I'll never forget

I can't ever forget the day when I started eating spicy food. I remember it all started with mild Picante sauce and cream cheese. You know the sort of sauce that tastes mostly like a ball of tomatoes and bell peppers if you can stand in the least bit spicey foods?

It progressed with green chili sauce. I found that amazing on burritos with sour cream. And mild sauce at Taco Bell.

Then, came the real tests. Arguements about how I would never eat Los salsa, and eating it every day for the past 6 months with ketchup and occasionally salt added in. Kimchee pepper sauce, habenjero salsa, and Enjoy beef jerky.

I used to only eat Teriaki beef jerky - the stuff you found in Vons Oh Obero! or what they call it. Now, I have teriaki, but its still sealed in the cabinet - and its Enjoy.

But peppered is so good. I eat asian sweet chili, but I like it when it is so hot you can only add a few good dashes.

Thus it is now. I like hot - the sort of oriental hot that gives you heartburn from soup, the sort of Indian hot that makes you need three full glasses of milk, the sort of mexican hot that makes you sweat. The sort of burn your soul out pepper hot. The sort of singe your tongue and make your lips burn like fire hot.

I know. Me, the weak one, the one who couldn't eat salsa at Acapulco - now complains that it isn't hot enough any more. Tomato paste. It doesn't make sense. But still it is.

-RK

snow falling, fading, and melting away

It isn't a sickness. That's what I convinced myself, for so long.

It's normal, it's just the way things are. It's just an outlook, just a mood, just a passing, just for today. It isn't 'something wrong'. It can't be...For the longest time, I wouldn't believe it. I don't need to understand, or be understood. I don't need to see what it all means. I don't need to be explained.

I've been pretending, kidding myself for too long. I've been acting the part, and playing the clown for far too long. It's simple. Mostly, I stand alone. I have friends, and I have a family. I have a house and a home and a place where I live life. I have things I enjoy, things that I despise. I have dreams and nightmares - just like everyone else.

But after the snow falls and the metling freezes over - it comes back to the winter again, even in the spring. Then I stand alone.

I am a child, a friend, a daughter, a sister. I am a reader, a writer, an author, a Poet. I am a coffee shop college kid. I am a dancer, a gambler. I am a pizza-eating, sparse-on-cash traveler.

I am alot of things. But in the end, I am just myself. I contest to nothing, I stand for nothing else. Only me.

I can't say much beyond that. I can't say much that will gain me acceptance or understanding or a kind a favor or a twinkle in the eye. I can't explain my being or explicate my actions. I can't make you understand what or who or why I am. I am only that I am...

...not because I think. Not because I am anything special. Not because I deserve to be. Not because I love.

Because I am loved...but not because I am a wonderful human being. Because in the end, I am really only undeserving 'me'.

Nothing more. Nothing less. Just 'me'.

-RK

Invariability

...the perfect word to describe the imperfectness of this concept. The idea that things do not vary, that life does not change, that all things are static and the same.

This idea terrifies me. I need change. I need new places and new people to meet and new landscapes to see and new things to do. I need things to vary - I need everything to vary. I can't stay in one place too long. I can't go back to old places and feel a kindling sense of warmth. I feel angst rising from old places - I feel dread seeping through cracks in old memories, reminding me of how things could just maybe not change.

Most people are scared to death of change.
I can't survive without it.

Always I seek a new sunrise under a new horizon, where everything feels fresh and reborn - like spring coming every single day.

And when things begin to feel common, when things begin to feel safe and comfortable - I want to get away from them. I want to find something else, something new. Something that changes.

I don't know that I will ever be ready to settle down, that this restless spirit in me will quiet - that the seeker of change will one day yearn for invariability.

I can't imagine that ever being a good thing - other than in personality. I can't imagine a like of invariability would be much good at all. Sigh. Maybe that is why I can't stand it when I begin to feel like I'm living one.

-RK

A new take on wonderland...

These were taken on the night of the first snowfall.





These all are mine. I hope you noticed.

-RK

Welcome to a world of white and wonder

I didn't take these. I took my own; a few. I even took real SLR pictures. But they aren't available yet.

When those I can post are, you will notice.

-RK

I need an opinion

Simple enough, really. I need an opinion.

I have some stupid MSN 'My Space' garbage hanging around in the dumpster bin. I was on the verge of deleting it when the oh so ominous warning asailed me.

When you delete your space, all of your blog entries, photos, and lists are permanently removed, and the web address for your space is no longer available. This action cannot be undone

*whimper* Wha? But what if in twenty years, I decide I need an MSN space?! What'll I do *tears of bitterest agony*

*rolls eyes* So it isn't so desperate. But- you should be able to see my dilemma.

Do I delete, or do I continue to waste fruitless time on an even more fruitless endevour? Sigh. I know not what to do :(

Here is where you come in. View mah space. Tell me, is it worth the time wrought on it?

If consensus say 'yea'- I will deeply consider staying my hand.

If consensus declear 'nay'- The deed will indeed be done.

This is your chance to control the fate of something deeper and beyond yourself. Please, I seek thy aid.

Do not fail me now; I charge thee!

-RK

So, I haven't had good luck lately

Today was a day of sleeping, reading, and sleeping more. What call you this, a lazy day? But I was doing homework...

...when I wasn't sleeping, that is. *grin*

OK. So it isn't as bad as I've made it out to be. It was actually rather nice to sleep most of the day...

...when I wasn't feeling guilty about not reading, that is. *frown*

But alas, it is what I did in spite of my guilt. It was fairly relaxing after the club last night. That was a blast.

A non-descript club in a non-descript little sleep industrial town with non-descript males - save 'Cassanova'.

But I'm sure he got over it quick enough and he's matched up with some blonde lovely who doesn't care that there isn't at least two feet between her and a complete stranger on the dance floor. So, in the end - we all made out fairly well.

Although I must say, him probably more-so than me. *rolls eyes*

But on either front, the night was lively - the day was lazy - and I am 1/3 through the work that I have yet to do before the night is wane. Sigh.

Not to mention that I need to finish getting dressed ... and not wear pajama shirts down the hall, even if I am having a completely lazy day. I still live in a dorm. And chances are that the males about are not having as lazy a day as I am. And my meeting one in the hall in my PJ shirt was not really all that shocking...

...save the fact that I was wearing a pajama shirt.

Wow. I am having great luck with the opposite sex, aren't I?

Sigh. Oh yes. *deadpan* Great luck.

Well, until the next adventure [hopefully less full of negatory encounters with members of male society], I sign off.

-RK

Where will I be?

Will I still be doing this when I am thirty?

When I am turning old and starting to fade, and the grey light is starting to shine on my summer days - will I still have the gift of words? Will I still know what to say? Will I still wonder about what life will bring tomorrow...Or will I just turn into every other American in their mid-age? Will I just talk about kids and carpet-spots and the frustrations I've faced at the shopping mart? Will I just clean up bathrooms and straighten up livingrooms and dust all my figurines - and will I stop being who I am to be middle-age?

Will I ever calm down and stop being what I am on the inside, because its just a kiddyish thing to do? Will I stop coming up with prose-poems and with images that shock the mind back awake. And will I be just another house wife one day with a job and a hobby on the side?

What will I do, when I'm grey and if the money runs out? Or what will I say if my kids come back home in despair? Will I still write about it? Will I know more - and write more about it? Will I see the world just to put it down with pen and pad, scrawling all my heart out like I always have done? Or will my voice fade with my body. Will my mind dwindle with my strength. Will my words come less quickly as my physical form begins to slow?

Where will I be when I am fifty?

Will the thriving spirit, traveling from near and far within the space of seconds slow? Will the mind that finds characters from other worlds, and meets them on the roads to sleep stop traveling so far? Will I find myself confined to my room and to my walls, without the voices there that have always comforted me? Will I become every other middle-aged American that forgets what they love in search of a job and the perfect family?

Will I, in spite of everything I am now, simmer down and become the old "Leave It To Beaver" mom with a pearl necklace and a checkered dress?

I don't even like checkered dresses. But, maybe one day I'll decide I do. And maybe one day I'll wear an apron and wipe my hands on it and smile at the muddy children as they come into the house. Maybe I will be average, middle-class America. Maybe I will be "Leave It To Beaver". Maybe I will just be another "house wife".

But I don't want to be. I don't want to stop talking about Europe, and I don't want to stop seeing other worlds and meeting other peoples that don't exist anywhere but in my mind. I don't want to simmer down. I don't want to "grow up", if that is what growing up means. I don't want to be tame, or average, or middle-class America.

I want to be like I am now - as crazy and wacked and ridiculous as I am now. I want to be able to act drunk even though I don't drink. And I want to be able to be loud and laugh 'til my stomach hurts and roll on the floor in a wrestling match. I want to see worlds beyond mine and find out why the people there are glad or sad...or missing.

I want to always read. I want to always discover. I want to always travel here, there, and anywhere.

I don't want life to tame me or dumb me down.

I don't want a family that will put an apron on me and a white picket fence around my heart and a pearl chain around my dreams.

I don't want a life that will tie me down and make me exist like the rest of the world. I want to write poetry in coffee shops and narratives from vespas in Italy and novels from porches in West Virgina, sipping cool lemonade on a warm summer evening.

I want to walk the seashore, and gather shells, and sing to myself all the songs that come into my mind. I want to walk along piers, collecting silly stuffed animals from silly games that you always waste your money on for the sake of bright lights and excitement. I want to go to fairs and eat cotton candy and hot dogs on a stick. I want to swim in the ocean when its cold on a summer day, the waves kissing my feet like tendrils of ice. I want to dance in the middle of my master-bedroom with the blinds open and the moon streaming in. I want to lie under starry skies in Flagstaff, in the back of a truck, halfway between here and somewhere else. I want to ride roller-coasters and find roller-coaster riding kids in my dreams - and meet them all.

I want to sip Pina Coladas on Mexican beaches and play poker in the comfort of a living room with a fire burning in the other room's fireplace. I want sheepskin rugs and hardwood floors and tiles made of marble that get too cold to walk over in the winter. I want snow on the sidewalk and chestnuts on an open fire. Long walks along country roads and lazy strolls through parks or gardens. Shatter in Times Square or Picadilly Circus and seeing animals on a safari somewhere in Africa.

I want to see the world, but I want to see it as myself. I don't want to be calmed down. I don't want to be average. I don't want to be what everyone else wants to be. I don't want a white picket fence or a plastic playground in the front yard. I want a beachside getaway and hotels with fresh linen and morning breakfast of fruit and yougert and bread. I want a care-free life lived with the same passions I have now. The same light in my eyes, the same fervor for the same things I have now.

I don't want my blood to change, or run cold in my veins. I don't want to wear aprons with pearls or live a common life, baking cookies and living out my days. I don't want to pass from life into a title and a job. I don't want to be a home-owner in a home-owner's association and a number on a bill. I don't want to just grow up and let the grey light take over the dreams I have now. I don't want my mind to grow stagnant and the imagination to fade - and all the friends I have found within it. I don't want to lose the lives I've found in creating.

And I pray that when I'm thirty, I am still here - writing like I am now.

And I pray that when I'm fifty - I am still here, thinking like I am now, dreaming like I am now, creating like I am now.

I hope to never let the light fade, despite my intrigue with the night. I hope to never let the romance fade from me or the post-modern spirit, that I've turned into something else, become just another memory. I never want to be less than I am now, and I hope that age only makes me more...

More of the me that I am. Not more of the me that society things I ought to one day want to be.

-RK

Simon

Catch your breath, hit the wall.
Scream out loud as you start to crawl back in your cage -
the only place where they will leave you alone.
Cuz the weak will seek the weaker until they've broken them.
Could you get it back again?
Would it be the same?
Fulfillment to their lack of strength at your expense
Left you with no defense.
They tore it down.

And I have felt the same.
Where as you, I've felt the same.
Where as you, I've felt the same.

Locked inside the only place where you feel sheltered,
Where you feel safe.
You lost yourself in your search to find something else to hide behind.
The fearful always preyed upon your confidence.
Did they see the consequence that pushed you around?
The arrogant build kingdoms made of the different ones,
Breaking them 'til they've become just another crown.

Refuse to feel anything at all.
Refuse to slip, refuse to fall.

You can't be weak. You can't stand still.
Watch your back, cuz no one will.

You don't know why they had to go this far.
Traded your worth for these scars, for your only company.
Don't believe the lies that they told to you -
No, not one word was true.

You're alright, you're alright, you're alright.

As you, I've felt the same.
-Lifehouse:Simon

19 to 20, and so it was.

Sitting in my room now, eating Cheetos(R) Twisted(TM) with my roommate, Avi, who doesn't really like them...but we both want to eat them anyway.

I want to get my mind off of things. I have work I should be doing. A paper due on Friday, a chapter to read by tomorrow. But that isn't the sort of thinking I'm apt to be doing right now. I just want to get my mind off of it all...

The Cheetos(R) both help and don't. They bring back memories, memories I don't want to think about just yet - but they also occupy the thought process. Bite. Chew. Mush. Swallow. It makes life a little simpler, breaking it down like that - just things you do. Not really the things you think about, but just things you do.

I spent almost an hour writing a letter. I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't be doing any of the things I'm doing right now. I should be doing my reading. I should be working on a paper I have no idea what I am writing about. I shouldn't be talking or eating or thinking...or spending an hour writing a letter.

It even be better if I just forgot my homework and went to bed. But I won't do that. Not since I got on the computer...not since I started writing. I won't go to bed, but I'll wake up tomorrow and I'll be tired and thus miserable - and I'll have to stay up all night writing a paper.

...But I won't do that either. I'll just sit here, in front of the computer, thinking...or brooding, or maybe even writing another letter for no one to read. Either way, I won't do what I need to do.

I'll eat 99c Cheetos (R) from home, and I'll sit here, thinking about how I ought not to be eating at midnight...and I'll go on just the same as I always have. Because that's what we do in life. We go on - just like we always have. Even when things change, even when things are wrong and we can't get a grip on anything, even when the world is breaking to pieces and we don't know why - we just go on, like we always have.

Sigh. So that's just what I'll do. Go on. Just like I always have...

-RK

Malice, mistake, or foolishness?

Never attribute to malice what can be explained by stupidity. Don't assign to stupidity what might be due to ignorance. And try not to assume your opponent is the ignorant one-until you can show it isn't you.
- M.N. Plano

I don't know that I agree with this. No. That's not it.

I don't know just how much it actually makes a difference, in the end.

-RK

Maybe the senses are deadening, maybe they're alive again

Down to the depths with the devil's day finally done.

He's had his gander. He's had his stay. Now down, down to the depths of despair with the day of doom. Down from the heads of forecalled lovers, down from the hearts of the broken, down from the lives of the half-living. Down to the darkness from whence you came. Down from the holy, down from the pure. Down, into the mire and into the foul air. Down where you'll be forgotten, down into the darkened air.

Simple little wishes. Simple little things. A joy struck up in coversation, a hope seen in the glint of a glitter, or the light of a star's flight. Heroism, hope, calling cunning from the homes of the little safe places.

Joyful laughs and better things. Rememberance as the friend, not foe. Memories floating over the soft, cold air like mist from the breath of a heart warmed by the concept of breaking free...

Free from the chains of the last oppression. Free from the idle chains of the labored mind. Free from the ropes that were tied too tight - and free from the dread that held on too long, in the dark and listless night.

Freedom from the foresight. Freedom from the pain...and all on such a day.

Withered trees in the dying forest - cunning leaving the world alone. Wisdom that sprouts out of the ground, and hope that grows in the tree tops. Mild rivers that run with inspiration - and a wind that sings of change.

Change - the one that can set you, and the one that will make you see.

Simple, you say. Simple way to understand - and a simple way to dream. Yes, but it was simple all along. You, I - we complicate it. The world complicates it. It has always been simple. You knew it, you actually even saw it. But you would not admit it - the simplicity of it all. Letting the ties fly, letting the ropes go, letting the walls fall, letting the cage around you melt into the background; seeing that this life was not so full of misery.

You can be glad now. Though the counter-part and the dark will never give, will never fade - you can be glad now. Your survival is the key, your endurence is the way, you eyes are the light.

Follow the simple paths. Follow the simple way. You will not long find yourself afraid. Go on, into the shadow - on through the forest. You will find yourself not long alone, not long abandoned, not long without the wind. Not long until the road becomes lighter...not long until you are beyond the dusk. Not long before you are home.

So walk on, little child - eyes of gray and gold and steel all alight with the shadow from the dead of night. Walk on through the rain and cloud, through the shade and sound. On through the willow winds and on through in recompense; and soon your way you'll find. And soon - your broken heart will bind. And soon, you will come to the place where the lights fade from the distance, and the world looks clearer and finer.

And then, you will truly know. Then, for the first time, you will be whole.

-RK

Horror of Horrors.

Happy valentine's to me...

Sitting on a train, back from a show that really wasn't all that good - because of an amazing bass back home. This could be a problem, but it wasn't the main one. Sitting in a group of ten, laughing hysterically and being generally loud and obnoxious.

Random set of guys walks by. Seem nice enough. Random compliment to the group. Sure, I chuckle. It seems funny, and odd - and I've had a good day. Why not? Guy B stops, turns halfway past to extend hand. Seems fair enough. Presents request for name. I ablige, taking hand. Leaning in. Feeling confused. Offers name. Too confused, don't catch it. Receive kiss on cheek. Recieve overwhelming waft of alcohol. Turn red and laugh out of discomfort and confusion.

Moments later. Anger and violation being to decend. Feel annoyed, angry, resentful. Want revenge. Want pride back. Sit brooding for a while. Attempt to re-enter a conversation. Feel frustrated by the lack of concentration.

Set of guys return. Want to hide under the seat. Please, oh please, let me be invisible. Let me be left alone. Pretend to pay attention to conversation on my left. Hearing words - hearing other conversation turn to where I'm from. Don't admit that I'm from there. Keep quiet.

Pack of randomly drunk guys appear with the set. One is clearly older, talking about bikes. Not sure what he's on about; strange. Sound begins to escalate. Really would like to feel a need to use the restroom, but would rather just wait it out. Noise continues to escalate. Older guy ensures us they aren't a threat. That's strange. Log that one away...

Older guy seems cool enough, trying to tell the pack they must return to the bikes. Bikes won't ride themselves. Have to give the bikes sugar. Assume he is drawing a parallel with horses. Feel a bit better. Wish the pack would listen to this guy.

Few more train stops - I think. One more...train halts. Pack seems to be gathering up and moving out. Want to sigh in relief. Know that wouldn't be the right thing to do. Still want my revenge. "Kissy" standing right next to my seat, talking to others. They begin the handshake-goodbye ritual to the group. Coming around to me. Guy B, now first to me, goes in for the kiss. Hand to his chest to call off the advance. "Umm. No." Look of confusion and slight horror - the look of unexpected rejection. Mutterings and moves on to shake other hands, not mine. Ah, revenge!

Handshakes go around from the rest of the pack. They seemed nice enough. Too bad Guy A, now second to me wasn't the one to greet me before. He seemed decent. Less drunk.

Guy B feels a need for revenge. Makes some comment about some nasty connoctation. "Yeah. Okay." Rather disgusted look. He makes a "flirty-ish" face. More disgusted look, roll of eyes.

Exit from train. "Whew" of relief. Revenge was mine. Laughs go around. Next few stops, revel in the chance to extricate myself from the muck and mire. Still horrified, but at least avenged.

Train halt. This is our stop. Gather the bags, grab the coat, exit the train. It's cold and windy - and we're figuring out a taxi. It's easy really. Five and five. We stand in "line". Short enough. Van comes and we cram in. Off we go, as a soft blur into the night - back home where I will come, sit down after pj's and pulling socks off the line - and write. It's late...or early. But after a talk to the family, life seems all well and in order. It seems to be going better. The world seems to be in place. And it's good to get to rest after the long day.

Sigh. G'night.

-RK

Thoughts on morrow winds that never blow

Thinking. Trapped in the soliloquy of the soul, where the world doesn't turn and the day won't change, and the night sheds itself only to reveal more night. Sorrow, deep like a chasm, dark as the doorstep of death - singing songs of melancholy to the souls that come to so quietly.

Daydreamer, dead in the grave. Hopeful wisher, wishing well gone dry. Thinking trapped in thoughts of nothingness, and ideas of the future going awry. Concepts of light where the shadows fall. Concepts of life where the dragged dreams fall. Concepts of hope where the listless all call.

Tears, shed for the misery of it all; and deserts dry filling up the 'scape between there and here - between mine and yours. Between yes and no.

Daybreak and nightfall. Right and or wrong. Creation and destruction - all trapped in the picture frames on the immortal hall, where the little children come home to play. Each in its place and each, its dust to lay; a thousand years gone by - and still the world looks the same.

Fear feeding millions, mouths starving by the second. Souls withering and blowing away as the wind takes its charge in the backlands. But here in the frontlands, here on the warm places - here in the right ways with the right faces - beaucracy fails and fails again.

Strings are tied, and strings begin to break. Yarn unravels from the head, seams break - and the tattered linen falls. Unshapen, undone. The world pieces itself together. But it cannot hold.

Unconventional conventions. Thoughts strung together on a christmas tree, where little angels sit with candles and sing. True deceit of the blind generations, wayfared paths, all walked along by them. Underbrush and overbrush. Overgrow and underpass. Wisp of vision and the way back to the house.

Filth over the covers and dust sitting still on the shutters. Shuddering from within and shivers on without - without a trace of lifeline left, without a trace of living left. Without a trace of life or death, the world continues on.

Intentional conceptions and prelaid perforations and the light down the hall in a town of proliferation - where the elders sit on boxcar racers and the soapbox goes unwashed.

Betrayal. Bearance and forebearance. Underhandedness and overhead-edness. Wiffel throught bright lights and a stroll through the old forest, where the faeries still alight the trees at night.

Trust as the most valuable asset. Truth, the most careful acid. Pathbending and pathfinding - tredding down old roads when new ones are not found. Trodding over the dirt and dust - the children and their mothers, all trapped in the societal mud, calling calling calling for some new way of escape.

There, end writes beginning. There story tells old tales and old men remember themselves and little girls dance with flowers in their hair, once again. There, end becomes the telling and the storm begets the felling and the wind forgoes the blowing, and the rain forebears the falling. Then will the story be said. Then will the tale be told. Then will time itself , and all of us, grow old and dead.

-RK

Should Have

I've heard the news.

It didn't come as any great shock to me. I wasn't surprised at it. I wasn't even stunned or taken-aback by it. I should have know; seen it coming. I guess you could say that part of me did. The other part of me was too busy still working on the dynamics, still working on a path out of candy-land, still working on a way to be a person again...

But in the end, I should have known. It only makes sense that I would have. And it's only too bad that I really didn't.

-RK

Putting off the things...

I need to stop not writing because I like the way things look. And I need to stop not brooding because I like the way things appear. And I need to stop pretending because I like the way things could be.

It's time to wake up and put dreams off for now.

It's time to get up and put the morning off no longer. Time to become alive - to remember that I'm living. Time to put off forgetting to remember that I'm still existing.

Sigh. Sometimes, life isn't fair.

Sometimes, memories occur, come back that we don't want to have to admit were real. Sometimes, dreams become nightmares in our waking lives - and we don't want to really say that its true. We don't want to admit to it. We don't want to really have to say that we're awake - that this is life....

that our dreams aren't coming true.

Sigh. This is senseless brooding. This is meandering thought and stringed together things. This is thinking and feeling - things we don't really want to reveal. This is pointless pander, worthless wonder, and useless thought. It is of no purpose, no higher good, and serves no real aim.

It is non-selective, and does not even sound elegant. It is drivel and blather. It is what Beckett would write about, but in worse words than he would have writ it. It is aimless gander toward nothing in particular. And in fact, I cannot handle any more.


And thus, this is the end--->here.

-RK

Let them remain private.

It's the answer, isn't it? The one we always want to give. The one we always feel, but don't always seem to say. It's the thing we all think - but don't all have the heart, or the nerve, or the strength to say.

But we all think to say it.

Don't. Keep them private. Keep your things to yourself, and I'll keep mine to me. Don't ask to really know me, and I won't ask it of you. We'll just be for a while - and after a while we'll pretend we're happy, until we can't anymore.

Then, we'll wait. Maybe even one day we'll forget what we're waiting for. Maybe, one day, we'll fade away. But if we don't, we'll do what they did.

And we'll wait for Godot.

It's the best thing we can do. It's the best thing to be done about it; best thing in the world to be said about it. There's nothing else to be of it. So it's best we say what the thing is, and we pretend like it's just passing the time.

And so, we wait.

I'm pretty good at waiting. Good at passing the time. Just like Gogo - I guess you'd say. I can pass the time. I'd rather not. I'd rather go. But I can pass the time.

So, I do. I sit, and I wait...and I pass the time.

It would have seemed like, by now, enough time would have passed. But time is a vacuum, stuck in a capsule. Time does not pass. It does not change, it does not come or go. It may rise and fall, but it always falls back on itself. It may wax and wane, but it always wanes back to itself. It may even fade and change, but it always fades back to the place where it began.

History repeating itself.

We see it everywhere. We sense it everywhere. We feel it, even in ourselves - even in our bones. We know the inevitability. Yet still, we are waiting.

Like foolish partners on a barren landscape, with nothing but a tree that wouldn't hang us, we wait. For someone who is never coming, we wait. For life to get better and the world to be different and tomorrow to be different than today, we wait.

But it isn't. Tomorrow is just like today. Yesterday is just the same. Life falls on and falls on. Water becomes vapor only to become water again. Cycles circle back on themselves, over and over.

And yet, for reasons unknown...we wait.

Like sitting in a wasteland, waiting for some unknown that we've never seen nor heard to save us -

We wait.

-RK

To Say Nothing Of

To say nothing of you,
and nothing of me.

To say nothing of that life,
nothing of the dream.
Nothing of the way that you were looking at me.

To feel nothing after you;
and nothing within me.

To feel nothing of the heat,
nothing of desire.
Nothing of the spark from a slowly dying fire.

To know nothing of your soul,
and nothing of the truth.

To know nothing of the past,
nothing of those days,
nothing of the love you were looking for in me.

***

This poem was born back in October, only to be posted now. I felt that was important.

-RK