?

Log in

for every season turn, turn - A living history of thought [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
Atheist Angel

[ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ]
[ archive | journal archive ]

for every season turn, turn [Sep. 29th, 2011|02:02 pm]
Atheist Angel
[mood |complacentcomplacent]
[music |air conditioner hum]

i keep telling myself to write. . . and i keep being stubborn as i wont even listen to myself, and sorting of maintaining a level of procrastination.

so this is my happy medium.  here i am trying to churn out bits and pieces of poetry, trying to be great trying to write things that are....good...because i have to be good

what's good?  this is the question i need to keep reminding myself of.  this is the question i need to be aware of.  The television is a massive distraction.  It needs to turn off so i can tune in.  My neck, it stretches.  It hurts while i purge my mind from this compromising position.  The choirs chime out but neigh, i shant take a time out from this writing exericise it improves the mind no matter how high its not a question of why its a matter of why not and i try not to take for granted the advantage i've been given yet its winter and there i go again sleeping in.



hibernation. to hibernate : :  Latin hībernātus  (past participle of hībernāre  tospend the winter)
Zoology to spend the winter in close quarters in adormant condition, as bears and certain other animals.Compare estivate.
2.
to withdraw or be in seclusion; retire.
3.
to winter in a place with a milder climate: Each winter findsus hibernating in Florida.

And the days of gray slowly faded in as the sun hid away. Its light much less now and clouds suspend like seconds frozen in the sky.  Rolling slowly over in sheets they banish me to mine.  I can't tell where one day ends and the other begins.  The time on the clock has little bearing.  I haven't heard the sound of my own heart beat for weeks.  I've spoke of restlessness yet sedation seems to have washed over not like the peaceful yearning of meditation but like the doped up melancholy of medication minus the relaxation. Maybe it's what I need. Retreating to quarters i've spent hours like money in the hands of opiate fiends-spending my life away dreaming for a better one.  sequestered my quest behind white washed walls ; i've been crazy ever since they turned blue. There's a sadness in their tiny heavy eyes; with tunnel vision squint.  You'll age yourself criss-crossing fine lines creased deep in darkened spirit.  but like crows come for souls frown lines careen detour construction signs miles away from my smile. The white noise of silence remains persistent. layer after layer of gray blanket continue to lay thick across the sky like knitted stitch.  I'll curl up underneath it and sleep just a little while longer.



There we go.  That counted for something.  It's my way of trying to figure out the shit i do.  maybe its over analytical to think about every little thing you do and why.  Sometimes i dont even pay enough attention to the things I do until everyone else knows about it except me...and i'm the one doing it.  Oh this show. . .I have charmed on the television so dom can sleep soundly because shes exhausted and this helps keep her asleep. It reminds me of shows like buffy and x files and all those magical sci fi like shows.  Fuckin smallville and shit.  I want to go somewhere. but i cant think of one good place to go. ok im making myself leave the house. I'm going to see james.

later kids.

linkReply