Silently breathing

I won't say anything about this one, I'll leave you make up your own mind..

Image by Dean Moriarty from Pixabay

You know, I’ve always tried to make myself appear sane, but it is very hard work to do that, it takes a lot out of you, and keeps you very busy, it keeps you so busy that you feel like you are going crazy.
So I have decided to do the opposite and not try anything at all and see if that works, and if it doesn’t I shall write a book about it just to keep the spirits up.
I suppose that would be better than talking to ghosts leaving carbon footprints all over the place and going nung nung nung nung most days.
But, you know, most of the time of course, I am compliant, and things just pass me by, but just lately I have been having different dreams, ones that have been suggesting that perhaps there is more to life than the mediocre, yes, that maybe there really is more and I can have it, and now is the time to turn on the tap.

Image by Dean Moriarty from Pixabay

Old love songs aside of this where I was turning up drunk and tripping over my shoe like one of those admirers falling over the cliff in the moonlight, I began to weave the song I would most like to hear, and weaving away, I weaved it into being and broke my back in the making of it so that I sounded like the old love song that lived under another moon and never heard anything of what was going on.
Oh, I was kind of going and dripping blood like a vampire on a quest and on his way going along when I was disrupted by the most overwhelmingly outrageous screech I’ve ever heard get away with it and not even get a slap in return.
Blood screech it was and blood screech it sang and blood screech it was known as and so blood screech it became for evermore.
I am a love song, and yet I am always falling, strange that I think, maybe my wings are still wet, or maybe I don’t believe what I’m telling myself, or maybe I do. Or maybe I’m just always falling.

Image by Dean Moriarty from Pixabay

Echo one five seven, slow down, you’re going too fast.
Copy that control; slowing rate of descent to the speed of sound, over.

Image by Dean Moriarty from Pixabay

Subheaving in the vernacular and pulling towards the straight stretch with my arms out like a spitfire I ran past the girls over and over again until we were all dizzy.
And then they shot me down and I fell wounded in a field where time lost all meaning and I died of my wounds.
But life was breathing me and didn’t let me stay there for long.
Picking myself up I mingled with all the others who’d been shot down and were trying to make sense of the lives they were living.
I was wearing an old coat that had seen many survivors in defeat fly again; and taking heart from it I brushed myself off and went looking for the next lesson.

Image by Dean Moriarty from Pixabay

Voiceless I was, and forgotten with nothing to say, and stayed this way for longer than long; until one day, my voice crept up on me from nowhere and roared in my heart, and roaring it gave me a fright but moved me out of the doldrums that had kept me so caught up for so long in that I was miserable and feeling blue every day.
So there I was moving along again and going nowhere, kind of like a winter pear tree, when I came across the girls right up at the front, and me so far behind.
Girls I said, I love you, and threw them all the charm I could muster that was me at that time and hoping for a result from them.
They looked at me like I was crazy and turned their faces away from me and sat down and looked to the front, and ready to be taught anything the teacher had to teach.
I felt strange, like some alien intruding, something worthless, and something to be ignored
I felt hurt.
That was my first experience of girls, and I didn’t like it very much, and so avoided them for as long as I could for a very long time.
But, one day, falling into the love song that was creeping into my heart from the eyelashes of this girl who was not looking at me I began to hover in her direction and forgot all about my aversion to girls.
I think we are made this way, and that no matter where we fall, there’s always someone to pick us up, somewhere.
And if there’s not then we go on, just on and on until we’ve survived even more and wondering what the use of it all is.
Or perhaps we are saved and sing the glories every day.

Image by Dean Moriarty from Pixabay

I guess there are those as well that do that; but I’m not with those angels and I’m flat broke and coming loose and looking for a saviour, someone who can take all this and set it free, someone I’ve been searching for all my life.
Anyway, there she was, and as large as the living, and breathing close to my heart, with me trying to appear sane and in love at the same time and not revealing too much, and breathing her in as much as she would allow me.
I was trying to move closer towards her through all the bodies, but the bar was too crowded, and I couldn’t get any closer.
This is kind of like the story of my life told in old fable to tickle the maid at midnight if she’s caught wandering around to take a pickle sandwich with me in the kitchen.
Switchless plastic was the ballast that kept me sane, until I went mad, and then all bets were off, which was a big relief after a while of thinking about it.
It’s funny how one moment creeps into the next and catches you unaware of its coming don’t you think, and with you doing the yard chest as far as you can stretch it.
That one always gets to me.
In this region mind traps are made…time to bail out…
Did I tell you that I feel strange like some alien?

Image by Dean Moriarty from Pixabay

A graveless idiot living on saccharin was sailing around the North Pole one day when he bumped into a girl who was lost and trying to find her way to Mexico.
Hello he said.
Hello she said.
Would you like to dance?

Image by Dean Moriarty from Pixabay

Oh, the heartless clue of my existence was giving me the slip almost every day and was laughing at me from behind all my masks so that I couldn’t breathe properly and was hyperventilating all over the place.
And I couldn’t pay my bills to save myself, and neither could I ask for help.
What a pickle.
Silently breathing, I found I was where I was left with all I could hold of the moment and sucking in air and reaching out in hope…

Image by Dean Moriarty from Pixabay

It was forever later, and me dreaming up my doom and posting it to all the corners, when the love bird gave me a call and said: come on over.
But, you know, I am sane, aren’t I, I asked myself trying to be sure, to reassure myself that all was all right before I said that I would.
Ah, what does it matter, when life is calling, you just have to answer it.
I always will answer it, I know that now. And I’m no longer afraid. So I said yes, and I guess the rest is just history…

Images from Pixabay