whateverwhimsy

[whateverwhimsy]

Feet Moving

Time just flies away and time just doesn't wait. All things come and all things go, sooner than most and then you're slow on the run. Trying your best to catch right up, cause the prizes aren't easy to grasp. Clap your hands, sing along -- The song of the rush won't slow down for anyone.

[whateverwhimsy]

You wanna hear something honest about my fear? Shrug your shoulders, ask to change the subject. Eyes constantly flitting away to something else. If there were any real redemption in sincerity, we'd all mostly have found God by now, but. Instead there's the stipulation

Oh How Banal, are you Really talking again about sincerity? "Again the way irony is getting in the way, and how we're our own worst enemies unable to say something real about how we really feel" I asked if you wanted to hear something true about my fear but we we keep pushing it down. Agreeing that it's all too much but we never expand, we only obfuscate and use big words and text instead. What about when there's nothing else left?

[whateverwhimsy]

'Big Sigh'

Welcome to the playhouse, where you can deliberately distill your thoughts, perspectives, desires, each recommendation just babbling out and fraught like the dialect we share with boiling invective, terminology used to impugn - your truth isn't the system we've grown used to yet you're haughty enough to imply { } something or other about transgression, reactions, to forever take to task and target, to flagrantly plaster points that waver, deliberately misconstruing the facts made to fit, made to acquit / absolve horrendous blunders, we wonder aloud to ourselves if we've all gone madcrazyscreamingmadcrazyscreaming !?

[whateverwhimsy]

Masterstroke

Backed into the corner of my mind, righting the indignities I find there, stalking. There's another fraught indelicacy to fight off, while the frost settles in and sets me down, beginning to drown out the noise, the dripping wetness of poise I'm teetering on, fallow fools of mindless triggers, these particular pockets of newfound sanity oblige. I'll rise - some new figure from the ash of what's been burning on the pyre tonight.

[whateverwhimsy]

What can I do with my hands? How do I train this art into them? Another painful, cautious step into the realm I've been dreaming in forever, but never knowing whether I'll make good on these promises to myself. I'm a timid learner with too many distractions, I'm a dedicated wisher without dedication to the craft, these years of blindly numbing out my patience am I too daft now to follow time and intertwine it with a practiced, steady hand?

[whateverwhimsy]

He meets and shakes hands with his shadow. Finally able to see, to encounter and read what's been there lurking all along. Trespassing under the surface, desires now denied, ablated, toppling over with newfound sensations. The need still dribbles out but there's no more desperation. Shadow there - that shadow there - he's just a calm dream, a soft vanishing center that was used to fiddling with the knobs but now the control room's locked. Handshakes aside, nothing but a determination now resides in the headspace re-imagined.

[whateverwhimsy]

Rest in Peace David Lynch (1946–2025)

[whateverwhimsy]

Darkening

A proof in the pudding, lost in time. Broken, lapsed, derisive at last.

Even if we take it all, there'd be hell to pay and the day would dim… we'd lose love to sin.

And how you hate the words that talk from lips, old sips of bourbon but it's poisonous.

Dip and drop and talk yourself to death, what's left? The last beating heart and decrepit heft you try to wield.

And you feel just fine…

[whateverwhimsy]

Feigned

I wrote a few words in a folded-up letter just (most likely) to make myself feel better, a looping love of song whatever could be wrong can be made right, sleight of hand as a stand-in for the scandalous scenes I keep myself awake with in dreams. Elusive, these clues left scattering themselves down the stairs, hate to be the one who always cares too much, but wouldn't it be easier to encapsulate the lust without bobbing away in the sea? A little sleep as the cure, disintegrating for sure in the wake.

[whateverwhimsy]

Sad Interlude (but Soft)

Talk to me about the snow and watch it fall against the glowing sky, too late though it seems now for light but the echo of evening shimmers. Call out some new hope, in words that need no deciphering, need nothing but a lingering memory to remind ourselves of how it feels. Well it might just be the saddest Christmas learning how to move on and cope, but we'll sway and sing to evoke the hidden hope for moving forward - a warmth subsuming the torrid death that lurks beneath this crest of white.

[whateverwhimsy]

Fimography

Your eyes like a film-camera capturing scenes, I wish I could be in the foreground frame, subject to your dreaming.

Could you make me seem like the villain who's just misunderstood? Would or wouldn't I be flattering, smoking a cigarette that won't kill me, walking beside you so casually?

I'd like to be the one you secretly love behind-the-scenes, sneaking around and slithering (so the main character doesn't see…)

Not so straight-forward.

Your head can make up as many stories for what you'd record but I'd still be forced to watch a screen.

[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.