Stream of consciousness

The Only Option

She went to a dark place.

She went there alone.

To hide beneath the dusty shores, wade through murky undergrowth and delve into the icy lakes of solitude. She went there alone. Wrapped herself in a heavy tarpaulin of sunbleached skin, worn with age yet heavy enough to secure her down, in the pools, of despair , that she found – alone.

After trawling through the deserts of time, her hand outstretched for aid, that was never found. No water of rejuvenation trickled through her salt cracked lips, her weary bones found no comfort in the angles of the rocks of contemplation. After a time, she learned to counter the winds of fortune, turn away from the blasts: her spine bare for the impact.

If you look to the marks on the soles of her feet , blackened by ashes, solidified by infliction: know that these are not the marks of her failure, but reminders of her strength. Mottled with scars of endurance: she is a marked woman yet not beaten.

She does not submit, she will not yield.

She went to a dark place

She was alone.

 

Living without passion

..

Without conflict could we still survive, would we still want to live in our ever revolving faceless world of placation? Would we miss having fire in our bellies? Miss having passion and love and anger? Without emotion are we even really living or merely existing?

If you were able to live forever without the fresh breeze on your face, or the spray of the waves of the sea falling in mists on your skin, or without ever hearing the rising call of the lark or feel the warmth on the skin of your cheek: would this be living?

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It hangs

In the balance between

You and I

The empty air of silence

All those words left unsaid,

about the elephant,

and whose room he’s in, and why?

Tiny pockets crammed with conviction

Suit jackets lined with lies.

Yet still, we tiptoe

Between discarded clothes and comments

Barbed by hatred, hidden by love.

Such fickle creatures

We live by the moonlight of tenacity.

 

 

 

Wasted my young years

I am wasting my life

I know it, yet I cannot seem to stop it. I sit and I feel it slipping away from me. My get up and go has got up and gone and I have no idea how to find it again, or know if indeed it is still out there waiting to be found.

In my thoughts I am a pioneer, I swoop and soar and plan all things which I could do, list all the things I should do, hide from the things I need to do – yet still I lie.
Curled up in a fortress of quilt whenever I can get the chance, if ever I need not to be at work and sometimes when I should be somewhere else – i lie. Hidden behind walls and I lie, in bed waiting, waiting for something unknown.

I am tired

My bones do not want to move today or ever. I do not want to drag my carcass out into the unfriendly world where it has no relevance, no meaning, no joy. I feel guilt for all of the things I am missing out on, feel bad for those I am letting down, constantly but still I cannot seem to force myself out. I dont know what I want but I know it isnt this – I am a waste of life in this state. Not living but simply existing.

The only thing that brings solace is sleep. I feel I could sleep forever and feel happier lost in dreams for life only brings cruelty and sadness.

Please just let me sleep.

 

SoCS – Real

For anyone not already heard of the Stream of conciousness Saturday: which is a prompt put out every Friday,  then check out Linda’s blog below

Linda G Hill

My stream this week was encouraged by a CampNaNoWriMo cabin sprint too, so double encouragement, thanks guys 🙂

 

Real

Get real!

Think about everything that you need to get real with today. Perhaps you need to change something in your life or at least be real about it to yourself. Sometimes we get so set in our ways that we lie or at least cover up the truths, even to ourselves.

I get why, I do it too. Sometimes it’s hard to examine our real thoughts and feelings, hard to accept that change is necessary…is inevitable, yet when it needs to be done then it’s hard, it’s scary even. We put so much effort into living out each day with the idea that if we just keep our heads above water, if we just keep moving along no matter how slow, then at some point it will all make sense, it will somehow feel real.

But it doesn’t.

Sometimes the light of day is like pouring boiling water over dusty cracks that we suddenly realise are there. Upon viewing these blemishes we realise that everything we thought was real and honest is now nothing more than a facade: a strangers face tacked on to our hidden desires. A covering for thoughts or feelings that reside deep within, that we don’t simply feel we can show to the real world. so instead we slip on a mask and wear it well, so others can’t see the real you. We might feel alone in this fake life created, yet we tell ourselves over and over that somehow this is better than the alternative. That somehow the monotonous existence of our being is the real world, is our real life, and that wanting, hoping for anything else is too presumptuous, too extravagant.

Do we really want the real us to surface?

To swim free and vulnerable out into the open. To allow ourselves to open up and release the inner beings of our souls into the real world, to allow ourselves to soar and swoop amongst the others. Do we really feel ready to allow reality to test us? Are we prepared for the onslaught of real experience to taint our fledgling emotions, to cast aspersions on our real self, to crush what little fragility we have left inside.

Are we ready for real life and all its brutality?

Let me thing about this, whilst I hide under my rock a while longer.

Egg – SoCS

Over at Linda’s blog for the prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “egg.”

I had some train time without internet to kill so this prompt was a lovely thing to fill the gap, thank you Linda 🙂

 

EGG

What it the chicken of the egg that came first? Obviously those cunning folk among us know that the answer to this age old question is the egg. Ok,so it wasn’t a chicken egg, but a lizard or fish egg is still an egg never the less and why should they count of any less value. It reminds me of a poems I once read as a child and whilst I enjoyed the rhyme enjoy to remember it, I guess at the time that I never really understood it.

The codfish lays ten thousand eggs
The humble hen lays one
The codfish never cackles
to tell usewhat she’s done
But we all scorn the codfish
Whilst the humble hen we prize
Which only goes to show you that it pays to advertise

But isn’t it a great little poem and actually shines quite a truth on real life: those that shout the loudest do seem to get more out of life, whilst the quiet hard workers continue to strive on and get passed over. (walks away from the rant)
Now I remember this poem from a poetry book that I used to have as a young child, I can’t remember the book title or the poet and maybe even some of the words are incorrect but it is from an old memory. This isn’t the only poem I remember from being a child, which I think is testement to how poetry can really make an impact on people, or children even. I think it was the rhyme that made it stick, along with others such as Gerry the giraffe and Rhubarb Teb. Even the old Oliphant which I only found out as an adult came from a book: Tolkien – Lord of the Rings. When I think to myself of all the poems and song lyrics that I can remember it’s actually a fair amount of memory, yet I cannot seem to remember where I leave keys or recall conversations I have had the previous day: what’s with that?

Sometimes my mind draws such a blank on simple everyday things and I can’t work out how it can be so good for silly non important facts yet I can’t retain information that would be helpful. Perhaps my brain is just wired to prefer absorbing enjoyment rather than function.

So the prompt was egg right? *makes mental note to purchase Easter eggs in the sales to top up the chocolate supplies*