Tag Archives: random thoughts

The red beard

I sit and think about your red beard,
I think about the light reflecting on your red beard,
I think about what words I could write that would match your red beard,
All this I think and I come up with nothing.
Nothing at all.

Then I think of you,
And I think of me,
And I think about your laughter in bed,
All these are my thoughts but still . . .
Nothing about your red beard. Nothing at all.

Then I think about your lopsided smile,
And I think about you pouring me coffee in a Japanese cup,
And I think about eating carrots and celery from your plate,
And all these thoughts about food and drink but not about beard,
Nothing at all.

Nothing about your lovely, scratchy (yeah, sorry I didn’t tell you before) and oddly red beard.

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As I sit here

As I sit here I think of nothing else. Nothing else at all but the one, one and only  – or is it lonely? – thought. The thought, the thought, the thought like a plague that starts small and takes you to the grave. The grave of my soul, the grave of my heart, the grave of my life to end it all. End it all at once, but not my life, but not my soul, but not my heart, but that one lonely, only plague-like thought.

The thought of thoughts, the only one. But multiplying until there is none. None other, no others, not many and not few. An image and smile and then all it’s done. Done forever, done for never, done and done and done again. A cycle that never ends. A cycle, a cycle, a bicycle that goes and goes and never gets there.

A never ending story, a never ending cycle of cycles as it repeats and repeats but is never the same and always . . . always the end. The same end, a different story but along came a spider, a story? A cycle? Again and again I go. First, I was blind, then I was naive, and now with my eyes wide open and my heart cracked and broken. For what else can one thought do if it has already taken my heart and my soul? It has taken all, has taken me and myself and my oxidized heart, in pieces and stitched up.

Stitched up heart, a stitched up soul, a stitched up life. A life made up, a life created, a life lived and now pervaded by one little lonely thought, a life so full, a life so lost and a life yet found. Found a life, found a heart, found a smile and there it is. It is a lonely, little thought that kills me slowly and gives me life. The life of hopeless romantics which I am not. The life of  . . . of those I don’t want to be, the life, the life I don’t want to live.

And yet, I live, I live beyond this lonely thought. I live as if it does not exist and I push and push until is nearly gone. Forgotten it stays until the end of the day,

Couples 

As I sit drinking my hibiscus tea I see couples coming and going, enjoying their Sunday afternoon.

As I sit barefoot in my worned Target t-shirt and wrinkled cotton pants I inwardly cringe at them.

The cool guys with fedoras, slick hair and matching lumberjack beards. The beautiful girls with flowing long hair and oh so fashionable boutique clothing and designer sandals.

When did this happened? I wonder. When did my relaxed no-give-a-shit town turn I to this pasarela?

But then, it’s not really my town; and this people have always existed here, there and everywhere; and really I’m being judgemental.

They made me want to not shower, and wear last year’s fashion – wrinkled – , and dye my hair purple and come in after a day at the beach treading sand and with salty and crazy hair.

Maybe I’m just  . . . Me.

Practice stream of consciousness 

I don’t know what I’m waiting for, or even if I am waiting for anything at all. In truth I was looking forward to a broken heart since it seems to improve my writing. But no depressing thoughts or emotionally charged thoughts of loneliness so far.

I have my moments though, a thought of him, about him, surprises me now and then. Some times I want to tell him something, or sometimes I just want to put my head on his chest – yes, yes I know . . . This is utterly throw-up gagging can’t stand it ridiculousness. Other times I remember his dark moods and everything makes sense.

I’m not sure what’s happening. I keep imagining the weirdest things to try and get a reaction from within me. For example, what if I saw him with a girlfriend? Nothing. What if I saw him with a gorgeous girlfriend? Nothing, well . . . Nope, nothing. I know I like him, I can feel it, but still no heart wrenching pain.

I was pretty mad last week, hurt, confused . . . Then I laughed as I hadn’t laugh in a while. I wish, I wish so many things that cannot be because I am me and he is him. I wouldn’t like him if he wasn’t him, but that also means I can’t be with him. A conundrum, but only for me. Well, for both but he would never admit it.

Three Dreams

Before my cats started fighting this morning I was dreaming, and sleeping a very deep and satisfying sleep. Three dreams.

Dream 1:

A huge expanse of land, a dry, hard packed, white-ochre soil flat and extending as far as you can see. In the middle of it I am standing, surrounded by a huge ancient building. Stone buildings, over a hundred stories high, a mix between western Asian and Chinese architecture – or at least what I think it is western Asian and Chinese architecture with my limited knowledge. – The buildings are topped with hugs long, Chinese dragons. I stand in the middle of a semicircle formed by the buildings, in the middle of the day, a bright, cold day in the middle of the desert.

I wanted to leave, immediately, I knew what was coming. Like in a b-rated horror movie  vampires would come out of the buildings, they would turn the blue sky black and we would all be dead.

Dream 2:

People for work, colleagues, all in a bus. There was an office building but I don’t remember where or why I was there. But I remember coming down a flight of stairs and getting in a bus.

Dream 3:

I was at the airport waiting for a plane, and I was with him,  A. We were laughing, sitting across each other at a table, his back to the airport windows. He has his right leg crossed over this left one, his laughing and sassing me and I’m sassing him back. We are talking about his sister, and a letter written in pink stationary.