2010 is hardly perfect vision

As the year begins to fade into memory and anticipation fills our minds with the thought of what's to come, I can't help but be reminiscent. I'd like to reflect and say this has been a growing year...one where I hardly recognize the me I used to claim. I see me shining through the dying haze of 2009, almost as if from a movie. I'm waving to the the person on the boat so elegantly drifting from the dock into the horizon surely to be engulfed by the embracing mist.
A third in the past, a third in the now, and the last of me heading for the future, It's strange to stand in three places. I feel my feet secured to the dock but my hair is blowing in the breeze and the sound of sails billows above my head, and between the two I'm also the distance. I'm not one to fear, but these feet seem to be sticking to 2009 in the comfort of familiarity. I have no idea what these winds bring, but I know 2010 will be one to remember. So many things, school on top of having my own house (which of course I'm sharing with wonderful friends) on top of marching again (if they'll have me) on top of more school....oh and back track to Scotland and a potential spring break in Canada, now fast forward to more school and a mile marker b-day *** dear god it has come far to soon and not soon enough at the same time.
Truth be told, I'm not sure what 2010 has in store for me but I'm along for the ride **afterall I can't fight it, the boats already set sail--no use fighting the tides.

So here's to the horizon...may we never stop chasing it and may it always remain elusive, for what's the adventuring in knowing?

Drop the Match! It's already burning...

I am absolutely terrified. And then there is this piece of me, there is this peace of me. So convincing and bold, I dare say it takes me for a ride. It makes me believe that this tarnished glint paves the road to silver. You know that lining we've all been grasping through broken fingers of a broken hope. Lined with an impatient dew, yearning to grasp...we gasp.

Give me air

Have you ever seen a tea pot tarnished? Swirls of a translucent copper stained by pools of gasoline-like puddles, shimmering side by side with pure silver, hazy but, if given the chance, lethally brilliant.

Blurring the line of classification, the tarnish swirls so nicely into the silver, I begin to wonder as the silver's reflection seers.

Silver: something of a retired tradition. of memory. Of propriety. Of Secrets reflected back into the eye, kept by the ear, and made messy by the heart.
2.That of the elite. A symbol of financial well-being. Live long, BUT prosper.
--------Silver is a tricky thing, something that sucks you into its own superficiality. The ultimate tease, it is cruel and unattainable. No matter how hard you search, your reflection will always search back...burn into those eyes. The only thing you'll ever find in silver, is the same empty space between those eyes, that same empty space you're looking to fill.

We search through silver for that look, for what is a void to be filled with anything but a void? It has long been evolved from the game it once was. No longer a mission, it now stands as an impossible certainty. Why then? Why do we berate ourselves with this charade?
------Voyeurs, hoping to see someone or something in that glimmering edge... Hoping that whatever we find validates this tea party we hold unto our self---validates this life upon which we have purchased, this life we own. The same that we leave on the shelf, to only be touched with inquisitive opticality.

Don't you see...silver gazes upon us, eyes empty with desire and a reflection awaiting an answer. So we look. We look deep into those eyes and feel; in control, corporeal, and, most importantly, desired. We stare into silver to feel and to know we are still feeling. And though it is a phantom feeling...We swear it's there.
Let go. Let grow. And breath--- I'll take the tarnish; I'll take the time; I'll take the truth...
and I'll be better for it.

~Take your tea pot off the shelf. You'll be happier unhaunted, dreaming in tarnished swirls of gasoline-like puddles, accompanied by squiggled perfections of flamable reflections. Let it burn!

Riding the Breeze like a Bullet

True to my tells, I'm writing and have yet to fully admit why. When you think, or maybe it's just me, there are lots of me. Perhaps a better way to put it would be there are many facets or components of myself that think and react differently. I'm assuming everyone has these with the advent of phrases such as 'fighting with oneself'. Honestly? I often feel like the outward me is just the mediation of all these facets, that none of them are more indicative than the others. A little piece of my pieces seems to come through with every step on this breeze and every word in my head. So now is the wait.
Do we have any bets, because I'm not sure that I stand a bet's chance at this point. This is just so totally doomed, it's all going to hell, and when I'm through, when everything is thoroughly damaged, I will see it there.
Hold me. Hold my eyes close. Let me go and view the destruction. Let's see what kind of apocalypse I'll come with. Come to truly find how underestimated I am. How deep my secrets run. Scar tissue of steel and a heart of glass. But you'd never know because seeing is believing and I'm nothing but blanks.
As soon as you know how to read them, I run.