Yep, I still think of her. And them. And the truth.

I can’t change the choices I made, but reflectfully, I can adapt them at will, or cause new ones, twists, turns, and interweave. I enjoy the good things, the Godly things – less as a bully, as a way, as a path. So who is he, even she?

Jesus, sure. Mary, Mom, Dad, sisters, brothers. Especially children. Pets, plants, things of value, the good things!

I guess I’ve been a christian for longer than I can remember. I know I get caught up in fancy poems, prose and words on paper, this blog, my texts, in voice calls, in casual conversation. Today I know it is tomorrow too, and that means the first post, which I respectfully moved into another place, might be it. Maybe, it might just be another day. I respect that too.

So whoever you are, as a reader, and there are a few, maybe sometime future more – maybe you can still believe, in things like holiness, goodness, grace and some freedom from your demons, should you feel you have them.

And when the time is right, God presents the choice, and yes, sometimes we have to, we get to, we choose to bless instead of curse, instead of complain, argue, and especially – yeah. Let me. Let me know how to help you from now on. I’ve been a vigilante, a merc, a bodyguard, a secure sounding board. Let me speak, to know you, to know your truth. Mine is always changing, at least, a little. Between the mysteries and charms, there is a human here. I know that. Today I feel ok, great, fine, and well.

Thanks – I owe you something, as usual – just for giving me that peace that I know sometimes I do deserve, and I like to share it, wish to mostly, so let me. I allow myself now the time to thank you, to thank and praise you, Him, whomever we or what or how we believe – but it’s allowed. Belief is good, and that little spark, still is there, somewhere, if even hidden for a few moments between those exact things.

Merci.

Quand tu veux dire, tu est.

Comment ca va, and how are you, and all the nicest things, I wish for you.

This week was intense, flowing between. I don’t know if others write, often I feel so high and yet alone. It could be because of the music, the effervescent reminders, or the avoidance patterns. Does the computer write the music? It seems the privacy online has phased. It can drive me crazy that even my inner voice has been heard. So maybe the part is that you can’t stop writing, yet you remember, and the smoke, the meds, the casual waits, the things the world gives us to solve a problem it might have created. DNA as a double helix can be like a relationship, spiralling around together with only small links in random patterns, as we sequence it, causing those connections, like one between two partners, companions, or lovers even maybe. I like God to be a big bully, or broke, or even just a guy given a job by John to baptise the world, a consequence of a random thought or someone wanting to escape their own work. The mystery of life is there, is here, is in a book, many books, and writing is a gift I, like millions, see manifest. In even mistakes, there’s thought. Choices, timing, doors, going and swinging and bouncing around, things we fear but need as well. I wistfully think about things, like a creative muser, thinking of how really, if I were to not have had media, I likely would have been safer in my own mind. Yet I guess the importance is to value change, not be stubborn, as one coworker called me out on about my lack of retrospective responses. I can’t can’t can’t can’t take back the things I’ve done, because during the bought time, there was little growth, little fear, and some really opportune things. Maybe I challenged God, maybe I feared or respected, maybe I didn’t know who it was, because I live an enlightened life, higher above a cloud without a footing. And when I come down from sleep, but from my first mistakes each day, each doubt, each pattern, though indescribable likely, it becomes sown into a story.

I guess I’m just hoping still. Like my playlist being more positive, my apartment being more at peace and clean, or without the feedback loops in my life I seem to be unable to fight anymore.

We need something to believe in, to feel like we did as children, to enjoy play, imagination, and love. Some of the transition feels impossible and daunting. I know this first hand. Maybe because I wrap myself in a bubble, in a place of entitlements, or disrespect, maybe. Maybe.

I know the mystery I’ll likely never figure out. Yet my being can’t stop from trying. Just wishing. What on earth is all this time for? Numbers, letters, somehow we understand. And that one reminder. That never… *Sigh* it just never goes away because it gets caught up in the in betweens. Yet I guess we can let go.

That hope, despite all things clear,

When a dog gets home, when a car steers clear,

When the smoke does fade, when the money does come,

When all things black have gone,

That overthinking has its cue, the reason for it’s song,

And innocence at its best, despite anything gone wrong,

A boy gets through, records his debts, but pays them back in time,

And home be lest just a place to run, when things aren’t always thine,

And remembering to call him, she says it everytime,

That things get better every year, even at Christmastime,

And when work is steady, a man can be, the time or tempo soon,

And though a crystal says it best, it’s not always the plume,

And honestly I write only last, and first in ten or twenty,

Maybe when I figure out, how people can save money,

By giving it may have been the offer, a nail in silent thread,

And though I’m sinking slowly sure, like quicksand in my head,

I wonder when the song will come, a nice little pleasant tune,

To describe the wonders I believe I saw, and couldn’t just tell you.

You go insane trying to figure it out.

After a while it’s too hard

Then you overthink a while

And nobody returns an ask

Nobody to call

Nobody to save

I’ve given up

As usual

And then I smoke

Because I stress

Because I’m the only one

Who hasn’t figured it out

It’s too late

I’m near the end

Yet I’ll do it anyway

You interrupt my peace

When I finally settle down

Therapy really wasnt good.

I can’t control a frown

I’m scared can’t make decisions

I’m still at ease

It wanders in and out.

And no matter what I do today

It’s always round about

There’s people really rooting for me. And I owe them all. A good living, hard work, and probably some cash. I don’t know why they do it, or how they have maintained, but I believe in them, even when I feign. Somehow I’ll get through, each day at a time, and while we can’t be perfect, sometimes we can be fine.

And if one of you has read my blog today, I know my silence isn’t perfect, or even what I say. Yet I still hold on to hope, that I can figure out, why each day I don’t feel frightened, though I should have probably have had a heart attack. But maybe it’s above, maybe I’ve written it out. Maybe somehow you’re faithful, despite that I’ve smoked it out. And when I finally can, become that honest man (again, or when), then somehow I’ll pay it forward, because you make me believe I can. If I shouldn’t owe, your graces I admire, I try my best to think, of ways not to conspire, or to do something to hurt you, I truly know that’s true, but like I’ve said above, it’s really hard to do.

And if talk is cheap I know, that I can never say, that even if you’ve hurt me, it’s just because I’ve probably had a bad day. There are good people out there, I know we are a team, and if you’re really watching, I’m trying the regime. To not do it at all, to wonder for some wisdom, is to say we’re not alive, because it’s merely twisted. And I’m saying it a little back, that maybe weaving ain’t so bad, it’s just sometimes I have thoughts that I don’t know I even had. I just encourage you, to do your God damn best, because life is just a journey, not another bloody test. 🙂

You’re trying hard. You know you are,

But just can’t get ahead.

If the voices scream, the whispers scare,

The thoughts are automatic,

I don’t know what to pray for now,

But a kinder story,

And though it’s not really going too bad,

I begin to worry.

Writing to a ghost inside,

A place where the hearts timer resides,

Waiting and beating patiently,

Seeing more than I can see,

Or when it bumps it up a notch,

Can you see spirits inner knocks,

Or where I lay could you make it safe,

To lay without churning instead.

And though my Cantor’s a tempo’d tune,

I report to outer moons delight.

So where promise met the evil bread,

A turn a day to inside light,

Beyond one word I never hide.

Freedom came and went,

Policed it quite all wrong,

Priest met Italy’s inner thread,

And one dear man is better said,

And then was all the little kittens,

And God met canines littered vein,

So without hiding anymore song,

I’ll say I managed it quite wrong,

Solely surely slowly good,

Will be better for the neighbourhood.

Six eight

Eight three

All the verses me?

Can I also spare another kind,

To let the spirit be?

I know you Jesus,

You do good,

You use it if we ain’t;

And your divine is something else,

Though escape it must be saint…

Thank you Lord for all your patience,

Whoever you choose to be,

I often end it up with free,

But today I just thank thee.

When I feel good, I get generous, but then I usually regret, I don’t know why I do it, but it could be to forget, or just to pass the time, or say thank you once again, to keep the ball rolling, I do it once again. I’m tired of being good, when some have done so little, and I’m tired of the chore, it takes to keep it little.

I honestly don’t know why it happens. I’m trying to hang on. Sometimes I feel so good, then it all goes wrong. And no matter what I do, I can’t seem to unrepeat, and even if I scream, or pray I do repeat. I just want it back, the gifts I’m freely given, just because she’s evil, doesn’t mean she can keep seething. I feel truly like one, voice of all the pain, was a girl I tried to give, her freedom once again. Yet she never felt it me ?, I never knew it then, and when I try to run, she twists around again. I have no outlet to unwind, lest she know it all, and me because I do it, or say it not at all. It’s seemingly impossible, to do everything at once, and I doubt the really good ones, and even a lonely vice. So what am I to do, I can’t seem to lose nor win. When I have either option, they take it all again. I guess my prayers are, that by the time I look back at this, I’ll have done what I said a little, and found a happy bliss. Or when you read it too, you’ll let old demons go, even if I haven’t, I’m not sure what else to sow. I basically do it out of habit, and even well at that, I know there is a life, outside of me as Matt.

Not to care

Not to think

Not anywhere

Not to speak evil

To wear white

To dress warm

And sleep tight

And to eat well

And brush your teeth

Ignore all vices

And underneath,

To thank the Lord

Through thick and thin

Even if you lose,

He always wins.

And to wait a minute,

Before you dash,

And save some money,

And give some cash,

And living forever,

Is not that fun,

Diamonds are best,

But gold is fun.

And kids have merit,

Elders too,

Purple seems crazy,

But so is blue.

And voices are weapons,

Crafted from tears,

And voices of fears,

Haunt for years.

And solely your wards,

Come back throughout time,

And saying it once,

Is never mind,

So just tell us it’s over,

That you’re hitting your break,

That you’ll crave it all,

For goodness’es sake