From My Brain to Yours

when things are all shifting i’m forced to reflect reflecting, i didn’t expect to connect for when all things are fleeting, life’s falling apart i take a small moment to rethink my art i’m walking down aisles, i’m searching for space i’m spacing, i’m floating, i stare at your face and when i’m in the mirror, i smile and cry i’m thankful that i’ve had the courage to try when i’m finishing up and i’m closing my door it slams shut behind me, i watch the rain pour and while i’m standing by and i’m keeping the score i am questioning whether i’ve been here before

there’s something that’s shifted a change in the air and i’m facing it, eyes open wide it’s just slightly different with delicate flair so i’m building new worlds in my mind the lights’ shine is dimmer, the cold smell of rain comes weaving its way to my nose my thoughts ride on carousels, round in my brain as the day gently comes to a close i’m eager to share it i need to explain but my words can’t convey what i know each day seems so rare, it can’t seem to remain in the world where all days used to go

i can't write anymore, like my brain's getting sore like it itches but i cannot scratch and i can't think of things, and it hurts and it stings like my brain's been replaced by a rash i don't know why i'm here, like i'm pierced by a spear which has taken my art from inside and it's crumpled it up, and what's left is all rough like a monster from which i can't hide and i bitch and i moan, i complain and i groan like a child who can't get their way i am innocent, yes, but i can't pass the test so i'll pack up my bags for the day and my brain's like a shell, like i'm ringing a bell like the sounds in my skull magnify, it's not like how before i could do any chore without even having to try like a juicer has squeezed, and i'm begging, like, please, to return to my previous state but my brain i can't cheat, and what's done is complete since i'm old now i can't wipe the slate

another year gone and it’s more of the same it’s passing me by, though it all seems a shame that i’ve changed and i’ve grown, but have nothing to show there’s no picture to put in my frame another year’s starting; i know what’s in store, what is coming— i know that i’ve been here before but i’m new now, i’ll do what is meant to be done i can handle a little bit more another day waking, another day spent another day borrowed, another day lent another day saved, that i’ll face when i’m brave in the calendar i’ll make a dent another year gone, i don’t know what it means another year’s starting, the slate has been cleaned but another day more is the same as before, or at least just the same as it seems.

wherever winds blow you, hold tight to your friends when choosing your teas, pick the happiest blends it's certain that all things must soon meet their ends. it's hard now to tell what is real, who pretends or which hand holds the needle that's threaded to mend at the end of each day to ourselves we must tend for it's certain that all things will soon meet their ends. while we hope our trajectories upwards will trend all our time, sitting, waiting, we cannot just spend what is wide becomes narrow, the rigid will bend and around every corner's a letter to send but it's certain that all things will come to an end.

 I still can't wrap my head around pain. Pain and suffering and death feel so foreign, so out of place in my life, and I'm sure that in itself is a privilege. I guess at some point you just have to get used to the fact that there is bad in the world, maybe even the fact that the world itself is bad.  But if we look at the world as a bad place where bad things happen, where does that leave us? If everything is arbitrary, what's the point? Are we just skating by on pure luck until one day we run out? My existential ramblings are nothing novel, I'm sure; the human condition is made up almost entirely of wondering why we're in this condition in the first place. There's something rather juvenile about the lens through which I view life. It's as though the minute it dawned on me that bad things do and will happen to people I know and love I started thinking of that as some sort of dream. If you separate pain from reality, it becomes distant. But it doesn't go ...

 As I'm not one who seeks out to be scared, come Halloween I'm never quite prepared. Though blood and guts and gore may fascinate my thoughts on that are much less love than hate. However, through the years on me it's grown and certainly in this I'm not alone. I love the autumn joy of making crafts I float across fall winds upon my raft. Creation brings a new birth amidst rot and so I'm grateful now for what I've got. The charm of hallow's eve just doesn't lie in looking up as ghosts and spirits fly, but rather in my little living room where building costumes lifts me from my gloom. But I suppose by any means I've come to the conclusion shared by more than some. I've joined the ranks of folks whose eyes do gleam whenever they hear talk of Halloween.