Echoes - Page 15

Redundant Half-Thoughts

I'm not lying.
These "problems" they come and they go.
I'm just tired.
And "partly" its all my own fault.
Can't we steer clear
Of bad genes and "chemicals".
I'm not angry!
But yelling seems to get my point across

And so far you have yet to let me know.
And so I rest here, pissed off and confused.

If I could speak.

If the pollution would fade

You could hear.

If I could speak...

quote:

---

someone's behind me
and i know who it is
those same stupid pants that go swish swish swish

---

Ya know, it's just not the same without that sound around here... I miss him.

Clean

It seems things have changed.
The smell of the air
The comfort of my bed.

I woke up and found that the scars on my wrists are faded away
And it feels as if they were never there.
Unnecessary.
Forgotten.

Because past life is just that.
Its something else.
Undoubtedly , I do not see it is My Life.
I am definitely a Different Person.
So it must have been someone elses life.

Scars and pain are supposed to Help us remember.
But my scars have faded.

Is there no need to remember?

Surely in the future I will feel pain
But for now
I've nearly forgotten the feeling.

It seems I am New.
And a cliched sense of Reborn comes to mind
But there is no anger.
No sadness
No regret.

I am merely observing
And this new observation is Scar Free.

I have just written what I believe to be by far the best poem I have ever written. It is lyrical and littered with litterary device, but, in order to fully appreciate it, I feel I must elaborate on my writing process. The devices that I use are not done on purpose. It is not as if i look at every line and attempt to craft something like a term paper or a diliberately stylished piece of art. It is from a rolling and streaming thought. So when a device appears it is to be heard and understood in the most natural, and somewhat expected, tone. Not expected through cliche, but through honesty. Which is by the way, a pretty big theme in my writing.

I will tell you that when it was first being written i was lying in bed. I had just gotten home from work and it was about 12:45 at night. It is now 1:54 and i have been done for about 25 minutes. I had not seen my lover and fiance since i had left for work 9 hours ago, and she had to wake up at 6 in the morning to go to an early class. Her day will not end tomorrow untill 9:00 pm. It take a little time for me to get to sleep after working, so I decided to take part in a recreational drug, (weed) and lye down and try to go to sleep. Like most times I found myself telling myself that it was much too loud in the room. The only thing on was the Xbox. Though it hums loudly in the night, it was not the disturbing clatter that was causing my distress, it was all the thoughts lol. On drugs, it can be hard to keep up with yourself sometimes lol.

After I laughed at that little observation, and after a few more minutes of clatter, I had a wonderful thought that filled me with utter joy.

I have no idea what that thought was because directly after the thought I thought this.

---"Exactly what I want to hear" the man said to himself.
Exactly what I want to hear is coming from myself.---

Now you understand the brilliance of the literary device usage I was talking about. The rhyme the rhythm, the meter, all came in an instant, just like any other thought.

After lying there with that amazing thought in my head, more and more thats in the same meter and general mood started pouring out. The rhymed , had metaphor and even a little alliteration and assonance. In line rhyming and utter stoppage of mood and mind. Like many other pieces of mine, it became entirely who I was at that moment. I then decided to sit up, try to bring back the thoughts I was having, and write something out of it. I could not remember it absolutley clearly, for now I was no longer in the trance (and I was starting to sober up), but I tried my best and was sattisfied with what came out.

After deciding that the last line was the last line, sometimes a difficult decision, sometimes an easy one, I started reading each line for typographical errors. I started readin from the bottom up, and I noticed, at least in my opinion, that the poem was much better if I read it from the last line to the first line, in an opposite order.

I will post the poem, but if you are a fan of some sort and wish to Hear the poem as it should be heard, I am going to record it and upload it as a sound piece of some what moderate qaulity.

Personally I would wait for the recording, I can be a wonderful speaker. But if you want to read the piece instead, I will post it, in reverse order. I will also officially state that the reverse order is the proper order it should be read in, as the artist. I hope you enjoy.

Dear Reader,

Please read the post just before this one before you read this poem.

thanks. AW

The Self

"Well that's not what I want to hear." The man said to himself.

Not where and apparently not to deep.
Not then, nor now? Not when, nor how?
So what then can I truly see?
If I cant be, then here can't be
So I surely can't be.
But here will change and so will I.
Then it would surely be.
If I am here and here is me
Then who is king of me?
If I am man, and man is king.
How much more than mice are we?
Though thoughts may clatter, like mice they scatter.
And stiff my head shall be.
For to be wise is to be stiff.
There need not be relief.
Though roads may drift and twist and tree.
Then I shall truly see.
Yes, I must steer and steer and steer.
Our thoughts while lying rest.
He speaks not words but plain and true.

Exactly what I want to hear is coming from myself.
"Exactly what I want to hear" the man said to himself.

If I wasn't so distracted and appalled by the constant grammatical and spelling errors I might be able to appreciate this writing. You need to seriously consider editing each and every one of these (I know it will take a long time), because it's frustrating and at times sincerely impossible to read them. I don't mean any harm in this, it's just that if you ever decide to consider yourself a serious writer, especially one with "fans" or "followers" careful proofreading and editing is a MUST.

P.S. I do like the new one, although the images are a little hard to follow, the lyrical writing is very musical.

lol

Yeah, I know. Sorry. I didn't know that I would keep writing for a couple years when I first made this. The gramatical problems go away not too far into it. Like I said, read from the last one back lol.

No, I just knew that thats what you were going to think, so I told you how to fix it before you even asked the question lol.

I'll consider going back and fixing them, but really they aren't worth the read anyway. For me they are more of a diary and a visual aid for my progress and skills as a writer.

If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a favor.

Please correct the spelling error in your personal quote, it shows up like 10 times per page and if you just do that for me, I swear we can be friends. Or I can leave you alone, whichever you prefer.

lol But I've left it that way for SOOOOO long lol.

Does it get better? Can you enjoy it now? OR is it just anxiety incarnate with bad words to describe it?

Sorry I'm just really OCD, and being an English freak and a certified member of the Grammar Police, I can't help but to see every single little tiny (sometimes obscure) detail when it comes to such things. I appreciate your compliance. And I have been able to enjoy your writing a little easier knowing that all the "too's" and "to's"; "they're", "their", and "there" are safe and sound in their little cozy places.

Have a good night.

Home sick with no heritage,
I've got a question or two.

An addiction is a form of love.

Wrote this while i was smoking weed and listening to Sphagnum Esplanade by The Shins.

Sphagnum Esplanade

I dance with a soft melodic shaking and head bobbing.
There are things we never will define.........................
A quivering and unsettled sharp is stinging and pulsing.
These feelings will be remembered.

For I am a child, always, and have found a sense of structure.
The bridges have been built, crossed and destroyed.
And the mysterious land of romance, love, adventure and life
Has been remembered, and refound.

Small Doors

Strange pictures.
Strange times.

My sense of creativity, takes shape, but not its own.
Too many....things.
I am no artist.
I have no image.
I have no wings.

I am reaching for something.
I am stretched.

But then it happens.
I touch the magic, in my mind.
And allow it to take over.