Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋

Nap By The Fall Window

…the strangest, most wonderful

Each memory merged
a whirlpool, swirling.
Submerged snapshots’
expansion dissipatings
dim-bled beneath, before
resurfacing reborn, gasping.
                   |
Time-collapsed-vision,
(Image of bicycle pump/respirator/ambu-bag)
reawakened scrambled recollective
through the thick portal.
                   |
Quantum strings plucked,
produce pleasing sound,
amplify by vibrating vision.
                   |
Overlapping assortment
of forgotten photos, filaments
forever fast flipping failings
upon ponderous projections
of past, present and predictable,
changeable outcomes flowering
a fading verdant scene’s exfoliation.
                   |
Purged promises bloom
inside hollow words to rake
piled collectives to curbs.
                   |
wind —   space —   time —   relapse
                   |
how long was that? Eyes
shutter, collapse in moments
foggily framed  — delay
—  delay, repeat  —
repeat, re-emerge
         awake.  Fumble and struggle
to straighten from saddled weight
sunken in
the green recliner outpost, rake
         after a warm cup
and something to eat. ~ ~

I had the strangest, most wonderful…deja vu | / _

10.14.23
Might still be working on; I might still be incepting.

coherence fills gaps of flimsy truths of time witnessed/unprocessed, lying on the surface of cluttered memory, acting out hope-fueled fantasy inside carefully hidden but revealed dreams in dramatized seasonal sequences (virtually and viscerally re-enacted) but fall short like this sentence.

Like this sentence? Deja vu acts as a second chance you only had in the first place if you can recall future memory.
It’s a brain hiccup, dude.
You’re fooling yourself to believe this…now…or anything will ever matter. It’s the icicle stabbing that melts over and over again in your…
Heart?
…ass.

When you wake, you’ll read this again, as if for the first time.

Dude, stop lifting your brain! You’ll hurt your…
medulla oblongata?
…neck

When will I merge two virtual realities without skidding over the surface of time
and snap something other than a bunch of random, grainy shots?
Feel as worthless as I do…in this theatre?

Def not you…it’s me?

If roles reversed…nah, math never changes.
Don’t even reach for that sliding door.
We’re trapped in here together…

until….

and I know a sentence fragment and a sentence don’t need a semi-colon, but have you ever fused conversational tone with dramatic narrative to adhere fractured, schizoid voices into one consciousness? Do you hear yourself and other’s reactions before you unhinge your jaw to utter?

Think about what you’re gonna say before you speak.
Thanks, dad. (One of the many in a cast of characters that shoved themselves up inside this jug. Before I realized I didn’t have to, it was a turnstile. You want to be a piece of the collective consciousness that becomes my brain’s tumor I now aggressively cut and paste into viewable formats. Go on, Charlie Kaufman. Try to beat my metta mind melds.

I think an edit with fresh eyes will be in order after two hours of my back into it…the giant green cradle.

There are spaces between spaces undiscovered, the incipient void…my horror vaccui…its Wikipedia article since removed is irony, is how I view this ongoing experience I’ll call experimental after it all meets the trash.

Another acceptable poem introduction:

Truth is fleeting. Catch it while it falls. 
           |
           |
                   Nope. Try again.
           |
           |
                   Close. Nice try. Keep at it.

Purpose is found, as meaning is lost.