Thursday, June 6, 2013

lost words and phrases from my moleskine.

I think about it, sometimes--
what it would be like

just an inhale,
     then an exhale

just a wake,
     then a sleep

I've probably mentioned my red moleskine notebook on here before. I carry it on me at all times. It's different from my journal--its sole purpose is to be there whenever I have a thought, or hear a word or phrase, or basically have anything at all that I want to write down. Many of my poems find their roots there and you might recognize some of these phrases from them. A lot of what is written never sees the light of day again, but I was flipping through it earlier and thought it might be fun to share some of it.

It's completely random, jumbled, and disjointed--so be warned. The entries with stars are ones that lack a date.


I cannot find with accuracy 
the future that lies in front of me.

We were there.
We are here.
We are present everywhere.
Oh, how blessed I am to be 
together here with you, finally.
Holding hands in the here and now--
and we'll do things just because
we can, to say later, "We were there."

Everything has a sound, but they are silent until played.
Sound of souls?

Normally, I would find a destination.
Normally, my purpose would be concrete.

You adapt, or die out.

How much do I need?
How do I know what I need?

We loved each other, but we didn't know how.

Note: It's probably happened to me a dozen times before.

We painted away--we painted to stay.
We captured colors on the floor.
Words weren't enough anymore.

I will only ever almost know you.

Those last few minutes are the slowest.

They're not just cars--they're people. All at different points in their lives, with nothing in common except that we are all here, driving in the same direction at nearly the same speed. But there is a story behind each one of them--from where they're going to where they have been.

I have a poem in me somewhere,
but I think it is better to let silence be silence
than to expose the event for literary benefit.

And now I'm alone, but not free.

"It's like having the floor fall out beneath you."

The room falls silent--
it wasn't me, but death
has snatched up someone.

"If she needed to change anything, she would change anything."

I stole myself away from me.

"I'm on my own" I'm told, though I
once was told the otherwise.
Now I trust not words, but eyes.

This has had effects on people.
With that velocity.
Comparing trains with comets.
He can't be really serious.
Titanic and hubris.

And I tell you, this is why
I have nobody to share this mind

"That's okay, it may not be."

I'm searching for simplicity
in a world that craves complexity.

Though I did not; I let you go
     without a syllable.

I know now that the tears came from not from the event leading up to me hugging my arms around him, but the hug itself. How honest and pure it was, like when we were young, but how it was accompanied with a pain and overwhelming grief that is planted within him permanently, and how that saturation of grief overwhelmed an act of purity that used to comfort anything.

"I want to curl up here,
because God, I can't stand the world."

I can't,
I can't
say any
than what,
than what
I already 

I'm searching for 
a place, a time
when we were happy;
when you were mine.

"Someone's stealing onions. I don't wanna know about it--it's fine. If they really need it."

That of these paintings, I should be
of little value and quality.

I'll have truth.
Solution: found.
People here are free. Are free.
And facing inferiority.

My first opposite friend had
green eyes; bright eyes; eyes to see
and shine against the daily, dull,
common attitudes attached to common people.

We ought not be kept in bondage;
we ought not be enslaved.
We will not have it anymore.

Defeated, she sought out solace curled up on the floor, nails wedged between the cracks in the boards as if to pin her there. The rain began to fall outside--slowly, slowly, and then, in a sweeping motion without crescendo, a forte--a stampede of liquid footsteps.

Why, if we live, do we want to die
so young? We don't even want to try
to work toward the pursuit of happiness
and treat life as more than a passerby.

The one time that I actually have a blank moment, my mind does just that: blanks. The moment I arise to do something, however, I'm fully confident it will be overflowing with ideas.


You smile when you dance.
I like that.

It makes me want to breathe.
It makes me want to move.

It lets me know I'm living.


1 comment:

  1. These are all lovely, but I particularly enjoy the image of "a stampede of liquid footsteps". Very awesome, Emily.