What’s this feeling
that beats deep within
waiting for a chance to breathe
Waiting to see
Waiting to hear
eyes gone blurry
Blind to only the pain
And the time between
Words rip out
Leaving jagged wounds
Forced to the surface
Author: Pelgris
Musings of a hard working writer
Do you ever sit back and think, “Fuck. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Every time I finish a story or a project, I sit down and think about what’s next. The last project is the past. I’ll direct people to it. But in my head, it’s over and I’m thinking about what is next. And I’m freaking out. Because I don’t know what comes next. I have no idea what I’ll write. And after a year and a half of writing and recording, I am either done or I just don’t know where the story goes from here. And I honestly don’t know which scares me more. That I’m done or that I have no idea what I’m doing next.
It’s not writer’s block. I wish it was. That I can work through. It’s idea block. That’s all I need. An idea.
There’s the Pel and Sara story and a poetry compilation I want to put together. But what from there?
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Song of the Day
https://youtu.be/Wm4CrOfbHMI
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Touch bloom
Touch bloom
Black and blue
Fading yellow
Old lines
Trust shattered
Sitting alone
Lost
Eyes pleading
But truth dies
Undiscovered
This is a poem I wrote for Twitter.
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Song of the Day
https://youtu.be/5ug3TnTX7d8
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Fresh squeezed heart, Now with more pulp
Its never enough. People either love you or they don’t and no matter how much you love them, how much you need to be the person to hold them, how much you want to protect them or keep them safe, it is never enough to change their minds. You could be amazing, intelligent, honorable and trustworthy. You could be learned and skilled in areas both carnal and not. And it still doesn’t matter. At the end of the night, they wave goodbye and walk into the arms of another. Or stand at such distance that, like an Escher painting, you never get closer.
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Those that see
That which is dream is more than dream
That which is hope is more than hope
These words are the only touch I have
And the passing time begins to break me
Those that are loved are more than loved
Those that are seen are never hidden
These thoughts keep me seeking
And the thought that I’m missing something begins to break me
Those that speak are more than words
Those that desire are more than hoped
These thoughts physically hurt me
And the pain of speaking is only exceeded by the endless silence
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Song of the Day
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Thoughts on physical consciousness
I was talking with someone about my personal cosmology. And in the course of the discussion the topic shifted, tangentially, to specific methodology in meditation.
I said that in order to truly transcend the physical you need to be aware of it completely. I started by asking, “What do you feel right now?”
His answer was vague and imprecise. Not like someone ignorant of the concept but like someone who’s never thought about it.
So I asked, “Tell me what your foot feels right now.” And he looked at me like I was really far out on a limb.
I said, “I feel the fabric of my socks, the material of my shoe, the skin of my Big toe brushing against the toe next to it. I feel the edges of the nerve dead zone on that toe(caused by a infection in my leg that almost killed me), I feel the muscles of my foot and legs holding position against the pull of gravity. That’s what I feel right this second. That is all information that I am aware of and information that I am subconsciously paying attention to. Imagine that for your whole body. Every scrap of feeling is necessary to understand where you start from, so that you can feel the borders of your skin, so that you can connect outside yourself. If you don’t know where you start, you can’t know where you are going.”
We talked in that vein for awhile.
But it really effected me. In having to teach, I had to consciously think about and conceptualize something I do and take for granted. It’s how I am able to regulate pain, how I can feel physical bliss just by feeling the wind. How a single touch, kiss, look, can move me. In some cases, I can feel the physical connection of a look across the room, because I am aware of my body in that way.
And it really hit me, that this is a smart guy, someone who asks questions and looks for answers, and he has no frame of reference for what I am saying. It’s like trying to describe color to the color blind. They understand sight and seeing but their frame of reference is different.
Is that how most people walk through the world? I don’t know.
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I’m
Shattered thoughts
Scattered rhymes
Waiting to touch, to hold
Waiting for the migraine to fade
Slipping into echoing silence
Wanting to share more than these words upon page
Longing to hear your voice
Wondering, in the grip of the possible
Stuck, not knowing where to go from here
Pelgris 