Consonant Berry @consonantberry - Tumblr Blog

The Act of Journeying

Journeys thrive towards endings as trees thrive towards the sun. Both would burn in it, the trees in the sun and journeys in their endings, but that's all unimportant because trees don't have space travel and journeys don't have X's to mark some particular spot where their endings are buried... Somewhere in an ever-retreating future.

People are journeys: projectiles without the memory of being fired into story and without the power to stop the passing of it. But it's no sinister matter. We thrive on the rush and blur of forwarding our narratives to within one gigantically myopic remove of the sunset behind our current horizon's latest vanishing line.

Would we ever want to go elsewhere but ahead? Although I've never wanted a good book to end, I read each page eagerly to it's ending...

It's no matter, we don't need to understand where we want to go in order to recognize where we tend to bring ourselves. We reach for the stars or the dirt by our feet and then swivel shy of grasping it in favor of the next novel shine in the distance. And in so doing we happen to stir up everything in between. Yes, that's all we do! We move things around, inadvertently. We're no matter but the movement of matter. There's nothing to grasp out there in front of us, but we reach all the same and we make this whole world of things spin out of the act.

#writing #prose

Crumbled earnings

I desire a headache Just to to acknowledge the robbed-throbbing One-splitted goings for each general Makings of a thing not just like I lied them....

I desire a slapping stingful-spanked Assessemnt of my aspirations gone regular Rank, so just roll me up enough To deserve that shitting-good burn

Of failure spiling me out of my trough. -I desire my acute voice-over to think Of the non-nuisance it is. Mum business Behaves me to root inside these

crumbled earnings

#poetry

A line in the Sand

At least I know that I’m dumb.

It’s a line in the sand,

Some know it and some don’t .

There are no smart people,

There are no ignorance-void gods.

Among us, uncertainty dumbs us all

Along fallible passages.

Our cobblestoned aspirations and beliefs,

They walk us drunk towards passing out

On the hope that all ends well.... despite

Our sober mind’s hard fear of the imaginable terminations of each our own dreamed-up know-it-all kingdom.

#poetry #poem

Which way is it to the back of the line? I don't want to butt, but that’s my enemy Standing there by the front of it Telling me to fuck myself all the way to heaven and...

I'm an impatient person, not busy as such, But I have many blank walls to stare at. Land Me a gig caring for others and sink Yourself on the fucking titanic why don't you?

"This is joking not bitterness!" said The brussel sprout tiddling the soil Alkaline of every tart. When fruitfulness has a farting aftermath...

There are more sad side-effects borne of causes Than happy endings at the massage parlor. Because I come here to feel depleted, Because demand provides until exhaustion.

#poetry #writing

The Undertures to Affection

We were strangers before we weren’t. Weren’t you strangely familiar, Weren’t you so closely removed From everything I had ever experienced, From everything I’d had with history?

I have you with me currently. You have me with you, yet We haven’t totally dissolved the strangeness of it. We’re a string of exposures Taken from unexposed piles To dry on a clothesline in a sun Lit by nothing but desperately needing sunlight To dry our soakingly overt undertures At each other by way of avoidance.

We fell upon filler to hole up awkwardly Together. We are awkward, but We so desperately need each other.

You make me so desperately happy. In the exposures I hope that shows. Through the negatives, through fear, Through the moments that skip, I”ll hold onto your picture.

#poetry #writing

I Drew My Own Name

How do I say my name to others?

As an apology.

But where did I leave my speech?

In the speech drawer, next to the drawer full of it.

And I won't say I have a drawer for every little thing,

But I do.

Except... my name is the only thing I haven't stuffed,

And I apologize for that.

I have said it enough,

The damn thing should have a drawer by now.

#poetry #writing

I Believe in Lullabies

Hanging there on the edge of floating away and gravity,

Orbiting my own weight as an observer circulating around a scene,

So flirting with an empty vessel yet so comforted by the revolutions around my earth,

I follow myself at a distance and like lulling a baby to sleep I am

Constantly forgetting to wail at the vastness of space, to suck on the fears abreast my everyday focus and just

Fall

For the unpressured quiet of it all between trying to give up and giving in to that ever-returning itch to care more than any creator about a world that I did not create and that I do not even own.

#poetry #writing #creative writing

Spiral Kindling

To capture a definite trend over time, To fill a singly human stretch of frameworks, Each ending openly upon incompleteness, Into one frame...

Would it yearn to be undone into freely pictured Confusion not settled in its constitution Nor in its right to constitute.

(surprisingly without question)

A whistling kettle calls tea time to happen.

Guest and host sit To sip on the taste of each other, To be tasted as so completely strange yet Tasted anyways, mending origins apart

Towards this spilled chromosomal marinade. Knots loosen knits unravel knowledge Unravels too, and all the unfinished ends Begin to incomplete themselves again.

#poetry #writing

Enormous Simplification

Be heard of dependent importance, Imperatively so. Use associated words in many-word Cuckoos, chords. Approach an important place. We can locate definitions And ignorance There. The wold has fantastic images, Uncountably so. Imagine those images as sounds, Those sounds as words. Speak those words and be Utterly disappointed with the quality of translation.

Lick your lips and try again. Enjoy the frustration-accumulation.

Turn off the lights. Lie in the dark, Desperately waiting to "sleep on it"... Jerk off. Find the fridge. Chug a half-carton of milk. Take a pill and pass out thinking (still).

#poetry #writing

Swimming almost ecstasy, If postponed an uneasy Feeling. Felt irked alive, Shuddered inspiration.

So self-intolerant...

With supreme popular Shocking drunk kind People living quite bare, Unpuzzled over the facts, Hurrying to halt some tests On rats. Bigger, human

Animals eat pelleted trails Towards a trail layer 's Lair, asleep waiting...

To not be social functions: Those graphs tire vertically, Limper as they rise, But they rise. Together, We visit catching instants of butchery... The detachment following butchery: The static depth of it being over.

Browse before buying in.

#poetry #writing

Wind ninety degrees against the red brick wall, Whistle struggles, perpendicular redirection, One day the wind will win, but not this wind. This wind fills the shallow white troughs, Rushes the bricks' mortared narrows, Dissipates across their squared patterns.

This wind is actualy plural, many Pushed things. The pusher is one Mystery common to the many

(but not to those (few) interested enough)

#poetry #writing

A sprawl from anchor, A circular sprawl. A ship at storm

Shaking its leash, Asking master For another inch of slack

To frolic and frothingly Meander the storm At anchor. Still

Motioning, motivelessly Mechanistic winds fill and sail An anchored ship so motioned,

So at storm.

#poetry #writing

games at work

I once saw a game Working on its game And i asked it why it was working so hard on its game And it was like : "that's the only way to improve your game" So I was like: "so do you think this is all some kind of game?" And it said: "yeah, it's all a game" So I said: "I've got dice" (I didn't have dice) (I was lying) (I was just playing the game) (But the game didn't want to play, it just wanted to work on its game)

#writing #poetry

For the sake of hitting things, Same blocks as yesterday, Stacks to topple.

For the sake of building things, New hints as on its way, Neatly not yet about.

For the sake of it all, Stops. Inside, at station, Waiting out the transit.

For the sake of crumbs, Creating HAS power-sense, Be the end (your hunger).

#poetry #writing

Strain always has slack Opposite it, Making the imbalance, and We focus on the strain, but It`s its oft discounted negative That trips the balance. Strains are decoys. Strains are small matter Making loud noise. Slack is everywhere else, Silently overwhelming, Made of naught. Pressure is only strain when the pressed particulate doesn`t give way. Some particulates don`t give easily, Especially those sentenced to reside before verbs. I have a giant green rectangle of painter`s tape on my wall. It`s an outline, the inside is empty (Except for the paint that was already there (and still is)).

#poetry #writing

Because I am quite harmless. Just... anger, for once Charged with surplus energy, Eager in the same way that cities Eat and (one another) we Chew (we each have work to do).

Anger in that stew's hugest Type-face boils steamy bleach Lesionally stirring promise Of action and then: The sun went down. Sleep Didn't battle, merely won. Dormancy imagined the wind blowing Still, the basic law of waking up To reality unchanged was shameful... A good end will follow from denial, A game will come knocking, A great game will always pass the time.

#poetry #writing

Marbles, how round hid Itself, garbled by Motion, blur. Streak: what sees the Onlooker. Bless mistakes. Speak! please me With it knotted in Stumbles, mumbles. Plop Some blasphemic Word fats. Empty, cup hole pit. Tip it over, no spilt X. What the fill happened? An evaporation event, Quiet as they are.

#poetry #writing

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