Dear Friends,

It has been a grand year + a few months here on blogspot/blogger/whatever. I appreciate all the feedback I've gotten from people from using this, and the writing has been a big part of life and dealing with it for me. It is time I moved to tumblr though. I do this to follow the crowd/be more hip/add more to things or something like that/move on.

Upon reading my old posts, I've realized it's time to leave those thoughts behind and take my new ones elsewhere.

Come see me

reconstructionpaper.tumblr.com

One Metric Mile

I've got an apple in each hand. One is plastic; the other is poison. Both are oh so tempting. Trickery of the eyes leads to a bite of the forgery. Desperation leads to the poison. Neither will solve anything.

I'm still waiting for a fresh apple to fall from the sky. As hunger grows, I feel myself slipping from the earth's face, but I don't mind.

The world is a disheartening place with a stomach so empty.

Tearing it Up

I've lost my words and my thoughts are all the same; always the same as the day before.

This unhealthy air is destroying my insides. My perspectives are distorted and I can't tell where the compass points. I wouldn't have the patience to follow it anyway. I keep myself lost with the hope of rescue, but the team will never find me so far off course.

I'm ready to dig, but all the wells are dry. I throw my shovel aside knowing the time is never right.

Great Excape

Pressure is building up and catastrophic failure is imminent and eminent. Much like a man at a dead end, things can not keep going in this direction lest they end up dead and at their end.

Outstretched arms, closed eyes. Motions, no emotion.

We don't leave until we get the job done. And it's about time we get the hell out of here.

Speak Less

These days, I guess there just isn't much to say.

"And you should not say nice things if you don't mean them,
and you should not say mean things at all....

Leaving me speechless again"

Natural Order

An old man who never forgets sits on his porch and watches as passersby pass him by and time follows closely behind. He used to perch himself atop the crest of a hill and take in the scenery, but his bones are too old to make the climb now. Now he just sits on his porch, remembering.

He could have settled somewhere else more suitable for his desired mode of life, and as long as he thinks this way, he must avoid death so as not to be buried with his regrets. He is old but he still has lessons to learn. He still has demons in his head and a closet teeming with skeletons.

Enmity is not the remedy, he knows. Searching for the solution leaves him in confusion and the deliberation leaves him debilitated.

He is not who he once was, but he remembers. Oh yes, he remembers.

The Story of a Life

A boy stood with his whole life before him and he wondered how he was supposed to catch up with it.

Life teased the boy by showing him what it'd be like if he could just move a little more gracefully. It showed him beauty and love and passion. It told him he'd figure it out one day.

The boy believed it and waited patiently. He waited and he waited and he sat and he waited. As he sat, his limbs lengthened. His face grew hair, which turned gray then white as the surface it grew on became wrinkled with time.

As he sat, he learned fear and he learned doubt. He discovered the potency of their combination and realized he was no match for his own mind.

So life laughed at him and the man tried to laugh back but failed. His mind went blank and he gave up on his eyes. He fell on his back and tears rolled out the sides.

Life left him there alone on the ground.