check the link. a journal by audder. new poems, written and visual. and soon... new music. If you've been following this tumblr, thank you for the years of support! You made this next stage of creativity happen. Violet Tape/fm is a nostalgic work and entirely dedicated to you. More updates on instagram: audderthanfic
when empty calendar boxes look like graveyard plots; fill it with deadlines, deadlines, deadlines; find space; reserve now and invest well for the sake of your loved ones.
i.e.Ā āhey, we should hang out some time.āĀ āmy listful thinking agrees and i have no choice but to plan ahead through the power of social obligation. what are you doing 2.5 tuesdays from now?ā
when happy hour is bottomless busyness but youāre too drunk to live up to the intoxicated creative cliche; your bartenders are all the people you never want to let down; they end up with a sloppily scrawled love note on the tab.
i.e.Ā āwe took a shot at listful thinking and my cup is tipping over, but how about we squeeze in all the lemons life is throwing at us? iāll pay for the pitcher full of shallow answers weāre sharing to catch up with one another.ā
when the vacation map is a thousand step dance chart laid like a mat on the crumbling floor beneath you and; dammit, you will learn to mambo.
i.e.Ā ālistful thinking? aināt that the broadway number we performed when we took a trip to new york during our 2 hour layover between business conferences?ā
when your goals get knocked up... they could be yours. they may be rabbits too.
i.e.Ā ālistful thinking, i know weāve been very careful - but iāve spent so much of my time with you and i can look past our grandchildren asking meĀ āwhatās up, doc?ā and digging holes everywhere... so will you commit to me for the rest of our lives?ā
reconsidering
the deeper spirit things:
freedom by a fling
of the lover of my soul
pouring offerings
before the coffin wins.
a closet dressing room for exit wings
you test your moral plane
confess the birds and bees gotta sting
call upon the name
but check the id
and see whoās in the mortal ring.
i combat my fatality like a child
the spawn of long-suffering
unusual naive bearings
whatās wrong with my upbringing
to read the signs and reject the delivering
from true love
cause heās kidding me or iām kidding him.
i wanna write my prayers differently
knee-deep in a bittersweet symphony
they got a flow that sound like oceans
when she went six-feet
to the ground thatās been keeping me
this oneās on you
ruby two shoes
always checking your hands
for the blood to run through
oh, but youāre no jane doe
for the life of you
canāt imagine youād be stranger though
for the psych in you
know this wild child has likened youĀ Ā
to many a complex that could stealĀ
my trustworthy accomplice,Ā
the other-worldly rebel, well-accomplishedĀ
cause to me, there is no contestĀ
you take the cake and make the conquestĀ
of my jungle boogie soul feel sweet, cool and honestĀ
not this pulp fiction, hot royale with cheeseĀ
overdone princess of promiseĀ
prim to play the first impressionĀ
then promptly stops to rewind and pause itĀ
she needs the check before depositĀ
like, whatās your offer?Ā
whatās your deal?Ā
selling me ālikelyā for the seldom i still feelĀ
the emotional toll i paid then, and then, now jadedĀ
chasing broken yellow lines on memoryās pavementĀ
around the city to your hint of emerald eyesĀ
i knew ember to fuel my lightĀ
to flashing amberĀ
at the right shade of blue nightĀ
begging through my dreams...Ā
then, you waved in a traffic of deep views
when we lose control at what we oversee
going at what we can manage
we can sit on these empty streets
where, hell or high water, they canāt force us to sleep.
you come by storm when i come as an evacuee
wondering if you gave notice
how i watched a holiday
decorated as a house
years on end.
when i saw it on the outside
next to you, inner circle,
moving from square one
for the interior design of zen
shaping through the true meaning of friend...
iām here to describe it, not to moralize it, cause it feels right just being with you,
- i saw a new, mint-condition peace in quarter.Ā
and the guilt dwelling in brick and mortarĀ
couldnāt insulate my walls of insecure, alarming heart rateĀ
cause iāve seen the border of greenĀ
rising and setting where you warmly greetĀ
another dreamer on her way home.Ā
Doing some old school flows on some old school issues.
How heavy is your chain? If your cross still have weight, Your mountain a high climb Or your heart too wide for narrow gates... Iām wearing that unbalanced design Trying to tip the scales before itās too late. I do me justice when I drop judgment And just claim, āLove, we are the same"
i have a habit of disposability.
you touched it, itās done
itās dirty
itās nothing.Ā
on the verge of your absence
and eventual leave
i noticed
i have a habit of clutter.
i realized the luxury of sentiment
surrounded me
and you were becoming so far removed
they suffocated me.Ā
i planned to get rid of it all.
old books were used ideas.
old teddy bears were touched statements.
and even if disposable cameras were making their way back again
those pictures all end up on a phone and on instagram
to keep us connected.Ā
i didnāt need the excess if i was to follow you.Ā
this happens
again.Ā
iām staring down
the shirts you borrowed
the sweaters i wore
realizing the verge of which habit
keeps them in my bottom drawer.
I am the salvaged one. I am the salvaged one. All parts and questionable heart cause I haven't one to hold. No, I am all here. Promise, I am all here. Dragging a little less baggage, Wrecked and jealous at anyone who can stay Alive. Present. Awake. Repentant. What drives me? What drives you? What crazy motive will be an undertow Crashing the only way I know? Making waves when I asked for a road. Crashing is the only way out I know Alive. At present. Awake. Repentant. Wrecked and jealous, Anyone can stay Hopeless It's more concrete than anything I can pave. Standing firm I can't make your faith Better or worse For blessing and cursing's sake Someone's gotta know the stakes Alive. At present. Awake. Repentant. It's more concrete than anything I can pave.
I find a prophet to be
Lonely.
You can't attach. There is no string on her back
To make her say
Everything you want to hear.
There is no string of cleverness to this
When a million knives come flying,
scrolling at our lives,
They are pin drops thinking
They are needles in haystacks;
'Hey''s and 'Hi''s stacking on a phone screen.
I guess a socialite needs to dim out to save her battery.
I guess she saves judging by the accuracy of word prediction.
For that user friendly of man is double-edged.
That is what I know in part.
My questions are unable to offer more than brother Cain Held back, and met with uncertainty I didnāt know the presence of chains Till I denied them when I couldnāt accept the present named āChangeā Disguised as the past, Are we medieval, when again, some future seems plain One night,Ā I see the dragon bowing to a double-edged sword in your hand, Wrapped in words with no wrist guards, Your spoken comfort at worst, is best said as āSlain".
Why?
Cause the time was taken from me on turning tables
And strikes a hunger
To count the cost where once
I paid attention to the sign before the number
Now reading it within its context
Showed my contest to my contents
Much to my contempt, due to the product of this natureās mother:
Placing āIā before the Roman five to be
A self-made IV to my bleeding out ID
But in the operation of myself after grace
Bore the beginning of the mark
When temptation rears itās ugly face
Wretched me, in singularity
I fear the stand alone fate that shows
A double life state as such the case in Romans 7
Though if this end to weakness
Builds to a year Iām no longer slave
Should I put to rest this need for completeness until heaven?
Like trust the Author and Finisher of faith as gain
In His saying that all is lost and
Hold what is now, in light of the final aftermath,
As mere addition as much as momentary affliction?
Like blessing is temporary and
Rejoice when they make the incision
See, Iām attempting to respect your decision to divide
Despite all logic that defines me as despised,
I reach an inequivalent sum that
No disciple could lose it all and amount to noneĀ
I swear to God I'm done with you.
But you leave your clothes in every room,
your dishes in the sink, and your bills unpaid and down the drain,
and this divorce makes me wonder if I took up the first name "Manic" to make it harder to drop you as a last name.
The dirtiest part is you come hand in hand with "Panic"
and both of you have a way of keeping me in bed.Ā
You remind me I'm afraid to be alone. Panic puts the shivers down my spine and wrists and I second guess how I learned to resist going 52 stories high in the name of falling for you.Ā
When I finally get out of the house and around my friends, that walk of shame does nothing to cover up every way in which I wear you. You're heavier than perfume. I can't shake off these skin-clad traces of you.Ā
It's like some days, I am worn by you.
You take my sweater, my slight smile, and swoop into every conversation so I'm stuck living in your shadow. They always wants to talk about you,
if even the smallest hint of your apathetic attitude shows up in mine,
like I get thoughtful and change tune when our song comes on
and they're all too familiar with this distant mood.
I match the tone of a sky's gloom, in my morally grey judgement,
I allow you another night alone in my room.
It's hard separating Recurring Feelings from you.
And honestly, they could have no connection
but the times I went deep with you created muscle memory,
back and neck tension, reflexes that want to check up on you.
You. Damn, everything falls in patterns and rhymes of you.
I. Swear. To. God. I'm. Done. With. You.
Stop telling everyone we're still together.
Stop making me think I need you to tell me who I am.
Stop thinking I don't know how to give up on you.
Trust me, I have the experience
having spent enough days giving up on my body
at every inch of your touch, harbouring every sinking feeling of mistrust
till I was another man down to let you do what you want to do.
There isn't a day that will come around to make me beg you'd come through. When I come to, I know I'm only tripping over the traces of you. So never mind. And never stop by to pick up this baggage. Iāve carried on to run and live things out with the one you were jealous of - Faith. Youāll never claim a piece of me out of state, no matter how accustomed I became to our packed history. Iāve removed you from my ID and ideas bordering suicide seduction. And Iām so far removed I can leave you this:
I am deeply complexed by old knots in my stomach
coiled as a web of lies
to bind the notebooks of poetry
ignorance and bliss
tightly stitched to tighten lips on
the basis of ādo notsā from superstitious spiders
If you step on them, it will rain.Ā
They do not water down the venom
in the privacy of your home
for they thrive on dark corners
If you become them, you will climb
the proverbial spout over and over again
spewing or shouting out the same lessons
that you will be washed out
down on your luck again
the bottom sole finding his foothold
where you lay down, till you say when
Can you even voice how
the guttural nursery sound,
the fairy tale you fell victim to
acting out in
became their wolf cry?
shallow cries to deep
their expectation without empathy
Ā their loving limit
a far off preachĀ
Maybe I am more torn than the seams
every time I feel ripped off by
an animal instinctās hairy moralityĀ
And here is your supernatural way of knowing my thread count.
And here is my soul begging the bulimic body of itās true weightĀ
and, āplease, itās true. wait!"
We are the size of great mysteries of love unreachable
but not forever untouchable
and the hand in your throat
and the nails in your nerves
have no righteous hold if they are
skin-coated, metallic flavoured tissues
for a cloud of thundering heart beat issues
spirit misguided and misused
first placed on the runway of a pulse line
gone flat
just for a vine length view
without a vinedresser connected
who knows the full-fledged, universal foundation
promises pledged in
the fashion of you.Ā
Instead
Youāll choke on your own link to the start of your loop.
Youāll crawl into the tapeworm hole of the hunger thatās bugging you.
"... your winged speech
Too short to tell
Too clipped with views from the six
Days familiar with hell
Six months done you over, done you well
If the sun only shines in summer,
Go ahead, stay sleepinā on yourselfā
(Lyrics conāt below)
I think you lost something, girl
I think you are something
Shells put to ears for the pearls
You speaking like oceans will part
And pathways uncurl
But your world is too small
Not to fall in the wake of that call
Itās certain disaster
Calculate the after
Of the plus ones whose differences
Turned negative
Subtracter subdued to the powers
That wonāt be themselves
For, who knows the hour?
Presume an angel but your winged speech
Too short to tell
Too clipped with views from the six
Days familiar with hell
Six months done you over, done you well
If the sun only shines in summer
Go ahead, stay sleepin on yourself.
Forget about it.
Cause this is for them, or this is for some thesis
To support or amend
This is an amenity for sermonizing till we all say amen
To urbanity in your vanities, street cred by the side of your bed
Yeah, tell me what good that dream grafted and led
What tree of knowledge bore your laboured fruit
To prove yourself, then proved you were off branch from death proof
You couldnāt make a living.
You spilled your guts just to cut your heart from dirty roots
Now the Gardener is pruning out the ruins
You can show your backyard exactly what Heās doing
If you canāt build them homes, take them to your hood
Being a friendly neighbour aināt about being greater
In responsibility, doesnāt mean you always should
Your only power is in saying the Great One will and He could
The way Heās done it for you, as you understood
Donāt underestimate the blessing of a spotless mind
To recall His goodness in your own running time.
Watch.
You wonāt forget about it.