. If someone who is a combination of so many of the ideals and virtues I only can ever wistfully dream of being was left to sit and watch, well, what will I ever be? I suppose this is what the gospel meant when it declared us to fear God, to tremble at His sheer power and indifferent will. As a young boy, I would ask why we were taught to fear God, this figure that I was otherwise taught to build a relationship with, to sing praise for, to trust in, yet when God speaks of Himself, He demands fear. To a young me and even a young adult me, my father might as well have been God, or at least the content of his character felt as unattainable for me as God’s did. Obviously as I got older I saw my father’s flaws more clearly, but if there was anyone I knew who could slay a deity and leave me unsurprised, he’d be the first bet I’d make. And yet, that clock struck 12, and the Lord took whatever it was he wanted.
It crosses my mind that I could have died that night. If it happened a day later, if I hadn’t skipped a grade, if I decided to go to community college first, if my autism was severe enough to warrant me needing lifelong supervision as opposed to the “oh he’s just kind of a weirdo” kind, perhaps even if I was born a month later like I was supposed to have been. I have no idea how the real machinations of what happened worked, I know it was quick, I know it was pretty late at night but not so late as to rule out me being awake, but maybe that just means I’d have taken the dog out at that time and I would have lost both my parents that night. Maybe I’d play martyr and die trying to do anything about it. Maybe I’d have gotten so sick from the panic that I’d have passed out in the dirt nearby and the fire would’ve consumed more than it had. If I lost both my parents at once, especially at that stage of my life, I may have ended my life anyway, and even if I had the respite to keep myself alive physically, I certainly feel as though my sense of self would’ve been cast into a mahogany coffin dragged by mutts amongst an endless eclipse.
In all honesty, sometimes I have struggles convincing myself to live anyway, as though by choosing to continue to do so I’m letting God win and the only way to claim any of it for my own is by taking it for myself. It’s certainly awkward to say that knowing the likeliest to read this are my relatives and the man himself, my father, but awkwardness is the price you pay for authenticity. The clock reads midnight and I’m still awake, as lost as the day before, and well, what’s cooler than smiting a god? I don’t have the courage, I never have, as much as I like to believe in the concept of me having any mental fortitude, my hands are soft and my stomach’s weak. I suppose in this case, weakness works in my favor, a reminder of all the suffrage I’ve been spared from. I’m in a world where my heroes can’t save me or themselves and all I am is a flabby pale boy who likes to look at flowers and watch the world rotate. A world where I’m left to observe the infinitum that’s in my grasp and out of my control, to cut my thumbs on the jagged contours at the edge of everything.
Ever since, I sometimes stand at the center of campus and stare down the clock tower atop the university hall. It’s about as close as I can feel to talking to some sort of higher power, I never found myself able to understand those who felt as though God spoke to them, my whole life it’s felt like He threw His voice around me and let it reverberate across the walls. Feeling the cacophony of life spin around me, the rain on my neck, the breath I’m taking in, I stand square, and I ask. Ask what its plans are for me, if it thinks it has plans to end me too, if it’s unaware that I’m listening. I watch the hands that’ll never reach out towards me click by ever so slow. I nod my head in acknowledgement that it will never answer me, my worries, my spite, my fear. I tilt my head down, and walk back home, wondering when I’ll no longer be a pleading beggar, when I’ll be strong enough to find purpose for my own. The rain slows but it feels no brighter out. It will strike 12 that night, as it has thousands before, unassuming, indifferent, out of reach.
We don’t have words for the nonextraordinary, even typing that word gives the squiggled red line below it on the word processor. We aren’t supposed to care for the category 99.9% of us find ourselves in. There is no being vincible, there are no ceptional, credible means something else entirely. Yet as youth wanes, those are the words we would use to describe what we’ve ended up becoming, and perhaps that’s where the feelings of lostness begin, that if we aren’t climbing summits, we aren’t defined. We talk about those we love as though they live beyond this purgatory, untouchable by normal plight. I live in a world where my father dares to believe I’m better than he is, maybe he’d even point to my ability to write this as an example of it, that with these words of mine I can wade the river of Styx and walk out of it with a heart full of gold.
I suppose this is the price of the “normal” life. The exceptional get the attention, we’re meant to suck them dry, and if we dare to create ourselves it’s lost to the wayside. Left to imagine our own heroes in lieu of the sheer lack of ones we truly know, and watch them too succumb to the overwhelming power of fate. If you wanted it, you woulda done it, and if you really wanted it, you’d do all that just to watch it not matter anyway. Sit at an open mic night and listen to eight different people sing what might as well be the same song, the power of the typical! Never has it felt so lonely to realize myself and all of whom I know are held under this same limit.
When midnight approaches, it claims what it desires, nothing we can do about it. I isolate myself in hopes that art’s loneliness will bring me any answers. I can’t say it’s ever worked. I’ve loved something so much I’ve lost myself, thinking that if I suffer, then I’ll grow strong enough to break the barrier to be something greater than this, but the strongest man I ever knew was left to stop and stare at what the Lord had done. What could I ever do to even respond to that.
dodecahedron
12 Faces 20 Vertices 30 Edges 1 Self To throw oneself into the dodecahedron is to fully self actualize It is everything you are and everything you have ever been Every lost memory will be reborn Scars will open and begin to bleed Perceptions will be expunged of all falsehood You will be subject to emotion at its fullest potency Your stimulation levels will be required to peak over natural limits The agony will be slow burning and constant Do you understand? Reject misery Reject fear Do you understand? The polygonal soul exists between all virtue Unwanting of all fates Ambivalent to all wishes Steadfast to all of life The dodecahedron is akin to nature itself You are to remain living in body and in soul You are to learn, to love, to lament at your truest potential You are to be proud of your pain This is the firm command of the dodecahedron Do you understand? There are no contractual stipulations of which will save you from now on With these agreements, you are to be brave and hold strong It is up to you to combat and conquer destiny with grace and honor The dodecahedron wishes you well in your endeavor
augmented tundra
The more I try to be around people, the more I want to be alone I know isolation isn’t good for anyone, we’re designed to be social Without people, there would be no crops for which for me to feast from, no home built for me to live in, no English lexicon for me to write with. Yet I can’t help but imagine a life in which I spoke to no one being better A friend of mine once told me out of everyone they knew, they’d be least surprised if I was the one who shaved their head and went off into the forest to become a monk I suppose this is why they were right It’s as though every word to escape my mouth makes me feel selfish And if this is who I am, why not just live an entirely selfish life not detracting from anyone? Of course, this is logically unfeasible From the moment your given name is written in ink on your birth certificate, you are one with society You sell your labor to the benefit of others in exchange for currency of which you use to supply yourself with what others have made Society progressed through these means, it is only reasonable that it did so If not for it I would be starving, scarred, riddled with disease, if not for my generations of forefathers I attend university to study the history and machinations of these methods, these symbiotic markets we’ve created. All of my life is defined by the fact that billions have lived before me We cannot exist without each other, yet when I try to play part, it is though I am being told I do not belong I am insufficient, burdening, without need or desire to others My development years were spent trying to become someone altruistic enough, affable enough, understanding enough to be part of this conglomerate As I chased the virtues of our celebrated heroes, the further beyond I found myself feeling For among the heroes were the hateful, ignorant populace Chasers of materialistic belonging, discriminators of man, lovers of respite from what they eternally view as a broken world Wearing sunshades to hide pathetic eyes, those that hope that if they plead to the system that’s burdened them that they will be released I understand these people, for I too wish for a savior from ourselves Yet I am surrounded by mirrored spirits, the more I speak, the more is reflected onto myself I once was a child who wanted to one day be celebrated, and now I am a man who just wishes to be left be Shards of broken glass become beautiful under the decay from the sea and sand Does soul become the same from the burden of God and man? Do I become better through the wounds of bitter loneliness in the midst of mass? Empty mouths by day become yearning hearts by night What’s the damn point of socialization if not anything but modern theater Experienced but rarely engaged with So many wounded, traumatized souls pretending to hide but living brazenly Bipedal white flags at the caucus of life Who were you when the pain began? Where were you when the illusion of magic flew on wayward wings? Instead I talk and, frankly, look like a jackass As though I’m too full of myself to see the real picture that’s been cautiously painted by the hands of Father Time What boy believes they’re special in the modern day? Commanding that one who has self worth must be deciding to foolishly conquer a god My peers sure blankly look at me as to say the same I cannot save us all, we were damned long ago, this silk duvet of mine only carries so much warmth But there is wonder in this frigid tundra As gales brush behind my ears, I am reminded I am alive An infinite chain reaction ends with me and another begins For others, I am one mere link amidst millions Of utmost importance, yet of none at all These people I was taught to belong with make me feel worthless for the moments I choose to not give value And somehow more so for those that I do You taught me what we wanted people to be, and when I became it even just a little, I was ridiculed for the rest I had yet to learn Do you weigh your love in gold or in fire? I was born within a system, but the contract of my existence does not state I owe anyone something Appeasing the broken leads to further splinters I will give my open hands to those willing to reach for them, but oft I’m left to grasp at fists held taut or the limp limb of the truly lost I am one man, I am the result of many mothers and fathers, I may be the result of many more beyond me But this love of mine is the only one I myself ever get to give out amongst the endless timeline So much of the time I’ve given it has felt like a waste And if no one truly wants it, I may as well give it to myself so it doesn’t disappear along with me I wait at the edge of time all alone Tapping my toes, I truly feel little hope But there’s wonder in this frigid tundra Maybe there’s communion on the other side
binary heart
He said "The power of love is limitless. Not conditional love, but love through grace. Being able to look at someone through anything and say 'We're going to get through this because I love you', and it is when we make love conditional, something that needs to be earned by some merit, that we cause problems to ourselves." - --- / -... . / .... --- -. . ... - --..-- / .. / -.. --- -. .----. - / -.- -. --- .-- / .- -. -.-- - .... .. -. --. .-.-.- / --- -. . / -.. .- -.-- / .. / .-- .- ... / -... --- .-. -. --..-- / .- -. -.. / ... --- --- -. / .- ..-. - . .-. / - .... .- - --..-- / .. / ..-. . .-.. - .-.-.- / .---- ----. / -.-- . .- .-. ... / .-.. .- - . .-. / .- -. -.. / .. / ... - .. .-.. .-.. / ..-. . . .-.. .-.-.- / -... ..- - / .. - .----. ... / .-.. .. -.- . / .. .----. -- / .- -. / .- -. --- -- .- .-.. -.-- --..-- / - .... .- - / .. .----. -- / -... -.-- / -. .- - ..- .-. . / .- -... -. --- .-. -- .- .-.. .-.-.-/ .. / -.. --- -. .----. - / -.- -. --- .-- / .- -. -.-- - .... .. -. --. --..-- / -.-- . - / .. / ... . . / .- -. -.. / ..-. . . .-.. / .- .-.. .-.. / - .... . ... . / - .... .. -. --. ... .-.-.- / -... ..- - / .. - .----. ... / .-.. .. -.- . / .. / .--. .-. --- -.-. . ... ... / .. - / .- ... / .---- ... / .- -. -.. / ----- ... / --- .-. / ... --- -- . - .... .. -. --. .-.-.- .-.-.- .-.-.- / .. - .----. ... / .-.. .. -.- . / .. / -.-. .- -. / - --- ..- -.-. .... / ... --- -- . - .... .. -. --. / .. / -.-. .- -. .----. - / ... . . .-.-.- / -.-- . - / - .... . .-. . .----. ... / ..- -. .. ...- . .-. ... .- .-.. / - .... .. -. --. ... / - .... .- - / .- .-. . / -.- -. --- .-- -. / -... -.-- / .- .-.. .-.. .-.-.- / . ...- . .-. -.-- --- -. . / -.- -. --- .-- ... / .-- .... .- - / ... --- ... / -- . .- -. ... .-.-.- / ... --- ... / ... --- ... / ... --- ... --..-- / .. - .----. ... / .-.. .. -.- . / - .... . / -... . .- - .. -. --. / --- ..-. / .- / .... . .- .-. - / - .... . .-. . .----. ... / ... --- -- . - .... .. -. --. / .. -. / - .... . .-. . --..-- / .- - / - .... . / -.-. --- .-. . / --- ..-. / ..- ... .-.-.- / ... .- -.-- .. -. --. / ... --- ... / ... --- ... / ... --- ... --..-- / .- / ... - . .- -.. -.-- / -.. . ... .. .-. . / ..-. --- .-. / .... . .-.. .--. / ..-. .-. --- -- / .. - ... . .-.. ..-. .-.-.- / .. -. / .- .-.. .-.. / .-.. .. -.- . .-.. .. .... --- --- -.. --..-- / .. / ... .- -.-- / .-- . / .- -. -.. / -- . .- -. / -- . .-.-.- / .- ... / - .... --- ..- --. .... / - .... .. ... / .- -.-. .... . / .. ... / .- / ..- -. .. ...- . .-. ... .- .-.. / - .... .. -. --. / .- -. -.. / -. --- - / .. -. -.. .. ...- .. -.. ..- .- .-.. .-.-.- / .- ... / .. ..-. / -- -.-- / . -..- .--. . .-. .. . -. -.-. . / .. ... / --- -. .-.. -.-- / .--- ..- ... - .. ..-. .. .- -... .-.. . / .. ..-. / .. - .----. ... / -. --- - / .- .-.. --- -. . .-.-.- / -... ..- - / - .... . / .-- --- .-. .-.. -.. / .- -. -.. / .. / -.-. .- .-.. .-.. / - .... .. ... / -.. . ... .. .-. . / - .... . / ... .- -- . / - .... .. -. --. --..-- / .-- . / -. .- -- . -.. / .. - / .-.. --- ...- . .-.-.- One night rather recently, I had this vision of sorts. It was like a dream but I was wide awake, perhaps at an hour I shouldn’t have been. I saw love as it was. It wasn’t something to be earned, not something to mold oneself into to be worthy of, not something to pursue, but I’m still finding the words for what it is I saw. Ever since I saw it, it feels like I’m living in a world that knows the same thing yet remains blind to it, with a soul forever yearning and a heart forever broken. I was put on this Earth to love. It’s my grandest purpose. It’s the most beautiful thing. Bitterness roots itself within lust, within the idea of “good enough”. Love is the endless sacrifice, the unfulfillable prophecy of living forever just to get more time with someone or something. Inside me is a call to be the lightning in the sky, to burn myself in pursuit of grander purpose. Is my optimism of others based in seeing in others what I view of my own desire, whether or not they share it too? I naturally yearn to give all of myself to something, it’s all I’ve ever searched for. - .... . .-. . / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / -.-. --- -- . / .- / -.. .- -.-- / .-- .... . -. / .. / .--. .- ... ... / .- .-- .- -.-- --..-- / .- -. -.. / -- -.-- / ... --- ..- .-.. / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / -... . / .-.. . ..-. - / - --- / .-- .- -. -.. . .-. --..-- / .- ... -.- .. -. --. / .. ... / .- -. -.-- -... --- -.. -.-- / --- ..- - / - .... . .-. . ..--.. / - --- / .... --- .-.. -.. / -- . / .. -. / -.. . .- .-. / - . -. -.. . .-. -. . ... ... .-.-.- / - .... .- - / -- .- -.-- -... . --..-- / .--- ..- ... - / -- .- -.-- -... . --..-- / -. --- .-- / - .... .- - / .. / .... .- ...- . / -. --- / ..-. --- .-. -- / .. / -.-. .- -. / -... . / .-.. --- ...- . -.. .-.-.- / --- .-. / -- .- -.-- -... . --..-- / .. .----. .-.. .-.. / -... . / .-.. . ..-. - / -.-. .- .-.. .-.. .. -. --. --..-- / .- ... / .. / .- .-.. .-- .- -.-- ... / .... .- ...- . .-.-.- .-.-.- .-.-.- / ... --- ... --..-- / ... --- ... --..-- / ... --- ... .-.-.- / .-- .... . .-. . / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / .. / -... . / .... --- -- . ..--..
the boy upon the black altar
I often find myself overwhelmed by all the ways to be terrible All the new phrases we create to define horrid people, neofascist, groomer, someone who gives the ick The Outlook notification from campus that’s a coin flip between either a bear on campus or a rapist Complicity, corruption, murder, suicide Methhead on the street next to a man just trying to eat, both fucked over by the system we keep Passive aggressive, malicious intentions Pepper spray dolled up with stickers on a keychain Internalized demographical hatred, externalized fear Deep depression, financial incentive All these drugs we make to keep ourselves sane Union busters, right to life, the pursuit of the American Dream Pump so many fumes into the air we can’t even see Wondering if the late night screams outside the window are drunken fodder or something far more sinister Car accidents, police brutality, the choice to wage war Homes that catch fire, hurricanes and tornadoes that dismantle them, and horrible parents/parents that destroy them from the inside Eating a salad to see dozens killed in Iran on a distant TV Only thought in my mind being there was too much feta cheese Is it my inevitable end to desire to manifest destiny? To grope, maim, lie Be the barren lover as some poor person’s other side? Be the sullen bother despite what the world provides? Why was I born with stone-carved eyes and a fleshy heart? My tongue left tied by the English I learn to speak I want to believe that there’s good and that I can be it. Why does it feel like I’m constantly pleaing? Knelt before the black altar, eyes shut so harshly I see red Can I ever be alright? Is attraction destined to lead to attrition? Despite my desires, have I become one with ignorance, needing my eyes to be gouged out by another's thumb in order to even see? The minister beckons to me "For what molds have you ever broken?" as I meekly weep I feel so alone yet so malevolently seen A mischievous child before the court charged for blasphemy, daring to fight the inevitable will of God You will be evil. You will do evil. It was what birthed you. Thousands and thousands of years of pillaging, rape, assault, materialism, shame, misogyny, divorce, and addiction led to you and you think you're the odd drop of sunshine? A purebred human born of and in showers of cold blood? How affably, foolishly noble. For someone so young, so useless. There be no need for gallows, for his life will bring his own untimely misery My vision fades to a grayed sight Gazing at my powered off bedroom light A world more defined as real, although both feel just as genuine to me Remember my ABCs, count the 123s The blessings I have are ones I’m allowed to keep Those who deserve happiness receive it. The feedback you’ve been given is about who you already are, not what’s dreamt to be I struggled with this concept for so long and fought against it, not realizing it was always there for me To the church I belt: For I was not created not by hatred, but by love! Within futility comes spite! Those that raised me gathered these broken bones of theirs and mended them to birth me! I am the beautiful scar of a healed wound, the living reminder that despite the pain that led to me that I am alive and in the present, an eternal imperfection I got to walk along this different paths a beautiful meadow whose trees decayed and only the grass remains, this magical place I try to explain and no one chooses to see For you may call me a skeletonized monstrosity, a crime against humanity, I know my eyes will stay blue, I have seen the summer skies My whimpers when faced with the yellowed stares of demons are signs that purity is still a part of me There have been so many nights I looked at my hands, wishing, begging, praying they could someday turn to wings And that day never came, because it never needed too. It never was going to. These hands of mine can build walls, weave silk, hold the tender hands of those I hold dear Guns were designed for hands, hands were designed to pluck flowers out of fields I will be loved by those who deem me worthy, and I myself am my own counsel who've voted in my favor Just as I will eternally be haunted, I will be appreciated, respected, rejoiced, and held dear The quickest way to have someone sobbing in your arms is to tell them they’re enough Everyday there's thousands of us trying to collect our scattered flashcards off the ground Finding ourselves on trial for imaginary crimes Tell someone, the ones you love, that they're enough That there's beauty that can be seen They need it, you need it, we need it, I need it.
hey there, majestic owl (you’ll want to read this one with the link instead)
I am good because of the time I’ve put into myself and what I do I need to be great so I can receive any credit for it I want to be exceptional for the pursuit of self improvement I am good, therefore I am allowed to be at ease I am not great, therefore I will no receive attention for what I do other than by those closest to me I am not exceptional, therefore my dreams are not in reach I’ve worked hard for this There’s so much work to go, but I can see it in myself I don’t know if I’ll ever reach the top Existence, necessity, desire Ability, potential, dreams Sufficiency, thriving, interdependency Experience, remember, always Life, joy, love Present, pertinent, everlasting -------------------------------------------- One Saturday afternoon, I made the greatest mistake of my life I saw a girl sitting under a bridge, playing her guitar, and decided to sit and listen to her play I was met with eyes I could stare into for hours and a heart I could cleave to for years I didn’t get enough time for either She sang with a soul that was as though it withstood millenia yet was so timid about it to be afraid to be loud even though no one was within a hundred feet I couldn’t stop shivering and I couldn’t tell whether it was the brisk autumn wind or her presence in front of me Yet despite it, I’ve never felt so at ease Words spilled from my mouth about everything I'd been thinking about but wasn't sure how to tell people We shared our thoughts on family, empathy, spirituality We also shared nothingness Her twisting brunette hair flickering with the breeze as she'd look to the horizon in meek admiration When I lost my words, what I was able to find was this childish voice inside me telling me I could spend forever with her In a lull of silence, all she had to say was “I think God’s creation is just beautiful”, and for whatever reason, that put my years of worries to rest Never did the vastness of the world feel so intimately small as sitting next to her and her guitar for an hour, watching the river flow and the fall leaves wave by Whatever powers that be, whatever worries we had, whatever we loved and hated somehow led to us sitting next to each other on a couple of rocks as the world spun As out of control everything is and feels, every single decision we made ended up meaning something. I looked at the strict geometrical structure of the buildings behind the organized chaos of colorful branches Every inch of the planet kissed by the lips of fate, yet humanity made its mark upon it anyway I turned my head aside to see her delicate face, and I smiled As it turns out, I wasn’t enough for her to ever end up texting me after I gave her my number, but I was enough to have that moment with her. All that I’d done in my life, however much I worked on myself, however much I learned about how to connect with others, it was what I needed. Maybe I talked too much about myself, maybe I wasn’t in good enough shape, maybe she misheard me reciting my phone number, I don’t really care about whatever it is that might’ve been “wrong” with me, because the moment felt so right. After all, there is a "too good to be true", and I must've ran straight into it I wasn't good enough to live the Hallmark movie fantasy, both of us probably weren't We each are young adults, myself still a teenager and herself barely twenty who both moved away from home to this northwestern town on a whim and are still learning how to rely on ourselves let alone each other But because of it, I saw future's window, I saw the world where maybe I become what I'd always dreamed, and that I'll do it on the same path I've been walking on for so long It will take much longer for me to get there, but for now I can enjoy the freedom of being merely good, without the burdening shackles of learning lessons the hard way. The blissfulness of youth comes from the freedom of potential over action That I have not yet lived all the pain I will receive, that I am not expected to be a wounded vessel but one with naive aspirations and ideals How I had a fever for three hours with lovesickness daydreaming of what life could’ve been because I fell in love with the idea of someone without knowing entirely who they were How I returned to a rather disheveled room I wouldn’t exactly be proud to bring someone I love back too How I had anthropology assignments that still needed finishing on my to do list I have so much left to learn, and so much time to learn it I got to catch onto a dream, and then watch it fly away I am good, I can be great given time, and maybe, just maybe, I can be exceptional, and I'll catch a dream again. -------------------------------------------- Is that all it took? 60 minutes with some human you had no familiar bond with? Are you certain you have it solved? I’d be lying if I said everything was finished, in fact, quite the opposite. I learned just how wonderful it was that I’m not all the way there yet. Do you understand that you were to only contact me when you found it? To be doing otherwise would be considered insolence. Well, yeah, I did find it. I found that there was nothing to be found. I do not have the capacity to understand what it is you’re meaning Either the self is fulfilled within the dodecahedron, or it is destroyed You signed this in your agreement. Are you requesting to be exterminated? Look, you’re not getting it, and that’s okay because, Of course the answer to all this was going to be hard to comprehend. Just listen to me. I’m too young to know any answers to these things I signed on board because I thought I was special enough to force my way to the bottom of it No one’s that special and if they are, they’re riddled with problems anyway Hell, I thought I was special because I was riddled with problems myself So you wish to leave the dodecahedron? Please confirm if you are requesting to be exterminated. No! That’s literally the opposite of what I want. Don’t you notice that I’m a man of flesh and bone trying to tackle the battles of the timeless? I have not always been, I will not always be. I was designed to experience youth just as I was designed to experience death I saw this inevitability of being young as a curse Every time I’d look back on who I was previously I would just want to go back and change everything To not shart my pants in third grade, to not fall for that girl in robotics with the crazy grandpa, for Christ’s sake maybe I should’ve just found a way to buy a house in 2009 at the age of 5 If only I knew better, knew more, had a more capable brain that would’ve found the answers before they happened I read all these books, watched all these videos, listened to all these people about the human condition Because I felt inhuman, frankly, I felt like I belonged here instead I wished I could know everything, have answers to it all That I could have the mind of my century old self in the body of the present I’m doomed to get older, everyday I’m the oldest I’ve ever been One day I’m gonna go to bed and wake up and be like, 50 And that’ll just be the time that it is, and I’ll be like “Wow, that happened so quickly” in complete, willful ignorance to the over ten thousand days I lived between now and then But I’ll act that way because I’ll miss today, not because today is better, but because there are better parts about it Days where death didn’t stare me so harshly in the face I’ve only ever been older than the day before, I don’t know what it is to be young because I’m always aging I don’t know what it’s like to be dumb because I’m always the smartest I’ve ever been I’ve been so caught up with the insecurities of the present, I didn’t stop to think about what the me of the future even thought of me I was afraid he’d hate me because of how much I hated my past selves But now I realize, I’m it already, I am my older self on an earlier portion of the path. I finally found my way onto it. He won’t see me as some ignorant fool who believed he could be something he couldn’t He would see someone who hadn’t experienced what was needed to move forward yet, and that I would eventually take that step All I am is potential, and potential is beautiful, just now am I even barely beginning to see it flourish I get to watch every single good thing I’ve worked towards that is yet to happen in my life I’m 19, and I’m already good! I have a skill, I have self awareness, I’ve become open to new things, I’ve overcome my grandest weaknesses, I’m on my lifelong path I get to be great so much quicker than almost anyone else! I only have so much time left that I get to just be good, I get to spend the rest of my life being great Hell, maybe exceptional even. There’s only so much time I have left being who I am now before I never see it again. Isn’t self-actualization the ultimate human pursuit? Why would it be that you would halt your progress towards it? Not necessarily, because chasing self-improvement is a part of this current self that I am But also a part of me is what I currently lack I don’t have forever to achieve perfection, I have at best about 70 more years to get as close as I can What sad life would it be if I spent all that I would ever be thinking I was never good enough? When every moment I spent it being all I could be? Sadness is inevitable It is one of the dodecahedron’s many faces Rejecting it as though it is worse than any other virtue does not comply So would be rejecting satisfaction and joy in its entirety for the sake of insecurity There’s balance to the many faces of life, and we get to see them all by living Well, by we, I suppose I mean me You aren’t necessarily alive, are you? That’s not my place to confirm or deny This isn’t about me No one has ever come to me exclaiming they’d solved the dodecahedron and gone unpunished To come back to report was designed as a fool’s errand, those too weak to handle what the dodecahedron told them about themselves. However, it seems that you neither solved it nor ran away from it. You became it. I couldn’t remove you from it if it was desired of me to do so It is clear you have maintained your spirit throughout this process That is commendable. I have no further comment on the matter other than for you to continue your duty. Do you understand? Did my question about whether or not you’re alive hit a sore spot? I’m sorry. Do you understand? Ok, ok. Yes, I understand It would be in your best interest to end communications here for now. You are to continue living in body and in soul You are to continue learning, loving, and lamenting at your truest potential You are to continue to be proud of your pain This is the firm command of the dodecahedron. The dodecahedron wishes you well in your endeavor. -------------------------------------------- Hey there, majestic owl I've never seen one of you before I'm so happy that you've shared your time with me today I think you're really pretty I hope that's not preventing me from seeing who you are otherwise as you deserve to be I… don't fall in love very often Every time the Earth spins around the sun, I've felt it maybe once, and I myself haven't made many revolutions I still don't really know how to process it when I feel it, how much I should feel and how much I should let go Every time I do, it feels so selfish, so wrong yet I'm wrapped in the idea that moments come and slip away, and given how rare it is I feel this, I only have so many of those moments in my life to achieve it. At times my alacritous grin comes off too strong, and I know this I get caught thinking this world's mine for the taking Avarice prevents my recognition of momentary bliss But despite all this, I think you didn't care enough to notice Myself, a temporary figure at a beautiful scene I watch tangled in ipsedixitism, as though forever and I are familiars Those big, luminous eyes saw right through me You saw me as a lucky break the same as I saw you Yet knowing just how precious time was, didn't dedicate any of it to me other than what you had I wish you on your merry way, my good friend. You're beautiful, and I'm sure you know that. As for me? I'll spread this giddy warmth you've given This boyish glee for what life could be someday. I hope to be wrapped in some bird's gorgeous wings But today, I'll just watch you fly, fly away Up into the sky where I put everything that's out of my reach Maybe someday I'll soar the skies upon my own steed However, until then, you shrink smaller and smaller into the distance until it's as though you were never here. Farewell, majestic owl! Off to sweet and merry things for you and I. -------------------------------------------- “I am a stop along your way I am the words you'll never say I crossed the great beyond of fear Opened my eyes and saw us there What a view And you went there too But all along your chosen path are Window panes and sheets of glass That you won't see You fly too fast One day it will be over Fly away little bird The saddest song I ever heard Was the one that I wrote you in my heart That never made it to the world” Fly Away by Indigo Girls (2006)