I just woke up from a dream...

If the world was ending, 

I'd wanna be next to you.

If the party was over,

and our time on Earth was through,

I'd wanna hold you just for a while,

and die with a smile.

Since I survived, I realized...

Waiting to begin...

Nobody's promised tomorrow...

These final stages of my abdication are going on for quite awhile. My soul and my mind are here, but the body can't do anything else to be in sync - it's like I became split. A natural rapture that will define the rest of my life. The funny thing is, that at the moment it happened, I didn’t want it to end. I just wanted another to lie there, another hour, another minute. It felt so precious and so close to life that I didn't want it to end. It's like I was able to see every single detail of my becoming. I just wanted to take everything in. Fingerprints, photos, every story, nights that were too long. The right time to die? To be separated? To not be in pain all the time. To let go.

I am of years lived...

Opened up my journal to a page,

everything that hurts me, is still the same.

Feels like there's nothing new for me to say;

why, why, why?

What can we do in our abandoned solitude but gaze at ourselves? Examine ourselves in endless bouts of fascinated distraction, fall in love, and in hate. And as you look upon your own soul, the only answer is forgiveness. Because holding grudges keeps you focused on pain. Forgiveness frees you to focus on looking for whispers from the universe that you're on the right path. Then in time you will not only become overwhelmed by the vastness of possible signs, that the only logical conclusion will be that you are indeed on the sidelines of the universe. That there is no centre, just a giddy mass of waltzing things, and that perhaps the entirety of our understanding consists of an elaborate and ever-evolving knowledge of our own extraneousness.

Put some miles on it...

It was that sort of sleep in which you I woke up every hour and thoughts to myself that I have not been sleeping at all; I was able to remember dreams that almost felt like reflections, like daytime thinking slightly warped. The thing is that I've spent most of my life and most of my friendships holding my breath and hoping that when people get close enough they won't leave, and fearing that it's a matter of time before they figure me out and go. I've always thought of my anxiety like a rocking chair. It gives me something to do, but it doesn't get me very far. Not very far at all.

Pack the car and dry your eyes...

So clean the house, 

clear the drawers, 

mop the floors,

stand tall,

like no one's ever 

been here before or at all.

Here comes the two to the three to the four...

When it comes to my family, it feels like I'm drowning in a sea of words, words that, more often than not, bore no resemblance to their dictionary definitions. What was the point of communicating if, inevitably, a subtext bubbled up, one I had trouble making sense of in my confusion? What was the point if a word's meaning had been distorted to fit agendas of long-held grudges, flip-flopped for unknown ulterior motives, withheld for other reasons? Translating what anyone said had become impossible for me, my love of words failing me when it came to my own family. All my writer's fantasies proved useless in trying to decipher a lifetime of plots within plots, subtexts buried beneath more subtexts.

Not getting any younger...

Birds of a feather...

My biggest gripe with him is that it hasn't dawned on him that life is unpredictable, that one day, one of us could suddenly cease to exist and what then? What would be the joy in having left so much unsaid? With what memories would we fill the empty silence? I understood something that he wouldn't ever admit - that we were talking about family. And family is the ultimate trap, it's something you carry with you for life; the people you come from and the marks they leave on you.

For the first time since he gave his word, he can hear his inner master fighting to be let loose and he know it is only because he is searching the universe within him for an answer that will make his love an unhealing scar on time itself, so that it will gush blood endlessly on sight and leave no chance of doubt or misinterpretation even after he gives up his body and the world fills with those who will only ever see him as an unfeeling beast. A monster willing to sacrifice everything, to get something of his own.

Until I'm in the grave...

I will lead with faith, not fear. Faith that everything that is happening, is happening for me, not to me. Faith that I am being protected, not rejected. Faith that I am finding, not that I am lost. Faith that the universe is working along side me, not that I am alone or on my own. Faith that I am coming full-circle, not that I am without direction. Because the way upstream may not be easy, for I have strayed far. But one is never too lost to rediscover the path. Like a bird, I can always find my way back home.

Why, why, why...

I stepped off the stage 

with nothing left,

all the lights 

were fucking with my head.

But here I am, 

writing songs again.

Ease my mind,

I don’t know why.

Nothing new for me to say...

No one had ever told me that I had been nursing a raging storm inside and that the pressure would build until nothing less than my soul spilling would ease it. No one had told me that inside me there were threads of skin, muscle, and fat, and that I was a thing sewn together by the pulsing heat of life, and for me to embrace it, I had to come undone. For all the people I had seen rise above their minuscule existences, I did not know how much ascending life necessitated actually placing it on the line.

I'll put it all on the line...

All must choose...

I want to give it all I've got...

Maybe in a parallel universe my moment would be able to collide with the fabric of the future. I am quite certain that at least in one timeline it did. Maybe I shouldn't lose hope yet for this one. Maybe it will happen in a few days, or next week. Maybe it will happen when I am fifty. But just now I feel like the chance has missed, and the jet trails of the crisscrossing moments left an awkward vacuum in their wake. I can feel it in my bones, though I can't really understand which exact outcome flew by me, and when I tried to guess, I got it wrong.

Why did he think something good could happen to him? Why did he dream? Hope? And fantasise? He was so certain that was a world out there that embraced him. Fully and without question. Where he was used as a vessel for change. The kind that brings a cathartic shift and throws everything off balance just long enough for it to swing back stronger than before. As he let his deep breath calm him down, he open his eyes and saw himself standing infront of a mirror. It's hard to explain why, but he started to laugh. He laughed at his fierce naked self, frowning into the mirror. And he liked the man who was laughing.