Unspeakable

I have been overwhelmed with a strange feeling. It was so ineffable, I don't think I understand it even now. It just started one day. I don't even know when it began, but I know when I noticed it. Then one day I woke up and felt it fading away like a sweet and interrupted dream. It was a such a sweet feeling, in its strange way.

Cold sunlight slanting in windows, shining its golden orange light on a white wall. Polygonal trees with sprites for branches, rolling square and pointed hills. Frozen passes with high cliffs all around. A small, cramped room under a humble castle. Simple walls of dirt and wooden logs holding up a rock ceiling. A school that flies away from danger. A fairy tail romance between a lion and a wolf. A bare birch tree against a clear blue sky. Sitting on an unsettled beach. Its warm on the beach, but the sun is hidden by clouds. The waves are silent and disregarded. Cloth somethings flapping in the wind, slowly shifting and creaking with the uncertain breeze. My feet curl into coarse and wet sand. In my hand a stately old book, bound in leather. A sense of total freedom. A sense that everything that needed doing is already done. A sense of melancholy nostalgia. A feeling of being so alone. Its not a bad feeling, it even goes unnoticed. For now... The smell of air fresh from the heater, being pumped into the room. The smell of brand new carpet, and of white painted walls. Of humidity and palm trees and the sea. Of rain and wind and air-conditioning. Of destruction.

Does it make any sense yet? I'm sure its all so meaningless to you. Each of these fragments have so much attached to them for me. They tell a story of a time that's long past, but still lives on in memory. Its not the fragments that have been with me these last days, but the feelings. The feelings bring the fragments, not the other way around. Why should they come back so strongly all of a sudden? Strange as it sounds, I think it all started when I took ill. It could just be coincidence, I know, but still... Its the only thing I could point at. And now that I am getting better I am losing touch with it all. Soon it will be gone, I know that. I will miss it, I think.

Words

I feel that I can learn a lot about someone by what quotes they identify with. Is it unfair to just agree with someone who said it better then I could? There are so many things you could learn about me, my dear reader, so many things I would want to say if I let myself. I think about it a lot actually, I hear something that resonates so strongly within me I wish I could just take it with me everywhere I go. Get a little name tag with it on there. Would you know more or less then if it just said: "Adam"? What if I started using them here? Does it even matter? Am I the only one seeing these words? Would it be wrong to clutter up my little corner of the internet? I already do with these wondering thoughts.

Someone weighed the internet once. It seems like a crazy waste of time on the surface. However I appreciate the efforts someone put into something so daft, because they came up with a unexpected and charming answer, one I quite like: 0.2 millionths of an ounce. All that information, every last thing you wanted to know, and plenty that you didn't, in "...the smallest possible sand grain, one measuring just two-­thousandths of an inch across." I think there's room for it. Yet something holds me back. It just feels weird. Maybe what ever it is that certain words find inside of me is just to intangible to reveal in the harsh black and white. Maybe I'm just embarrassed because it feels like cheating. Just cut and paste someone else's work and claiming some right to it. A right that I don't have.

Castle in the sky

Spinning on the mirror, on a calm and silent evening. The full moon stalks along the horizon, watching us. Sneaking from place to place, peering around the darkened houses. Curious and shy, he watches as we glide past. I don't acknowledge him. Best just to ignore his spying. Its his ancient right, after all, and his ancient curse. Watching his home spin madly below him, knowing that one day he will return in fire and glory... but powerless to speed the processes, or slow it. A prisoner to forces long since gone. No there are others I've come to watch this enchanted night.
Butterflies frozen on the frosty glass. Guardians of the boundary above, sentinels of the heavens. Hiding away another world from us. A world of the freedom we deny ourselves. A place of lost hopes and dreams. They live on, uncounted and uncountable. Contented to wait for their return. Like the moon they know they will return. In time all things come full circle. Taking wing on moth's last flight, they come or go. A stately grey moth waits above me, flapping in lazy circles. Knowing this night could be his chance, maybe his last.

No, not yet. I'm not done with my castle in the sky.

The lost

Missing and vanished, it now stands alone.

To far away places they must have been blown.

Driven away on a nightmare's cyclone.

What ever the case its sure they have flown.

Of where are the rest, nothing is known.

But one remains high on its throne.

Uncounted masses have become the quite rare.

No two exists for which to compare.

Yet still it shines with a soothing white glare.

A beacon of hope high in the air.
Good for one wish, one earnest prayer.

Promised to me, this burden to bear.

So many choices for humanities advance.

Feeding the hungry, boundless finance.

Ending all warfare, a harmonious dance.

Or maybe a selfish horizon expanse.

An ailing body's lifespan enhance.

A sublime and enchanted romance.

For so many sins could I atone.

I know what I want yet still I postpone.

My hearts desire awaits if I dare.

But I can't, the sky I must share.

So I choose, lost in a trance.

And make my wish with a sad glance.

I wish for the to stars return to the sky.

I wish for their hope to be seen on up high.

I wish that they comfort you when you cry.

I wish that the dark night they always defy.

I wish for their peace when things go awry.

How could I, for you, these things deny?

The Waiting

And the waiting begins. Its strange to be sitting among a perfectly random group of my peers. To think that there was a computer somewhere pulling people at random to be here today. Every archetype is represented. Who do I represent?

Not the young business man. No, that's him over there, looking sharp and collected, like he has other things that need doing. Not the slacker, that's him who just past, no question. Sweat pants and slippers, the whole nine yards. And you can see it in his eyes, he doesn't want to be here the most... Maybe not the most, that girl looks so sad, as if it were she herself on trail today. Where's her badge? Can I just not see it from here or was she dragged here on the other side of the bench?

Maybe I am the token nerd, the young and anti-social. I am, after all, writing this. Would it make me cool to just sit here and be bored out of my mind like everyone else? Ah and here we have the suffer dude, in complete regalia. Beanie, knit sweater, sandals and an Ipod a hairs breath from falling out of his back pocket. Complete with typical longish sandy blond hair. Well... it is Malibu, after all.

It would be nice to fit in so simply with an archetype. I'm just another guy, hard to pin down. A bit bigger then the rest maybe, and in need of a hair cut. Simple pants, nondescript sweatshirt, modest shoes. The guy who should have shaved this morning but there just wasn't time. The guy who writes because there's nothing else to do, but still manages to misspell "wasent" every time. Find me in a crowd and maybe you would forget me just as quickly. I don't stand out, but I feel like I am so far away from these people.

Tuned.

Sometimes I lurk a bit. The shadows and fringes can be comforting, a place where I can watch all the people so busy. Family gatherings are something akin to hurricanes, if maybe more chaotic. But they are also easy to get lost in. Its so nice to listen sometimes. I like to listen, even when people are talking of things they expect me not to care about, I always pay attention. Its all interesting to me. And then I get drawn into it, because I just have to ask a question, make a comment, dig deeper and deeper. I can't seem to stay out of it for long. And then every now and then I am surprised by just how much of the conversation I am carrying. Its funny, I always thought of myself as a reserved and quiet person. I think I would be too, if I wasn't so inquisitive.

When a conversation starts moving quickly, when there are a lot of people involved, I sometimes just stop talking. When things are really moving, and everyone gets into it, sometimes I will leap in with some comment or correction. I think I surprise people, they probably thought I tuned out.

Its not like me at all to tune out. But lately, its been happening a lot. In the middle of something, anything, my eyes drift off to some far away or nonexistent spot, and I am lost to what's happening around me. My mind taken by thoughts of you. I can just see myself standing there, eyes adrift and turned inward, with that goofy half grin on my face. Time can seem a bit disjointed, and I wish it would just brake away and leave me and be done with it. It never listens. The day goes on.

I'm not sure what I sat down to start writing about... But I'm not at all surprised where I ended up.

Cactus and Dust.

Star bursts of purple waving at the end of long green stalks, forever frozen, forever in motion. White stones in defensive tiers, guarding emerald leaves. A mottled canopy, casting distorted shadows in the soft wind. Slow and patient Ivy, crawling, waiting, twisting over everything. When no ones looking, in the dead of the night, it spreads its dominion, inch by inch. Up the pale sky blue walls, hiding away wide white trim. An inviting teal double door atop 3 stairs.

A tall and steep hill, crowned with sparse bushes. Each an invader, an outcast, surviving on an edge of two very different worlds. Natures mounded wall, a boarder between quiet suburbia and the wilds. A wall with towers and sentinels, long dead and silent, fallen to ruin. The watchers still there amid the white dusty skeleton of rock, melted into its walls, fused into stone. A graveyard of the ancient masters of a watery world. Cross over, and be confronted by a beautiful and savage vista. Shrub covered hills slopping away into obscurity. Meandering paths leading deep into fields of mustard, with small yellow flowers held high over our heads. A place to lose yourself.

Stands of cactus, sharp and unwelcoming. Keeping mostly to themselves, they grow in tight comities, spike covered havens. Amongst the thorns, purple and yellow flowers blossom with a hundred little fingers, each reaching out to the sun. Past them lay the hills. Rocks piled high with a light dusting of dirt, and a few hearty shrubs clinging on with all their might. And to those brave enough to climb their sides, a grand view and just the right number of seats. A place of rest and reflection, to watch the sun sink on another carefree evening.

For you see they really are fond childhood memories. Cactus and dust.