over it

Sleepmaker small

Xmaz has come and gone, new songs, lots of change…but none of it loose. Reflections mirror the mirages, marriages of past and future meld to become the new now – and I still wonder about a lot of things that stressed me out during this year of madness and eventual calm.

It has been a thinking season of festive tidings, as the thoughts shift and recede, leaving debris; the debacle of debate that never quite ends as its fading echoes, somberly disintegrate – as the grating of frictions foster fathomable furies, it all starts to make sense.

I am glad this year is ending. In my mind, it has ended already, and I feel steady, ready to reap rewards and render past foes forgiving facsimiles of finite words. I learned a lot, and I burned too – bridges, its just water that flows beneath now, nothing more as emotions turn to tacit flinches that I will not forget, but will for now at least, let dissipate in the energy that flowers around me.

I can hardly remember the person I started as this year, because I have changed so much. My promise was to become myself, and as this happened, I forgot who I ever became in the pasts of parry and thrust.

I trust who I am now.

Perhaps in the days gone by, in the rivers that carried me along through forests, and desserts of dust, I could never really have faith in the facade that I foist upon the world. I think it’s easy to project a pretense, and to pretend that it promises a type of pastiche – an almost plaster puppet of self, that has been molded to manage daily doldrums, dots, commas and question marks. I made myself into my mirror, and mapped out my horizons much lower than I could stand, so that I stood hunched in the hurt and horror or humanity at its poorest. I prayed each day that my porcelain back would not crack under the weight of worries that I could never really carry. I cried each month as the mortar joints between my bones crumbled to ash, passion became black ice, hidden from view, me, askew and flipped over like some tragic crash in some long forgotten ditch. Pitch tracks, nothing, empty years, yearning for a void that would eventually swallow my sedated cinders, the extinguishing epitaph of my concrete body, no longer buoyant, but buried forever…beneath the sand, beneath the sea, beneath the sky, beneath the stars, dark and asphyxiated by the weight of the universe as it turned in upon itself into the blackened hole of invisible hope.

Where was I? I don’t know, because I cannot remember.

I went blank as the power outage fried my circuits.

When I rebooted, I rebelled. I refused to re-enter the skin that would not sing new songs, because the music all of a sudden seemed discordant and distant. I remembered some things, faces mostly, but the forms they found did not belong and neither did I. It was a dizzying detour, that lasted an eternal moment in time, like a faded photograph.

I look at that picture and study it’s signs. There is no longer a pulse there, its heartbeat has turned to rust, and the wind warms the salty breeze that tirelessly evaporates the carcass I have left behind.

And now I wonder, as each waking moment is alive, and I feel vigor and my vantage is omnipresent – “where is the horizon, I cannot see where the sun both rises and sets, because the light feels like it will always be there, where have I been?”

Unseen and undone, a new web has been spun.

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