Ahead of me, a revolving door of black glass cycled chilled air against my skin. Behind me lay 50,000 chapters of personal biography, stamped like countless footprints in the mud of history.
its funny in the end, sometimes.
To be, where once you were not,
to like what you once did not.
Being someone you are not-
like, only before and now,
its funny how it doesn’t matter,
its funny how…
the setting is the same, but different-
She was pain, she was torture,
She gave me the gift of opposite energy-
it was given and taken at the same time,
the ritual was to draw my blood,
Bending the rules, my will stopped her pain and turned it into pleasure.
Just an old man running out of time with an ageless princess-
it was all beginning to make sense,
the pain felt good- it hurt but the pleasure was divine
She said, she wanted to hurt me more-
She said, she got pleasure from it-
from hurting me her pleasure was given , and I pleased her well
She told me
in the beginning it meant nothing and now the sacrifice was not my surrender,
my passion was painful but, sweet and the bitter feeling was having it stop
it made me feel alive
It happens sometimes,
like walking in a door, peering around a corner for the the first time.
it can happen, it can feel like a new experience,
and what have you done recently that is new?
Manuel and good were on the same page in some times
a drink fell and it marked the departure from another dimension
it was then- not far from believable that today someone could look you in your eyes and walk inside doors.
While jumping from dimensions and having to reconstruct time in order to move forward,
it wasn’t so far- this, after that happened and it became a time-
Dimensions collided for the first time but in a beautiful crisis.
When two worlds meet, when they don’t collide but coexist at the same vibration
It all made sense to break down and not make sense, it was then that all my lives came together.
At once it was time, slipping through the passageways of dimensions suspend my disbeliefs and allowed me to communicate with possibilities.
It was then after we knew each other that all this was introduced.
Today can’t even explain the later future, none makes a clear picture, except yesterday-
Introducing my self again doesn’t seem to help,
and it happens every time, it’s true-
but, to afford the truth is something more than apologies, mis-happenings and unoriginality
blinded by my production, by the mode of my system, the operation seems consistent-
sometimes it seems that the same thing is different
she told me from forever, from the longest part of time,
from a dimension in the forever-
it was so and then it was differently so
remember, keep remembering, in time nothing is reality-
Once you’ve done what you had to, they never let you do what you want to.
the vacant thoughts of memory rang bells but different faces filled me for a short time,
it wasn’t until they understood that half empty was full that the two themes could smile upon one another.
control and sensibilities have nothing to do with deliveries and yet the water under the bridge must be chosen.
With birth comes future death,
thinking back it was today that need to be here yesterday and the day before, but vacant days have the chance to be filled later.
so now and then, perhaps the thoughts elude you escape your memories, and then again they feel fresh.
Spoiled with a rotten stench and a change of color it was then that definitions meant nothing.
You cannot create experience. You must undergo it.
your dreams will never come true
my dreams are better dreams than realities-
it was in the past that everything meant something
with the perfection of staying still
but when its not around it seems not so special
talking to myself in the first person
third was the name they used to call him
it made me happy to think
it means more to stop
when this all started
this is bound to end
the dolphins never told me what you said
each time their messages rang vacant
of your presence there was nothing
something stayed behind
it was me
it was change
we will meet, like so many other times-
it feels rather comforting now, every time our meetings come
but it was only what was inside me that made me feel half full-
now and again things don’t change, don’t get better and don’t get worse-
they used to call me breaking even Steven
does anyone feel perfect, my imperfections make me desire
nothing is in the future
so my letter goes out to no one, and everyone
the day after today, everything will be the same-thing.
we will meet, we will communicate and really it was
adorable how I yearned for it
-was nothing like today going to be better?
the day was never ending,
it wasn’t until last week that time had been de-constructed,
reality seemed to be in the flux but my constant was self evident,
giving up my perceptions was the makings of yesterday
tomorrow was filled with the what ifs and the what abouts
but reality dripped of the here and now
it wasn’t until now that
it all didn’t make sense.
It was only in death that i lived a moment.