Thoughts in Rain

The rain keeps falling, a proper deluge that dims and blurs and yet...cleanses. Thunder drums to the steady beat of the rain, rain that can be like darts and bullets and also knives. Rain that hurts. A cold, thin gloom sets itself upon the world when it rains. Car splashes, coloured umbrellas, other sights and sounds are out despite the rain. The world moves on in the rain, unfazed and indifferent. Nature is losing her touch here, among civilizations where concrete and oil are king. So it is for me, I must go places even in the rain. But a lonely taxi ride to my destination prompts thougts. A mess and tangle of thoughts that confuse and exasperate and so much more, that cannot be put into words...but for two:

Human Nature.

This strange and wonderful thing. Good and evil. How complicated it is, that even we who are humans are at a loss to understand it. Why we are who we are. Why we do what we do. How we work, what makes us tick. What makes us laugh, cry and sing, sometimes all at once!

How we are all social creatures, deep down inside. Even the most antisocial teenagers are the ones most in need of company. How we all need to work. Not for money, but for the deep passion and need for a purpose inherent in every human being. And all these among other things, so many other things we can only begin to speak about, the surface of which we can only hope to touch briefly...

My train of thought is interrupted by the taxi driver.

I pay, and walk off into the world.

The Prodigal Child

I'm a cheater and a liar
I'm a downright damn denyer
I'm a so-screwed-up-in-sider
That doesn't give a damn.

I'm a person in transition
The back way: No Admission
There's only one decision
Only one line to take.

I'm coming from the darkness
Released from the tight harness
No longer tied up and alone
I'm finally coming back home.

Untitled Thoughts (Cont'd)

And here again how tempted I am to return and rewrite and rephrase and redo and edit it all and change it all but then I stop and

think.

How that's how life is because you can't change it and nobody can turn back time or relive anything again you can't always be looking

back.

It's sad but true yet how much I long for the past how much I want to rewrite some parts of my life how much really I want some things to be so very different from how they are now and how desperate I want it to be so and when I come face to face with the facts how it overwhelms me those facts how they overwhelm me and even though I may overreact or be dramatic it is how I am sometimes even though I may be that way how true it is the way those facts affect me.

How they affect the way I live I love I laugh I listen I lie I lack I am.

And all these thoughts they come again and again in refreshed waves bringing new thoughts I must write down for my own sanity's sake even as the world is watching me weighing whispering wondering wearing away.

And I cannot seem to stop these thoughts they just come without rhyme or reason without punctuation in a kind of strange rhythm that is the rhythm of life it goes up and it goes down that's just the way it is that's how it is and we must live with it in sickness in health in dark and in light in this situation and that

we must live with it.

Live with it or perish.

Untitled Thoughts

Sometimes I wonder about myself and how I am the way I am and how life is the way it is and how everything just is and was and probably will be or even never be.

I think,

How sometimes I get into a total screaming-inside kind of mess and how I get out of it and how that's really how life is and how I manage life at all and how I get through it.

There's a lot of hows.

And then,

There's how I am with this person and that and how it all works and how the world works with it and how the world might be without it and there's more hows for you.

And again and again,

The whys of the hows and the hows of the whys and such strange things that go on around me that feel like I don't know what's going on but really everyone has to go through them too and isn't that interesting.

My mind does wander from the clickety-clack of typing to the hard skin of my feet and the sounds of the air-con and the sound of silence which is also the sound of night and not just the sound but also the smells like the smell of before during after the rain the smell of tap water the personal smell I associate with someone and not just the smell but the taste of blood how metallic it is from cracked dry lips and the taste of other things how it is with me because of how I think of them and not just the taste but also the feel of plastic keys the feel of skin the feel of cold and more than the feel and smell and taste and sound more than all these is the sight and how the light falls just so and the shadow of a hand or any object really and how everything can be so ugly or so beautiful and in the end.

How it all goes together.

And the source of the inspiration is not just external stimuli oh no it is of the heart and the soul which yearns to write it is the passion which springs from within it is all of these and more which trigger the urge to just write and write and write and write and write and never

stop.

How everything seems to fall in place but in reality things don't work that way.

How in the quiet of the night

things

just come to mind.

And how I can put me inside something to get something else and take me out of something and get yet another thing.

And so many other random things that just flow and flow without ebbing this unending stream of emotions and words that just

COME.

And they never go away until your fingers at the keys are exhausted and your mind is finally empty and your heart is placid and still.

And then the sorrow comes, when the joy of writing diminishes and fades

till next time,

when the muse comes again in the middle of the night.


























And how strange it is.

Just when I think I am done there seems to be more and more and more to say and then I just

forget.

All of it.

And the window closes and opens and closes and opens and things go in and out and time passes like it always does never stopping and there is always

always

something to say.

Even when I need to leave when my head is addled and tired there is still so much to express that is crying out be written!

And we, we who were cast out among the ashes, cry out and hope for salvation.