Monthly Archives: April 2014

an in between place

I wait in this in between place,

this place that is nowhere.

I wait alone with myself,

with our many selves,

hesitant to commit.


Through this mist,

this pervasive sadness that coats my bones,

a lilt of an accent,

bright memories of yesterday –

of dragonflies and of stairways,

we wonder which of us is real,

which of us is to be real.


Do I decide?

Is the decision mine

to collapse these infinite possibilities

into a single,



Is the true self decided by fate

by God,

or a foolish boy’s choice?


I watch the alternatives crumple

into the hungering fog of impossibility.


I stand and wait,


in this place of infinite loss.

I cannot reach out,

will not reach out,

for I have lost the desire for direction,

for life or for death.


So I stand within this self,

in the midst of this host of possible selves –

the dwindling remains of who we could have been,

would have been,

if not for…


There is no collapse,

no singular focus.

We are all illusion,


visions to blind children.


I am truly thankful for these thoughts,

these inwardly directed thoughts from outside,

these shining lines of hope,




But yet I wait here,


and anything but alone.



Monday Evening


I am sorry I missed your call.  Or, more aptly, I am sorry I have missed the past few calls.

That is a lie.  Two lies. I did not miss your call. I simply didn’t answer. And, I am not sorry. That is something new, but something that you taught me. I no longer enjoy oral communication. It is unwieldy and inaccurate. I know you used to relish it, that connection. It is not true, and you have only been fooling yourself.  I’m wrapping up with the written word too. In fact, it is that communication that I am starting to shun.  All communication.

It is apparently a night for irony.

I’m not sure why you called, what you were expecting to find. I don’t know if you are on another Truth binge, hoping to preach of the Universe and Metaphysics. If so, please spare me. I haven’t even spoken with my mother or brother in ages – I have little patience for your ‘Truths’.

In fact, I think I have abandoned Truth altogether. Sure, from time to time I ponder my nature in this place, this illusory dimension of perception. Am I an Ego? An individual quanta of consciousness, or am I a wave on the sea of all that is?  But these thoughts are fleeing, passing remnants of vistas that, of old, carried import in my mind. No more.

I have surrendered to unconsciousness.  I have been beaten down by the collective ignorance, destruction, and selfishness of this place. This Truth that you pursue, or used to pursue, hinges on your ideals of an absolute, inner, and innate goodness – in effect, a hopeful myth. You hold to your dreams as the weak hold to Karmic retribution. Myth.

You can have these words, these vistas. Take back those dreams and ideals of perfect potential. I need them no more. I care for them no more. I am no longer the man you knew – too much has passed, to many dreams not realized, to many tastes of the cup of mortality. I have read the Truth written in Higgs’ implications. I am the very definition of insignificance, of ephemerally and impermanence. I have no soul, no legacy, no eternal nature.

I am not.

Do not call again.


Baking Blowup

Our Baking Will Blow Your Mind

The Dinner

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Just a regular guy who is interested in everything

Wherever you go, there you are.

And here I am, Judith Clarke, writer.


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A Word From The Raven's Beak

Or whatever I came up with whilst eating cereal this morning

Syl65's Blog

Poetry, music, creative writing and a desire to inspire....Isaiah 45:2-7 I will go before you and will level the mountains[a]; I will break down gates of bronze and cut through bars of iron. 3 I will give you hidden treasures, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord

Words are mighty

poems, and poems again

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literary fictions, flashes, fiascos


The heart has to be able to act against itself. (m.m.)

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Experimental Fiction

"Come with me, and you'll be, in a world of pure imagination" Willy Wonka, 1971

Just breathe.

Life is beautiful. And there is so much to be grateful for.


A work in progress

Nathan Blixt

Art, Text, Code, Design