I Am Fending Off OR Shower With Praise In Your Soap

This isn’t it, work;
Relief, dread, broken-hearted.
I’m in a field.

Trying to keep my head up during the beginning stages. I’m ready, but the universe is charging. 

Stifled, it’s still cool,
but slow
and grating,
I march.
Hunger and the sky.

It’s like when you look up and see a few stars, and then you look again and there are more, and then again, more.

I’ve never been here.
Never done this or taken
the chance to show you.

My skills are great, but not necessarily applicable universally. 

Years in the halls with
teachers and peers and now I’m
in a fucking field.

Whimsy isn’t; light-heartedness does not come easy to me

Perhaps, it’s laughing.
The joke is perseverance
and its been a week.

Describing your skills in a packet with words is accidental iced tea. 

I Am Fending Off OR Shower With Praise In Your Soap

Prose on Prose on Prose OR Success Isn’t Given OR I’m Lonely For No Reason OR I Need a New Hobby

I watched THIS documentary this morning and realized that everyone is the same, no matter how different. If you’re good at something, and you work really hard for a really long time, it’ll maybe pan out but maybe not. I like the idea of indie gaming, and singular vision and purpose and I think it walks alongside music or visual art or writing as something that is worthy of experiencing with a mind open to newness and uniqueness.

I don’t even think I’m unique among my friends in believing that I’m struggling to find my voice as an artist, especially one that is (even if very minimally) different than everyone else’s. Whether its in writing or playing or composing, I am constantly evaluating what I’m doing, and struggling to find consistent moments that I don’t feel like I’m saying all of the same things in the exact same way as everyone else.

That’s all. Here’s to hoping for…

Prose on Prose on Prose OR Success Isn’t Given OR I’m Lonely For No Reason OR I Need a New Hobby

My Window Offers a Perfect Portrait of Winter Transgressions Covered

I am cold and soft
Unwanted some, beautiful,
though mostly: burden

I fall without light
to greet the sun and morning
Again, trampled on

Opportunities
to use me grow as I do
yet I feel a chore

Wishful, I breathe the
same air, but exist without
my own intention

I am called a touch
when I am more than nothing
And I love quiet

My Window Offers a Perfect Portrait of Winter Transgressions Covered

Nights Alone in the Apartment When There Are Other Loners All Around is Abashing and Beautiful and Comforting and Depressing

The more I restrain the idea of form and I begin to write haiku as a series of thoughts rather than events, the avenues of expression that I had thought to be closed seem to open. I’m excited to experiment with random thought processes as a means of muse. Our abstract brains are MUCH cooler than our thinking brains.

Thinking, bubble, sit.
Large armoir, I fit inside.
Though, feet dangle down.

Loving, jagged, reach.
Shelves are high, I can’t see up.
Reach is relative.

I can smell dinner.
Next door, she paints, cooks, who knows.
Neighbors, lonely too?

Nights Alone in the Apartment When There Are Other Loners All Around is Abashing and Beautiful and Comforting and Depressing