a day in the life.

of simple things from a different persective.

[chasethegreen]

Sometimes, the hardest part of learning to love is letting go.

[chasethegreen]

of an aging thing.

today i walked in, confused and a little uncaring.  

today is just like any other day, should be the thought i have. i am, just as you have imagined all this time, unchanged day-to-day, as anyone else should be. but today feels different, and i can’t tell you why.

i’m older. and yet, i feel untouched.  

age has crept over my unused body (if you can call it that) like any other thing. slowly. unhindered. barred by nothing. 

today is different, i suppose, because i called to you, and you actually came to me. you met me just where i’ve been all this time, and just as i expected, we reminisced the most recent memories we made. we’re creating something new together. something fresh. despite the world of lust and objectification i live in, something only words can express.

i like that, but i can’t tell if it will last. or if you’re only here with me because you feel you have to be. because i’m older and you know it.

i can’t help but shake the feeling: i’m just a thing to you. and your visit gives me no solace. no comfort. no actual newness. 

despite your intentions, i feel you’re not actually helping. so... thanks, but… i don’t know. maybe not. 

only time will show if you’ll be back. until then, i won’t think of you. 

i won’t think. 

i can’t.

...

happy birthday to me. 

[chasethegreen]

This is a part of a series that I'm coming back to.  REBLOG if ya like it? It's about friends.  

[chasethegreen]

of a cliche.

my heart is thumping, ricocheting off the walls in my chest, slamming into my ribs, and mercilessly kicking it's own ass. there are things i want to say to you, but i can't. my heart screams a laundry list of reasons you asked for that i was never able to give you. you can't hear it because i've trapped it all inside, afraid of what would happen if my mouth let loose what my heart has been yelling all this time.

know that i want the absolute best for you. in this case, that means me not saying the things i want to say or doing the things i want to do.

it means me not looking at you unless you've passed and i know you can't see. it means me not talking to you unless you come to me. it means i can't engage. it means i'm not entangled with you on a weekday night in some dark space, hidden from everyone.

you're leaving. when you're gone, i'll miss seeing you.

not in a creepy way, but in the way that i'll miss knowing you're safe. up until now, i have some modicum of control of how safe i know you are. i'm charged to watch out for you, both by my higher ups and yours.

then i won't get to know anything about you anymore. 

you'll be gone, and all the reasons you asked for, the explanations, and answers i couldn't give you mean nothing.

you may think i'm a coward. you may be right. but you were robbed from me, and i didn't know whether or not to chase the assailant and put up a fight. because, honestly, i thought you were the one running.

i'm not a coward. i was as confused as you were.

i'm probably more confused about the whole thing than you are now. but i don't know that. i assume that someone has enlightened you. no one has told me anything. ever. and i'm still in the dark.

but, hey.

i enjoyed our time, short though it was, distant though it now is. and i miss you.

soon i'll miss knowing you're okay.

soon, even that will be robbed from me. 

you'll probably never see this, but it's meant for you.

[chasethegreen]

of a rose.

today I put a rose in a jar for you. the significance wasn’t great; there was nothing earth shaking about the action itself. i saw the rose there, a tiny, ivory bud jutting from the bush, barely blooming and perfectly beautiful in its strange symmetry. i almost passed it by until i thought of you and how often i’d visited here and plucked a bloom or two and gave it or them to you. i walked past, blankly eager to enter my home but halted, images of rose upon rose upon rose intruding my thoughts. those moments before: i’d been a part of them, but most recently hadn’t taken the time to absorb them as once i did.

here, though, time stopped and space excluded itself from me. and you and i and this little rose shared a moment in the twilight of a setting sun in the space before my home, and love, which had overtaken me, found an outlet and bloomed.

that one, i thought, in particular, would have been a perfect candidate if you were here. but you’re not here. in your absence, i came again to why I had ever plucked the roses for you.

this one is special. it’s the first rose i ever gave to you. and it’s here for you when you return.

[chasethegreen]

of a dreamer.

"am i funny, mama?" says the upside down clown in search of his head, while dreamers in waking lie dreaming whatever half-dreams waking dreamers dream... in bed.

the notion of commencing thither and thather in worlds unknown to waking upside down clowns is foreign to even the jolted leg kicking up from the imaginary stair to which it will inevitably fall.  or won't fall. 

and all the houses you see will never provide you with the home they felt like in the moment you read those symbols that should but don't quite make sense together. 

the light blue motorcycles you rode, even when you don't ride motorcycles, they understand you.  a singular ride to revelation. 

even the air you floated in amongst family and friends as you ascended became the cold sweat you arose to in the hot bed that froze you exactly where you thought you weren't. 

things that seem made from fluff become personal so fast and that's fine as long as you know whose ass it is that's on the line. 

arise, o sleeper!  come to your senses!  what will the ax rip away and what will the fire burn?  or is this all a joke to you?  if so, i'll take your seltzer and run to sniff my own god damned flowers.  or at least someone else's.

because the grass is always greener on my side of the fucking fence.

[chasethegreen]

of a movement.

i feel it in my marrow.  some movement so deep that it shakes the balance of the land beneath our feet.  some think that the institution on which this place is said to have stood for hundreds of years will crumble.  that it is the cornerstone.  i see and feel something different.  i know the cornerstone.

separately, the place promised me is lost.  it’s really not that i care about the sullied dream, because i don’t.  apathy has not brought its fortune to my doorstep, but instead another a-word brings an h-word home.  to give structure to those feelings, in the literary sense, is to take value from what has taken place within and the transforming power allowed me in this singular, evolutionary instance. 

the earth shakes, not merely because this movement has quickened, but because that which restrains it has tightened its grip.  the friction will inevitably break either the captives’ will or the captors’ grip. 

we will not stop till it is done.  we will win or we will die.

[chasethegreen]

of catharsis.

i was in the middle of it, a centrifuge.  from where i stood, everything was spinning around me.  in the middle, i was stationary, watching a blur of people careening through space.  the world they were a part of was muddled and confused.  the landscape wanted to stay in perpetual motion.

time slowed here in this moment.  a nebula formed in mid air.  astral clouds permeated the world around me, giving birth to stars that twinkled and vanished as quickly as they had come.  i was lost here, suspended within the world.  there is something of a revelation when time is set aside.  i remember this.  suspended in a moment, one  gains perspective on how he views the world and will inevitably come to some sort of epiphany about the workings of the world. 

i believe i had almost reached catharsis when something hit me hard. 

it was a sturdy blow to the whole right side of my body, a blunt force straight to the shoulder, arm, hips, and head.  i was knocked off my feet.  the smell of earth filled my nostrils, bringing mountains, childhood adventures, and good solid work days in tow. 

the nebula had subsided, but the stars were still out, leaving me without any notion of when or where I was.  despite the stars i was seeing, i had thought it was daytime. 

"get up, asshole!"

somebody was being yelled at.  the receding cloud and stars revealed to me my location.  i was sprawled prone, half on the curb of a street somewhere.  i came to know this only after i saw two tires role over my hand.  i probably would have yelled or expressed some negative thoughts about the hand if the entire left side of my faces wasn't suddenly calling my attention. 

the sensation wasn't pleasant.  something was touching my face, crawling downward slowly, warm. 

"get the fuck up!"

somebody's going to get their ass kicked.  poor guy, the other one sounds pretty big.  the warmth crept in my eye and blinded me. i tried to get it out but it was spreading and sticking itself to my hand.  it was blood.  someone was bleeding all over me.  then my catharsis came. 

i'm the guy.  i'm the guy who's getting his ass kicked.

[chasethegreen]

of the put down.

don’t project your needs on me. what makes you think i need them?  you see something in me you don’t agree with?  some choice i’ve made, and you can’t perceive its outcome     or the source of it’s birth, where it starts from?

i am mad.  pissed.  because what right do you have? i take my time, make my mistakes, learn on my dime    to do the right thing. but, to you, i’m riff-raff, damned to fail with that propensity you ascribed to me    as a bad moral knit that i’ve weaved, a tangled web that, in your view, is a trap. i’m a bad seed. or pick a metaphor that you see fits more    and give it over because i don’t care.

you can’t touch me; i’m not afraid.  you best believe i’ve had my fair share of lies    and judging eyes on me on my ride here. this is not new. i’ve dealt with people just like you.

your tactics of bending backwards to turn me over    on myself are as useless as the crew of skeletons    in your closet.  cue the bone men that you cover.

you say that you have nothing to hide. but just like those who tried before, who vied to score    some points against me in the past, you will lose. because in this game, it’s those with integrity who win, not those who flash their pedigree as some form    of bettering instant status promoter.  i know your motives. you’re full of fear inside and you need to chide mankind    just to feel alive. 

i pity you; i do. because this brief moment i’ve taken, in hindsight,      i’d bet is you whole life. and i can’t stand the way      that hitting you with these doom phrases and    crazed words has made me feel. it just isn’t right.

[chasethegreen]

of ceaselessness.

in the vastness of the cosmos...

failure to launch is static...

one feels one ceases...

but constant motion...

always moving...

never still...

never...

still...

[chasethegreen]

of a man without himself.

i dreamt of a man who would not let go.  he grasped so tightly, his fingers turned blue.  he moved from a place where he could imagine himself without to a place where he couldn't imagine himself at all.  he had lost all sense of self and clung to all around him.

perhaps this was done in an effort to obtain a sense of definition.  perhaps he thought if he attached himself to a definable thing he could, himself, again gain definition. 

he was not aware, at his loss, that he had only lost his own sense of self and that he need not be defined.  it wouldn't do any good anyway.  he never was.

[chasethegreen]

of a summer storm.

i miss summer thunderstorms. 

the smell of lightning in the foothills, charging the forests with negative ions, refreshing the soul. 

the heavy plopping of thick rain drops on the roof, the windows, the trees, my head.

the sudden flash of lightning penetrating my bones.  the great roll of thunder shaking my core.

drenched, standing in the rain, face to the sky, arms outstretched, taking in each second or fraction thereof, a part of the force powering the downpour, the electricity in the air, the energy in the sounds, vibrating everything around.

even the most dangerous storms are worth being in.  if the rain and the wind could sweep me away, i'd let it. 

for a moment, i am taken to the ends of the earth.  i see the mountains, the desert, the fields.  i see great and small animals.  i see all manner of things, man-made and not.  we are connected.  i am in the storm's embrace, at its mercy, taken wherever it has been, deeply imbedded in its desire to move forward, knowing it will die, longing not to.  i don't want it to die.  i don't want it to end.  i see everything the storm has seen.  it sees me. 

in a flash of lightning, in a roll of thunder, i am brought back, left by a magnificent force.  we will never meet again. 

[chasethegreen]

of taking it lightly.

chamomile tea.  it’s the idea of something soothing that truly soothes.  the introduction of chemicals into the body which cause the body to react in such a way as to slow down motor skills, brain function, breathing, and heart rate should not soothe.  such chemical reactions should be the cause of some worry.  instead we have become accustomed to such occurrences.  chamomile tea, is, in essence, a concoction of little consequence, to be taken lightly.

it is fairly well known that, at least, in the majority of cases, the introduction of chamomile tea into the system has very little adverse effect.  that is, unless the subject of such an action desires to spend remaining hours awake and focused.  if the subject is ignorant and believes all tea to have a concentration of caffeine, and perhaps, the subject is assigned some tedious task, requiring little brain function.

if the subject wishes to stay awake (but as a result may not), and the task is such that miniscule error is the potential cause of some amount of misfortune, then the introduction of chamomile tea into the given subject is of greater consequence.

if hypothesized, then, that the subject is given a task wherein the safety of many depends on the subject’s being alert for the task provided:  perhaps in charge of a toll bridge, charged with driving some vehicle of public transportation, or a surgeon.  isn’t, then, the consideration much more important, and the analysis of such bodily reactions imperative? 

if, in this case, chamomile consumption, one night by a surgeon, ends with the death of a patient, and the circumstances know, should not others consider this:  that a doctor should think outside himself to consider the life of he who is being operated upon?  or in the case of a public bus crash, the entitlement is there, to ponder what steps could have been taken to save the lives of those lost. 

in such occasions, the cause is rarely known, or even traceable.  most may never have the opportunity to ponder how such a miniscule chemical introduction, especially one whose sole purpose is widely known to be positive, could have been the cause of catastrophe.  simple, causal attribution is not given when it should be.  all responsibilities, often not assigned.  taking the tea a little more seriously could have saved many lives. this, clearly, isn’t about tea.

[chasethegreen]

of hand holding.

there was one person who saw another sitting on a bench, waiting somewhere for something.  it was daytime.  everything was beautiful.

"could i hold you hand?" asked the first.

"why?"

"because you look like the kind of person i could hold hands with."

the two shared a moment, a look.  the first looked down at his hands.  the second, the same.

"it's just that my hands are a little lonely.  they've tried to hold each other, but there's something wrong.  my hands know that, even together, they are alone because they are the same."  the first looks up.  the second does, too.

"you're just looking for a hand to hold?"

"not just any hand.  it has to be... compatible."

they both look back down at their hands. 

"compatible?"

"my hands are strong in places and weak in others.  they're rough and soft.  they're a very odd size, and so it's difficult to find a hand that is..."

"compatible."

"yes, and i was sitting here and i couldn't help but notice your hands, and they also seems strong in places and weak in others.  i can see, maybe, a little roughness and softness."

"oh."

"and if you do't mind me saying..."

"what?"

"it's that... yours seem a little oddly sized as well."

"i guess they are."

"so i thought maybe i could hold your hand, just to see if they were."

both sat for a moment and thought about the implications of what it meant to hold hands, both for others that might pass by and for themselves.  what if they actually were -

"compatible."

"yes."

"and if they're not?"

"then i guess i'm wrong."

they looked at their hands again, examining the crevices between each finger, the jagged lines in their palms, the pale pink and deeper tan, their fingernails. 

"it's just that, as i saw you sitting here, and i saw your hands, i couldn't help but think that it was yours mine are meant to hold."

"that's a little..."

"presumptuous."

"yes."

"i know." said the first, then humbly asked, "may i?"  the first reached for the second's hand, slowly scooping it up, wrapping each finger.  both the first and the second felt the strong and weak parts.  they felt the soft and the rough.  and though they were just hands before, now they were conductors of an electrical charge that had begun to flow between the two.  they were both surprised and a little relieved. 

"a perfect match."

"i thought it might be."

[chasethegreen]

of hiroshima.

there was a sudden silence, a stillness, that enveloped the previously bustling city streets.  one man watched as everyone died. 

all at once the people on the streets were torn from their bodies.  cars crumpled upon themselves.  buildings were decimated.  an entire population was murdered.  there was silence and light.

how could any one person fathom creating this much destruction?  who could have known it would be like this?

surely the world will never again see destruction like this. 

so many people.  so many lives.  gone so quickly.

surely this will never happen again.

[chasethegreen]

of the dead.

"i died last night." 

that was his opening statement.

"i don't really even remember the details, but i know it happened."

his voice was shaky, embodying all the fear and doubt that must surely accompany a new, postmortem existence.  he was truly unsure who he was talking to, but he continued anyway.

"i know because i don't feel alive.  or... i don't feel, really.  well, i sort of feel.  it's hard to explain."

it was indeed, for with every passing moment, the details of his passing, though largely forgotten, were now becoming altogether insignificant.  it was as if a dream were slipping through his grasping fingertips the way dreams do.  all he knew, the only certainty he had, was that this was not a dream.

"it's as if i'm being sanded and painted at the same time."

what he meant was that while he still had his basic structure, he was now totally different, now possessing different details and accents.  the cracks were gone and his whole being was just that: whole.  or at least more whole. 

"all i know is that it was a struggle.  it was hard.  it hurt before i died.  dying was easy, but all the stuff right before, that was hard."

it was difficult for him before he died, because before he died, he had lived.

"it wasn't that long; maybe a couple seconds.  only a few seconds of pain."

it had been many years of life.

"i don't think i did very much.  not as much as i could have done."

he was now somewhere else, lost to his previous self.  and he couldn't remember any of his greatest accomplishments. 

"i feel warm."

he did, in fact feel warm.  the warmth that washes life away in the time after one's death had gotten him as well.  and he smiled.  he felt listened to and known.

"you see now?" 

a voice.

"yes."

he did.

[chasethegreen]

of the most important thing.

love.  i think it's love.  but what is that?  a feeling one gets?  perhaps.  partly.  but that feeling... what is that?  desire?  maybe.  not lust, that's different; not obsession, that's different, too.

love.  the desire to share things with another.  time.  life.  possessions.  touch.  words.  and then not only to share one's own, but to share in another's as well.  love is active for sure.  active sharing.  it takes patience.  in others, in oneself.  it is kind.  it doesn't hold grudges.  people do, but love doesn't.  sometimes we get in the way of love with our insecurities, our selfishness, our hurt and hardheartedness.  fear.  those things hinder us from a whole myriad of wonderful experiences, love included.

love.  because of its shared nature, it leaves us vulnerable.  we must be open in love, heart-bared, soul-accessible, spirit-unbound.  it feels dangerous.  the risk is dangerous.  love is not.

love.  we've all seen it.  we've all said it.  and thus we've all misunderstood our feelings or misrepresented them at some point or another, probably without knowing that to be true.  it cannot be quantified.  i've heard people say, "i love you more than i've ever loved anything or anyone."  how does that work?  how does one quantify something so vast?  i was always under the impression that it is limitless.  one can like pizza and really like the circus, but isn't one of the most interesting, intriguing, and confusing parts of love that it transcends beyond the strictures of definability in feeling as well as in logic?  thus...

love.  is generous.  it may be communicated and received in different ways.  there are many ideas about love communication, how people give and receive it.  sometimes love gets miscommunicated, misunderstood.  it can be given in words to people who better receive it in quality time or in touch.  one may act on love, to someone who needs to hear it.  then it gets lost because it cannot be properly translated.  as a result, those who love feel betrayed, and those who are loved don't feel so. which goes to show...

love.  it's on purpose.  we choose to share, we choose to express, we choose with whom we are intimate.  that isn't to say that the choice doesn't take us by surprise sometimes.  but in the place we are surprised by our own ability to love, perhaps, is where it defies logic. 

somebody once asked me, "if i really knew you, what would i do?"

love.  it's overwhelming.  the desire portion of it.  it's clouding, but only because it brings to the forefront that which is the subject of it's desire. 

love.  looks for good things and sees them. 

love.  will require work. because it will see the good things, and we as people will begin to expect those things at every moment.  but...

love.  is perfect.  and we are not.  we are merely humans who, largely have some defined view of how the world should be.  and we are usually wrong.  or at least not one hundred percent correct.  that being said...

love.  forgives.  actively.  because at forgiveness's core is acceptance. 

love.  accepts.  it does not judge. when one says, "i love you," what they are really saying is, "everything that you have ever done or been, everything you've ever seen, everything you are and do, i accept.  everything you ever want to do and be, and everything you will do and be, i look forward to discovering."  when one says, "i love you," they're also saying, "i want to know you.  intimately."  they are saying, "i want the very best for you, and i hope to journey with you and do what i can to help you achieve greatness."  when one says, "i love you," they are saying, "i will fight for you, and for your well-being." 

love.  it's a big thing. 

if you really knew me, you'd love everybody.  and, if you don't already, you'd love yourself, because you'd see what i see in you.  which is fantastic, by the way.