Month: November 2014

Lucid

I was describing a dream

to a coworker

and he stopped me and said,

“this is all in your dream, right?”

I said,

“yeah,”

and he said,

“man you have some vivid dreams,

how can you have so much detail in a dream?”

I said,

“I don’t know, I just do.”

We went back to work

and I thought,

my dreams are more impressive than my real life.

No one has ever interrupted my life in progress

to tell me how awesome I am

or how vivid my life is

but I describe a dream and I blow someone’s mind.

It is often asked how to realize your dreams…

I just need to realize my life.

The dreams are too much.

Advertisements

Way out

I am trying to be
philosophical about things,
to have a broader appreciation
of the world.
I get stressed
by the length of a work day
or the brevity of time off.
Instead of finding self
in these moments,
living inside the events,
I feel more like a prisoner
than a participant.
All I can see
is how much I want to be
somewhere else,
and this obliterates
any positive takeaways.
There are moments,
like sun piercing the clouds,
when I pause and find
I have arrived
in the moment,
in the middle of
the now,
and can reflect
on the day.
But they are too damn few
and far between…
instead
it’s mostly a desire
to head to the exit.

Great minds

My greatness,
if there is any,
lies not in my mind
but in my actions.
Great thoughts alone
are useless…
if left idle.
So with greatness
being measured
by my accomplishments
it would appear
I am impotent.
I have done naught
but wait
on greatness to occur,
never taking the lead.
There is
a deepening sadness
in that…
but then, for that,
there is beer.

A dusting

There may be little
that is as sad
or euphoric
as first snowfall.
Your adult mind returns
to the mystery of childhood
and a day spent romping
and exploring
places familiar
now made new
by a dusting of white.
As it is now
I cannot help but see
the slush and gray
of the early snow
as afternoon closes,
like the joys of childhood
long receded
that way too.

Jot, the deity.

I will write myself notes

that I know

I will never need…

the act

of having written

is all that I need.

My mind

will recall

not the original need

but merely

the note….

It is all the same;

I will remember.

I want to write,

“I am God:

sacrosanct

and infinite;

a world within myself.

I am unyielding,

and without fault.”

This,

I hope,

I will recall,

without needing

to remember.

It is a folly…

I have written too many notes

that speak

to the opposite,

and have heard

too many heckles

to counter it.