The first article I posted, titled “The Importance of Possession” has now been deleted.

http://technoverte.com/the-importance-of-possession

I wrote the document in Microsoft Word, because, like the average business educated individual, that’s the only program I used growing up that I could relate to. There’s plenty of other programs for writing, one of which I used was “Poe”.

The background of a typical writing screen is often thought to be better with a black setting, and white text. It eases the eyes for the reader. I think this theory is relative, and I leave it up to the individual writer and reader to decide. Nowadays, you can set your phone to “Night Mode” to enable a similar setting. This inverts the colours of the screen and allows you to read in dimmer settings with a little less eye strain. So they say.

The next articles I will post come from letters I had written to myself to remind me, especially when reread, that things always get better. Most of my writing does not have very fanciful titles, I merely pick an objective and bland description, just to get the document saved before forever being lost to the recovery window that comes up should your computer decide it doesn’t want to work for you anymore that day. It seems computers are prone to do that.

• Technoverte Clearwaters

By a story I can say,

But don’t really choose to,

Because there’s no time to stay,

When everything’s alive,

I restart again,

I do it anyway,

And it’s my flawed less sin.

I’m going to the bank,

And maybe for some food,

And maybe I’ll stop writing,

Before I get too rude

You’re all reading this, and I’m tired.

I can’t sleep because of the door. I can’t stay because of the yelling. I can’t stop because of momentum and word, I can’t doubt because I already do. I can’t live because I’m broke, can’t choose because I’m worried, can’t talk because I’m quiet, can’t drink because I’m medicated, can’t be intimate because I’m hurt, can’t work because it’s all I talk about, I’m proud because I’m broken, I’m spiritual because I’m tired, I’m worried because I’m weak, I’m hungry because I’m broke, I’m doubtful because I know, and I’m sad because I’m happy. I’m moody because I’m addicted, I’m addicted because I’m hurt, and I’m hurt because I never got to choose. I’m alive because I stop, I stop because I run, I run because I’m late, I’m late because I’m early, I’m early because I’m anxious, I’m anxious because I’ve seen, I’m blind because I hear, I hear because I know, I know because I listen, and I listen because I’m quiet. I do because I can, I can do what I want, but I can’t because I’m stupidly overdrawn, I’m overdrawn because I’m lacking intimacy, I lack intimacy because I am fearful, I’m fearful because I’ve learned, I’ve learned because I’m smart, I’m smart because I’m thankful, I’m thankful because I’m alive, and I’m alive because I’m well. And that’s why I’m spiritual, because nobody can understand, that I’m not well. Until I’m nothing. And nobody is nothing. Except that stupid cunt of a bitch that I loved from F28 that won’t leave my goddamn freaking mind for some reason, because she lives in my doubt, because of F8, E44, and that other stupid jackass that called me queer and weird and I’m alone because I’m having a hard time letting go of the voice from upstairs and the ones from downstairs that have both tormented me and spared me at various moments during what must now be about 2000-3000 crisis line calls, to voices that I know, that say the same things, at each 20 minute mark it ends, I know that time, and death is a grace, and grace is a light, and light is a hope, and so that’s how you see my clearcoated undercoat of rainbow.

Please. Everyone. Calm the fuck down.

If you say it, I’ll hear it, but I might not understand until I’m 1-2000km away, and I don’t know how much more walking, running, smoking, and despair I can handle before I accidentally say this.

What powerful words, spoken in perfect tongue,

Spoken from someone, so delicate but young,

What graces and surplex, what greatness in you,

What silence, yet bliss, yet timed with that kiss,

From someone like through the four.

Yet perfect, yet nice, yet freaky and white,

When missed, when lined, yet perfectly timed,

When overdo, and silky, yet tangentiall, and milky, when freely so sewn,

So tandem, so enamourous, when living, and warm,

To correct is too late, to spew it so fate,

Can come home each time,

Till door meets true magic🙏

And someone reacted.

Still awake. I think I’m nervous after my shift coming up. Wanting to know what preparedness I will have, when I will be working again, what to sow for future, how to cope with business. I get a sort of primary detachment, and then like to stay. I hope we quickly see each kind come, Sunday, I am already in advance tired for afterwards. Reading me is like a transparent book, a crystal screen, a temporal stopwatch. Here mark me, cometh my words like prose, my mind at disease, and if you can interpret, thou shalt understand your difference in the restoration. When I get tired, I’m fire to paper, when I’m yonder, I’m awander.

I now hear the black. A jacket, a cup, shadows in the trees and grass. Pants, pole, island, silver smoke. I see the brown, tree, chair, table, white power stretches, screech, coffee, support, tablecloth, marble, bottle, box. Clear ice, orange snack, espresso pouring, gin blue, wine red, her magic touch. A lucky note, a placement, a kind soul, a gentle voice. I feel the tempo, a warm beat, a pattern on my forehead with ash. My dime, my orange grace, perfectional directional force, remembering, the things I love, those choice moments, of a time before the twenty more times, a rehashed line, a rehearsal, a cane, a white swan, soapy boxes in Irish cream, before to after, no ice cream, now we’re six, now again, now a dendrite mess. Connected to the godly voice, soul dug in how sweetly indescribable. Three mice, one length, one minderful pick, and an aching thumb. Not dumb, then down, then his growl, as I think there’s frown, then dance, no internet, sometimes hummingbird, and chance, a tie, a vest, the best, two words, no power, little wish, redo twice, a bounce, a drtramic moneymim, only one, more when’s, wind breaks, then soup, wows, and thoughts. A lot has happened this week to snap, to capture it in a thousand words, just pics. In my mind, there is a phrase, I want a raise, and job. My career with

Snatch, snitch, and swivel.

Ello. Elle.

God created, the problem himself,

Asked us for a change, to fix ourselves,

When truly what he gave,

Was  the body of a soul,

To put all the sin into,

And then, we ate of it.

Are we not what we eat,

Do we not need to judge?

Are we just a little human,

Like the old one that sold?

Are we all not a little dark,

And a light into ourselves,

A trouble at the core,

Trending to chaos?

When at birth,

We’re but two single cells,

Created in white purity,

And merged to forge the steel,

That sharpens each day our sword,

To pierce the heart of darkness,

The body should unite,

The one but only darkness,

The light inside alright?

And if we are to be,

The ending of it all,

Should we not just jump,

At each and every call?

So when the demon comes,

It comes from mind within,

And if it starts outside,

Does it not start also in?

And if we’ve heard it out,

Could it just let it be,

Because my heart’s so troubled,

By something small as thee,

Little faith you have,

Little bread to eat,

In the timing of it,

All it does is repeat.

And should it not unwind,

While we wait for it,

The wisdom that he broke,

Just to make us eat?

And yes a healthy dose,

Of truth it surely hurts,

But without pain I notice,

This mundane could be worse.

And only time will tell,

If the power should come back,

To counter our own magic,

At each little crazy hack.

A shadow of the time,

Forward four

Back for five

And then it says a line.

So maybe when,

I figure out,

Why forward seems so new,

I’ll find the pace,

To accept the race,

And bring it home so through.

But with that twist,

I notice,

All that I’ve ever said,

Was to give you all the perfect space,

To write me off undead.

And so.

I’ve decided, it’s a line,

Just to make it true,

That when time is perfect to go out,

I stop to think it through.

And ok maybe I’m not god,

Or holy hell at all,

But a second place, and subset whine,

Will pour my heart out blue.

And only when, I notoriously will,

Like every other time,

I get ahead to just pass, 🥂

Without the other kind at last.

Maybe the sway of water’s dark,

In fully stopping prayer,

It’s power evil or from here,

On earth it could be me. Well,… Yet again, I try to cope, as if I know the verse,

To satisfy the devil’s call, two days back in curse.

Maybe there’s no stop to trust, even though it’s been,

Sometimes lord I know it well,

The boy is all I’ve seen.

The one looking at me in the mirror, a face I barely know,

Truly what they say is write, you do reap what you can,

And slowly I capitulate, here in tandem plan,

I don’t know your face anymore, yet seemingly I do.

Maybe meta is the best, maybe cognition sound,

But when the cue is on my mind, all I do is bound,

For evermore I do somehow, remember what I’ve said: when truly what I need to ask, is how to save the dead. By reading yes, by righting now. Were Monday and Tuesday’s slow? There is no perfect timing careful, all I should bellow.

And mathematics at its best, can be lost in count, but partnered work and work is best, besting all that now. Water felt is maybe honest, here comes out with it,

Was it a trick or one dick pony,… And how I’m done with fits.

Agreed and aheed and seed a sorrow,

The new days yet tomorrow,

And yet not then could I take back,

A famous word to war, oh

Should you find me in the dark, alone and maybe fine – call me Clear and shout it back,

For my name feels barely mine.

Yet when I stop and look around, it’s really not that bad. I’m just a little mad. It’s timing not my dad.

Even when it seems to be,

That everything that’s done,

Seems a little fruitless,

I take my moment too,

Stop and step back from the scene,

Then write a note to you;

Guess who that may be today,

Because it does often change,

And though I challenge all the norms,

I’m doing it your way.

I feel like I’m saying goodbye,

Each day at a time,

It might not be sleep,

It might not be mine,

It might not be this,

That or something else👋

You’re watching aren’t you

Each day as I recall,

That timings perfect purr,

The roar of it all,

And so it’s sewn so well,

That I can’t say the end,

Is anything anymore,

Than a timelost friend.

And maybe when it’s dark,

Maybe as I’m alone,

Those little bursts of speed,

Where I take up my throne,

Surely I’m in deep trouble,

Maybe I am not..

Maybe when I remember,

All that I forgot..

Christmas everyday,

Is nothing but my dread,

Because a god made perfect🙏,

Might be better unsaid..

I’m writing to a wall,

Just the things I always do,

Maybe in remorse,

Maybe you did too,

I can’t believe that I’m lost,

In winding down each day,

I have nothing left to give,

Before it goes away,

Solely happiness lives,

In something more each day.

I’m so tired of tunes,

That say the same old thing,

I’m weary of the friends,

That do not give a ding,

And solely but surely, with each little return,

I see there’s peace in verbs, attenuation and relearn.

It feels like I’m always late,

To a party I can’t start,

And though it’s not all true,

At times we do depart.

It follows me always,

Whatever it may be,

Matthew may be one,

Oh lord a name for me.

I don’t tend to see,

Until it is too late,

Because God is often with us,

It’s the pain I cannot take.

Does a boy always look,

To the rhythm of his mind,

Or is my timing perfect,

To know that we’re all blind.

And so noone can say,

That I am truly him,

Because each waking hour,

I seem to just be in,

Paths they always go,

And so I’m in reverse🎉,

When I am truly happy,

I merely create a verse,

And struggle at that I do,

Tonight it has been hard,

I don’t know what compass,

Is stuck on north – reward.

Even though I cannot keep a secret👍,

And or change my course right now,

They all say it gets better🎈,

Once you figure out how.

Clear is my choice, paint is a weapon,

Whose voice I hear out here,

Is nothing at 11.

When I sin my life will go away

yet each time I chose the other way

and now I sit here listening in tune

to perfect timing from a lune

a lunar, rather, a moon so quick

a diamond life was ackward thick

and chose my door to get inside

and chose the life I had to hide

because inside the perfect timing bubble

there was only weird and deathly trouble

but when I got out I rose again

to say that life would be mine again

and so today as I have learned

I write enough that isn’t earned

but each time I picked it up again

and through everyone I’ve learned to live again

and maybe music was a solution

backwards medication or timid hestitation

and then inside I learned I live

with an angel on my side insive

pensive rather, maybe not

maybe I could be cockblocked

from thumps or tempers, riddle or sign,

and I learned that life has grand design

and that when we line it all up again

I decided that I’d already denied again

so before we trouble each other more

I will learn it’s just a door

intersection of the loops

and now the hope and then the cooks

and then the learned people thoughts

and then the wicked afterthoughts

and then I realize I can’t change themselves

because all the night I believed in elves

little ones that have a heart

today June 6th I did restart

June 5th I put it down again

in paper pen or glass so thin

and that’s why perfect timing writes

that timing’s perfect after thought

you

hey now

when we have zero

we go minus give

and then we wake up

alive to win

so when you put it down mom will know

that today I am writing that I have seen

a given chance to overdrive again

that door to fate is paper thin

heaven’s gate will always have been

the chorus for a rhyme so winding

that I have felt better than perfect timing

and then you realize

there is no word

and that when I am typing

I am complete and absurd

but there is a but in there

that says but to be one is to be there

and I just realized in this song

I have been singing all along, that

I have chosen each one all wrong

my diamond isn’t here today

the opportunity came anyway

it’s funny that, it truly is

because that is just what that it is

then and where Is it perfect

There it is, I haven’t heard it

the song is playing this mind and why

I hope I don’t have to die to finally see why

I turned you upside down to plan

that you’ve become all my trouble when

you show up, I’m sorry to say

but I’ll have to say it anyway

because keeping up appearances hurts

I think we both have the same key words

and when your perfect ending comes

I hope it was worth the ending ones

because truly I believe that you are right

it’s just that I can’t seem to unfight

that you could read this anyway,

and that I’m actually wanting it private, all day

it’s just that fame has not become

the same thing that I was told, I’m done

because now the song has turned so black

that you could have a heart attack

and then you’ll see the housing voices

are already ahead between my inner noises,

and maybe I’m just making it up

because truly I could give a fuck

that when the four minutes are done,

I have only just started to become

a man I wanted just to be

although when I wasn’t, I should be

and when I am I truly strive,

just to be a god damn wive,

tale or two, and probably true

that this tempo is overdue

mystics and poets and dinner and rhythm, food, and water, and beer and given,

my wonderous name is there to be

just between you and me.

hello internet

are you my friend.

could you donate a buck or two,

because maybe $1000 is overdue

hello. you.

wow, this one is hard.

I guess I am just roleplaying bard.

(I wish I could undo the dirty laundry, because writing here has caused an unchained quandry…)

(so maybe if I take it down after 5th, you will finally plead it with).

By 5:16 on the 16th, I mark my words I will have quit, and started too, Jesus lord, my god I’m through, with your dance and last romance, and when I ask, I go into trance, but yet I’m here, with this last chance. Solely me, or maybe you, it’s always thee, I think I get you, yet I don’t, life is surely, more than won’t.

I’ve seen crazy, I’ve seen black, I’ve seen angels, and heart attack, I’ve seen writing that I don’t understand, I’ve seen miracles that can’t unmend, I’ve heard messages, that I cannot act on, maybe there’s still, a day of strange emotion, and divine protection, and stolen water, maybe there’s days, where we all wander, and in this mind, I’m here again, Matthew, I scream again. Please rejoice, please repent, please don’t curse me, when I repent – wholely I find grounding in quiet space, just before it starts to race, and when I come, to that old time, I’ve learned to fight, while demons time, and ok yes, I messed you up, but surely there’s a give a fuck, deep down inside – I have no place left to run and hide. So I stay, here today, here tomorrow, and hopefully life, goes on tomorrow. Cryptic chaotic or underused, it’s time my voice was fully used. In here or there, the darkened box, I saved his life, with 100 walks.

Man, the poetry dark. can be real scary. I’m still hoping for a laugh, a buck or two. And ok there’s not much else to say, I hope that life, is here today

Your way. My way. Yahweh, or go away. I truly hope I get this right – because signing that makes a man delight.

Wake up you, wake up holy. Wake up clean, and make good. Make good, make more E, more L, more random nights, make neighbours sleep, or smile lots. We can do it, we can work, we can stop here, because someone lurks. Lol. Damn that tempo, trigger happy, I’ve buried my conscience, in digital Matty.

I’ve got a bike with no tubes, a tube with no data, a guard with no Intel, and a runonpoem with no destination. And a lot more. Mostly a phone with no calls, a messenger with no notes, and a harmony with myself without anyone, jokes!

I’m actually ok, I’ve seen the reruns, I’ve heard the replays, and in between earth, sun and waters, still remember that we give ourselves grace because life is a process for everyone.

When I reset now, I know it’ll be your memory.

Happy Father’s Day and maybe it might be my apology for being indifferent when I cannot be.

I don’t know which voice is God’$ , but at least they all aren’t so that there’s some variety.

This time I’ll smile for me, you tired, blessèd weaver miqoté.

Please come home, not that a plea on a blog will make it happen. But hey, I’m pretty crazy, and there might be enough sympathy from your neighbours to take you home until you’re comfortable.

What am I doing? This isn’t going to help.

The next call is usually the investor, the creditor, and the regret reset.

‘sigh’

Why does my soul do this downcast tune

When the Sabbath resides

And I’ve been singing this tune for far too long

Coffee stains on my favourite shirt

Grey hairs in the sink

Cockroaches on the counter

A books everywhere unread

And you wonder why I am eating the daily bread

Me too

I wonder if I’ll ever get paid for what I do

For you