Necessary Avoidance

I am endeavoring not to persist in polar judgement of things, and I do believe this is true in most recent cases. However…

I have learned that one of those areas that is still firmly polarized is my past loves. I can’t have them in my life at all, regardless of capacity. I have learned that there is no benefit in looking back, and the dead still do not rise up and walk amongst us last time I checked. The past is buried and gone, while the trigger on many memories can still be invoked and is active. This is the worrying aspect of my necessary avoidance.

The remembering is pain unrequited; a loss of unrealized potential. The devastation of a incinerated investment of love and trust, fouled by my own mistakes of circumstance. They are a disemboweled remnant of something beautiful that will never be anything more than the pile of organs and blood left splattered on the floor, regardless of my desire. I have tried too many times to resuscitate, staring the obvious impossibility down the barrel, and surprised when I’m shot in the face. I tire of this dynamic.

My own feelings are still not under control, at all. Even on a daily basis, it is a battle to go and do. The inciting agony of interference or invited contact from the past is too much to accept while straining to maintain balance. I can’t have anyone else now, and I won’t invite new people to participate in any relational capacity again. I am unfit physically and mentally for the task, and that is not debatable.

I don’t want to see, feel or think about it anymore. There is nothing there. There will not be anything in the future. I have no interest in this at all, and will avoid inviting any risk in the upcoming waning remainder.

It hurts, but “goodbye” is all that there is. I tried, but I was wrong to try. I was in poor judgement to think that the old soul would retain enough nutrients to allow something to grow. It is the past: unchanging and fading into oblivion. The future is all I have left, and I refuse to spend it pining for others.

I’ve wasted too much time as it is. The arrow points away from these contemplations, and so, I follow. Evidence says, move on… so, I try.

Responseless

Sounding pang of a hammer slam–

Wailing with the escaping anguish,

The cries fade in the clattering noise.

Hollow echoes, desperate and resounding,

Hurt the stone walls with their shrieking scrapes–

Almost words, but more a feeling.

Banging on into the distance,

Rattling–

Hollow of remembrance,

Soaked in the flavors of now.

The drops peel off corners,

Plated hard and unfractured.

Puddling to be dissolved,

Nothing but the soft hiss–

Of the silence underground.

Impressions

Score: +3.5

I know I’m not making much money, but I am helping. Every chance I get, I add a little piece. One brick after another. This is the way.

If you don’t work at it, the goal remains unachieved. Progress is null.

I have so many examples of how stagnation and complacency leads to nothing.

I know companionship is impossible now, as I remain one with my path. I am the full time steward with no chance of a reduction of labor; no opportunity to trust the task to anyone else.

Casting aside the rubbish is now all I have left of relating to the past, and those before. Set ablaze, ashes fall and fertilize the soil for some new future.

The days of solidarity are upon me, and I welcome the fortune of times to come.

I can’t help but laugh. It all seems so foolish now. So disconnected from reality. So false, deluded and irresponsibly fanciful. Dream a dream if you wish, but I won’t play along. The dream is meant to keep you happy, not me. I’m not dreaming anymore. I awoke.

The prof is in the fact. Indisputable as it is real. Contend with that, or run from it. Either way, progress will not be stopped.

While

Dusted with purpose,

Scars and tattered clothes,

Smudged stain streaks,

Eyes, charged.

Dedicated to forward,

Chalk-dry grip,

Push off up or out,

Vital fury burns,

Sheds to incinerate.

Cleansing water,

Circling the departure,

New banner unmuted,

Wrought of scars–

Clear in color.

Preamble

Every step will be hard, but beautifully rewarding.

All the sweat, aches, words and deeds composed present the case to meaning.

Worth and community reinforce action, with the genuineness of jubilance.

Press forward to be known!

The uncrafted pieces are arranged for something new and wonderful.

Promise kept to self, again.

Elevated, dignified and solemnly prepared to play.

Aheadwardly

I see a way ahead that is not necessarily a pillow parade of yay and fluff all the way to Slappytown. There needs to be a significant flesh donation and ball sweat scrubbing bristle brush handle-rake of hard for much. That’s the way of meaning, and it’s always been buried under all the old snot and pungent goop we shoveled into the muckcinerator today.

I don’t know what to say about them from then. It seems like no one had a slice of cake available, or at least couldn’t wait until one got passed down. The cake was totally worth waiting for though, and Yelp reviews confirm as much for those who were there now. The words don’t come because all I can use to describe the cake are a series of guttural-unjugulations and grumbling noises.

Unlike your average biochemical spill, there are many benefits to my sudden and tsunami-like introduction to a new ecosystem. I contaminate with sticky and beguiling usefulness. I spread a contagious virus that inspires inclusion. My filthy, heaping mounds of saturated waste deposits fertilize new possibilities. Oh woe upon the day my foulness took root in the place over there! Good thing them then got as far away as they could before the everything caught fire and fwooshed to puffs.

Prosperous earthworm chug! The dirt of salvation is my poo! Victory plant, initiate maximum grow!