January 29th, 2011

Lola Rennt

(no subject)

Haven't written in days.  Ideas are buzzing in my head, demanding to be let out, but as soon as I get my index fingers poised over "F" and "J" they get camera shy and freeze in the light of the monitor.  I wish I could wrangle them out.  Maybe then I wouldn't feel strangled by the overabundance of unspoken words.  

I really wish I could just lay on the cold hardwood floor and listen to something ambient and spacey all night.  I think it could possible assuage the thoughts whipping themselves violently at their confines.  But unfortunately I've got carpet flooring and I have to get up in the morning.

Anyway, this verse here is refusing to have a beginning written for it.  It keeps wriggling out of whatever I try to assemble around it.  So I'm keeping him in solitary until I find him some friends.

And when it no longer hurts, the freedom from the persistent butterflies
Is the greatest victory to be won over your own abandoned dreams
A once-bruised heart treads lightly beating with an extra caution to prevent
Another fiasco of selling your soul in the name of indulgent extremes

by Chuck Cerrillo