Earned

Yesterday, today, tomorrow.

Here, now, planted.

Aware, awake, unequivocal. 

Optimistic above all.

Powerful, powered, dynamic.

Alert, willing, able.

Energized in the best way,

Loved, living, full.

Understood, understanding, smiling.

Time, impermanence, appreciation.

Balanced, adaptable, apt.

Open, alive, loved.

Loving, living, breathing.

Coherent, cohesive, collaborative.

Sharing, caring, kind.

Evolving, metamorphosis, bettered.

Sun-soaked, provoked, challenged.

Strong, flexible, grounded.

Standing this test of time.

Grateful, growing, giving.

Unleashed, unhindered, proven.

My sigh, earned.

Choke

 The holes have words that sometimes speak for days

The Ooooh's and Ahhh's and whatever trouble they may bring, resist the barriers

They will be heard, they are deftly felt. They commune with the thickness

Looking to shame the layers into action, and shock the limbs into articulation.

What must be done knows what needs doing and personifies the preciseness of that goal.

Each and every fucking day.

Lost in dreams that look too good and yet, they are true.

True to the gleam of touch so tender, and the sweltering bliss of sensitivity - shared.

Shucked. Never. Encased, rather. Dreaded droning. A 34 year old horizon line, shines.

But the bird on the wire is cooking in the hot sun.

Scaling the notions in drivel-worthy hesitancy.

Fucking irritating me more than I can bare.

Because I know, how I know, how I know....

The order chokes the chaos.

Enable

These sullen impulses

Locked in sludge. Require

Confrontation. 

E. Kant

 Momentum dictated by urgency as the days pass fluidly

The ritual replicates day in and day out, the mud flows predictably

Into gullets that sit waiting for the screen to play a new theme, the inaction, gags.

How many ways can the meaning be embellished to barely disguise the flow of the mundane?

The bubbling has been consistent and now that consistency has adapted to the new rhythm,

Missing the point - entirely. 

I am good at that. 

Conjuring up the motivation and then sitting in the space between here and next.

The next needs runners legs to get it from here to away

From today into better,

From now - into 'hello'.

When you have grown accustomed to the interim your whole life, 

It takes a massive shove of 'pissed off' to bridge the gap and get to where the getting is good.

The decommissioning of my watch has been long in the coming, and it is coming- no less.

It has been wrong to allow muscles to grow and then atrophy from the weight of their own inactivity.

Reasoning has been strong and what comes next will be the unbuckling of rigidity

To allow the mettle to take on loftier sighs, 

As the bulk of obligations lifts higher into the atmosphere.

And the reconciliation of my emotional context moves front and center.

And to learn to become familiar with things like 'ease' and intimacy.

Resistance is Manifold.

THC

 Sustainability

Listen, feel, integrate.

Capture impulse and reign it in.

Divulge wholly, head and heart, into the shedding of skin.

The 'Load' he speaks of, Yes. I am plugged in.

Those reminders are seemingly everywhere.

The sweat inducing heat of sandy planets

The strands of needy DNA, quickening their pace

Hoping to hook in  and claim rights of passage once more

Before the grayer skies set in.

The baseline - resuscitated. 

Low beat, male heat, assertive protrusions gain in their prominence.

Thick veins moving in dedication

To articulate a course worth taking.

I scramble in the chaos of of my many captioned moods

And revel in the breaking of their monotony.

This slight bump of interest has grown fangs

And distracting me - plenty.

Perhaps, that one last tango

...is ready...

Hmm

 Permanence.

I am here. Solid. Shockingly consistent.

Restraint is the pattern; the pattern is Restraint.

Refrain from acknowledgment. No. 

This is the pattern. Confronting the uncomfortable.

How, still, could the positioning be, to have remained so strong?

Rhetoric has once again gained footing, however, the wondering out loud

Has shifted. Analyzing the potency of a decade

I am split. Recognition of the 'why' is fully supported

Equally, the recognition of 'what next' is required.

Tricky mental jousting, derived from the constant need to understand.

And I do, and I do, and I have. Putting that context into stronger, visual patterning

Comes next.

Preservation

 You are the spine of my compulsory indifference

Slathering on thick, the ability to last in this devalued world of benign neglect.

The burly ingestion of your purge of words deposit heavy as always, into the investment of US

Growing in value without a single iota of proof that we exist to each other past the tap of a key,

Or the occasional catch of our mixed voices, dipping into real-time, to fill in the instantaneous gaps.

Breathe.

You, 

In.

What might that be like? Catastrophic, perhaps. Though the answer is irrelevant.

The interest does not stem from any actualization, but that it merely exists with minimal effort.

If I never spoke to you again, it would not matter. The case of your existence has been made

Substantiating the worth of your name, etched into many warm corners where solitude stands.

It is a powerful notion to be held and upheld with no intention beyond what we declare.

And 

To have that be

Enough.

And it is, it so is, and will, forever be. From busy, snowy, Southwestern intersections, words poured

Staking internal claims in patterns that we could not have designed any more sturdily in our 'today'.

Whale skulls on abandoned beaches rotting to remind us that from ashes to ashes, and dust to dust

The practicality of your importance in my life is treasured in brutal silence, where we safely roam

Roam and remain tantalizingly provocative in the gap of time between us, feeding inner animals.

Preservation,

Poignantly

Perfected.

Gone

 Wax and wane

Tidal pull, guaranteed.

Stretched between events and breathing, that map of life - queried.

Like popcorn strung from clean cotton thread

Expiration of decoration will come.

Incense and cigarettes pervaded the rooms

To the then of the naive, young being in me.

These nights wading in fog, reluctant to orchestrate

Superficial nothingness, as fatigue gets the better of night.

4 distinct patterns this night, the hum from the glow of the light

Eyes darting to and fro, into the programmed accessories

The glare of irritation persists. Whittling down the tapping of eyes

To opt for eyes to skim over words, back-lit from soft pages

Published for 'Old School' delight.

February kicks in and the Retrograde recedes,

Another Friday to tuck away and forget

`

Until the End

 Birthday, begin. Hello 49. The anticipation of your arrival has been 9 years in the making.

I was warned of your brevity, and the urgency in which you demand 'focus'.

Good, I am ready. I have grown each day until these moments when time would tick louder

As I work to accumulate synergy in all I am attracting and orchestrating.

This manual of instruction is mine for the designing, and thorough in its execution.

That murmur that exists always has been readying itself and will continue on in dutiful loyalty

I have been walking this path in all manner of weather, and adjusted accordingly.

As the last year of my 40's begins its descent, I thank myself for the years lived up until this NOW

They have been toiled and tempered with accountability and demanded Respect

Respect in unspoken ways that knew the rights would cancel out the wrongs, and carry along-

The constant win. This is Patrimony in action, unfailing, and, sturdy as they come.

To have slathered on thick, the female muscle when no male muscle stood forward...

Has, and will continue to, impress me until the end.

End of Story

 Repetition. Hones to a science, and then suffocates in its monotony.

I roll the topics out, they hit where they hit and I analyze the sounds they create.

Frustration sets in as recognition of repeated story-lines advance into new space.

This has got to stop. "This has got to lie down, with someone else on top..." -D Rice

Leave it up to the lyrics to nail down the point- creatively.

J.W. making the best sense in all of this. The tough route is the route for me

It is what I respond to best. It is the way I was raised and how I improve.

I will press on in that mindset as I know any other mindset appeals to me - less.

Structure, discipline, motivation, intensity, chunk after chunk of forced forward motion

This is what I know; this is what I identify with. Skirting around with anything else is laughable.

The older I get the more important this way of life becomes- asserting itself on me- daily. 

Procrastination is a useless goo that crowds around all limbs and sets in like expensive cement

Destroying intention with muscle. One more year until 50 hits, what then will be my excuse?

Truth is - there are no excuses, there is only myself and what I am willing to tolerate from within.

Done with my opinion when it comes to the actions of others, it means zilch- end of story.

Concerning myself with my own Ethos is second only to breathing when it comes to this life.

That glorious compass within that I have never had to reason with, only have I ignored.

The days wane quicker now, and time eats more life at a faster pace each day.

That sill with preferred view comes when I create it and not a moment sooner.

The elbow has work to do and there ain't no time like the present.