whateverwhimsy

[whateverwhimsy]

Naomi Tydeman Ri, Moonrise

[whateverwhimsy]

The Bad Thing

An ellipses trailing our regularly scheduled processing. Minds are frosted over, pressure building in our temples, collectively, collecting the parts of We that may still truly matter. What else does our consciousness invite but terror in the face of erasure? If all stability is contingent, then the meaning of the word is unknowable - unknown to us just as we yearn to un-know our grief. The pleas for hope again are left to die on the pyre we've erected in fear - even if you aren't anywhere near the flames we're probably all burning anyway.

[whateverwhimsy]

Soul Hoax

I swing and I miss

so what if I'm distracted?

Abstractions, I'm collecting

thrust of the deadbeat homes

hanging around in the

corner of my soul -

so, so what else?

I've always just taken anything

but now discerning

is the judge -

wish we could find

what keeps us stuck

to the dread.

Haven't found hope

that springs eternal,

yet.

[whateverwhimsy]

Whoselusive

Manage to scrounge up some real feeling after festering too long in the dark (ugliest fear decaying in the back of the cupboard), the stark realizations flowing around another big stand on the big soap box in my head slowly creeping back to bed with the dread becoming heavy. I heave, sleeplessly shouting into the reverie cave denouncing memories for lack of producing serotonin (I used to fixate on motionless movement) but denying the real heft of spirit seems to create the fear it's been taunting for years, though every now and then I'm awash with calm. Dirty black swan - oh - the song remains the same, anyway.

[whateverwhimsy]

Resounds

Let it swell to a smile.

There's still work to do, still motions to be made to evade the constant flow of dwelling on catastrophe.

But we'll meld and mellow sifting through the bones of things beside a raging hearth that allows questions, messages from the deep swelling within and all sin and salvation can take a back seat -

Sweet lilting melodies of a laughter we make our own, slow stoned rush of the known mingling with fresh roaming.

Missteps not sweating in our hearts, just yet.

[whateverwhimsy]

Hammerhead

Trapping lists of undesired things, oh, there's a head full of lost arts un-tapped-into: variables and shapes that shift, knots that twist under the weight of the grift as again, the tell-tale lie is at the heart of recovering and redundancies that pile up - this is not my beautiful lingering trust, this is fear-full of the lust the heart can dream and it keeps on screaming for a trustful bottle that will hollow out the death, but that's just in fact what begets it, ugly as it is - it's what's left.

[whateverwhimsy]

Breaks Broken

There's something about feeling regret a lesson in the sting that's buried, yes there's a chance to be redeemed a moment to make another choice, but those fickle throes of conscience fail and sometimes it's just easier to flail and lie to ourselves this is the last time this is the final straw, this is. Just another human drift into a brutal shift of fate.

[whateverwhimsy]

Steady On

You and I we tend to trade lines and borrow lies from another time - our decks no longer stacked with brilliant Aces, places we came to love have traded spaces with mounting fear. A glimmer and now you're not even here.

[whateverwhimsy]

All the feels

[whateverwhimsy]

Rush

Whatever we'd search for, we'll have to look deeper than we expected the sustenance injected in our breath, beating around in our heart has been captured, enraptured we've been blown way out of proportion.

A distortion of new ideals, these signals we send are dying they're denying the light we've tried to shine because the shrines we've set up are only up for claiming rights to be deceived, a scene-by-scene playback of pyrotechnical means to be fired.

Sired in the flames of distortion, we allow ourselves only small portions of the trust we give so freely to others, as we lament the participation in our own deaths we've been driven to keep envisioning, re-playing the worst parts to keep visiting oppression.

What of the venerable skepticism we used to keep between our valuable selves and the screen?

[whateverwhimsy]

But, alas...

Maybe we overshoot things just to feel the crush when we miss, just for the dalliance with distress, for a justified excuse to wallow in the darkness -- maybe we love to be engulfed in some little tiny piece of death just to see if we can laugh at it.

[whateverwhimsy]

As Good As Mine

Like a series of small snow globes, scenes capturing an array of dimensions untangling uncomfortable emotions, these idle hopes glide into a nexus of thought somehow inexplicably capturing an élan from frothy dreams - these scenes continue to puzzle me with all those characters playing their part, an upstart theatre of past destiny just dancing uncomfortably around in that little frosted orb of my mind. And, but why?

[whateverwhimsy]

Like Clouds Drift

Those big overhead lights

they used to flash so brightly,

every conversation like a movie

little kernels of truth

leaving something dangling, in the waiting

out here I'm still me

and out there you're still you,

but we've been eclipsed

by the lives we choose,

those big bright overhead lights

maybe they're still flashing way out in the distance,

and maybe we'll live on in

a million little wishes

we left behind.

[whateverwhimsy]

Iconography

My heart,

still a delicate emblem

with subtle reverberations,

I remember --

and there's a cavern of them,

my memories piled up

upon piles of dust,

clanging around in darkness.

I begin to unpack,

a naked realization

comes swirling back around -

and my head,

a mess,

confounded in grief

for the many lives

I've left behind,

unwinds into dream-heavy sleep.