2013

December 29
slept, finally.


  investigating non-duality; sometimes, the grounded life seems the only way to go.
it's all about thoughts; yes; what i mean is, my life, and yours, are all about thoughts.









December 27
later


it is in saying absolutely nothing here, that i say everything there is to say.


so the next question is, is it really the unsaid that matters, or only the said.

there is no silence, no peace, no sleep, no rest.
for a mind like mine.

and, through all of these lack of words, you can read all of your worst possible fears; your worst possible thoughts;
they are all here.

he talks of transpiration; for him, it's the work that matters.
what if you are working on the wrong things.
does the tree still make a sound then?

and her, she wants to run run run. arriving with no work, arriving is the goal, and, the disappointment too.
and me, only peaceful thoughts come before the coffee is processed, and now, it's too late.
run run run.





"The supreme happiness in life is the conviction that we are loved." Victor Hugo








December 24
seven oh nine am


you know dasher, and dancer and comet and cupid...
but do you recall...

at exactly which point the balanced tipped?

pre-christmas eve conversations, go something like this...
chapter one,read in the tone of Julee Black's 'seven day fool' or whatever it's called.
chapter one of cynthia and i deciphering life. (possible title, the life deciphers)
well in the morning, poots brain just doesn't want to go there. wipe yourself of PCI DSS, poots.
itchy orange stoppered ears, hampster runs in a circle, chapters in my book bring me back full circle,
is anything, really, worth writing down at all.

















December 20
seven twelve am


back to writing.
and coughing.
stress.
lyrics

the boyfriend sleeps. mildly wintry outside, poots didn't get enough food into her body yesterday. today must be different.
let's go calm down.















December 18
chapter 8, 'Maslow''
two am


ilove my friends in different time zones but need to shut off my blackberry so it doesn't ding all night when they comment on my pre=bedtime posts

 



 

December 15
chapter 5, "great expectations"
chapter 6, "you look pretty"
Chapter 7, "money isn't real:


poots stares at chapter titles, wondering how much is too much on the mEp.
is there a point in the larger scheme, is perfection possible, in words, thoughts and deeds.

itchy ears, tepid java, coffee ain't what it used to be.

chewing cheeks, a nearly violent obsession, and expectations, expectations, expectations.

how far does one reduce expectations, does one whittle them down until one sits alone at the computer.
JM says 'give him a break', but how many breaks before one simply isn't working anymore?
 FR says don't have any, have only gratitude, but then one could be greatful for oneself and be perfectly content.
the old font returns, frustration mounts, poots' is outta here.














December 14 - Papa is 80
this one's for you, Carm


   
chapters in a book; the book's about life
eight o'clock meetings after red JD
cold java
building love, one step, two steps,
English class, something's interrupted, and phases, months, pass, as they must.

java number four, poots puts herself down.

hovering, hosting, hindering.
PCI DSS up and down the hall.
Deck the halls.


everyone loves a little poot.
























two