maybe i always was

This is probably the last time I will visit this place, that I will be in this house, that I will be this comfortable. And thank god for that.
Comfort is a drug.
It’s alright to indulge now and then.
But it lures you in, it steals your life, it makes you settle.
You don’t learn new things when your comfortable.
You don’t take risks in fear that you might lose your comfort.
You see less and you do less.

“our lust for future comfort is the biggest thief of life”

A confession to the void: I’m scared of what is to come.
But the more I scare myself the more I find that being scared is a sign that I’m about to experience LIFE.
The more I feel fear, the less the feeling of fear scares me, and the more it excites me.
I have been scared before, and during, some of the best moments of my life.
Now I push myself to seek out fear.

Maybe I’m becoming daring.
Or maybe I always was.

white rock, 2016

 

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haven’t found em yet

night animal

I have never seen such an animal
except perhaps once,
but that is another story-
there it stood,
no lion
yet no dog
no deer yet deer
frozen nose
and eye, all eye gathering all the
moonlight that hung in the trees;
and everywhere the people slept;
I saw bombers over Brazil,
cathedrals choked in silk
the gray dice of Vegas,
a Van Gogh over the kitchen sink.

home, I poured a drink
took off my gloves you god damned thing
why could you have not been a woman
with all your beauty,
with all your beauty,
I have not found her yet.

-Bukowski

my forever favourite poem

O! Death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim West,
Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best
Have gone to their eternal rest.
There shrines and palaces and towers
(Time-eaten towers that tremble not!)
Resemble nothing that is ours.
Around, by lifting winds forgot,
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.

 No rays from the holy heaven come down
On the long night-time of that town;
But light from out the lurid sea
Streams up the turrets silently —
Gleams up the pinnacles far and free —
Up domes — up spires — up kingly halls —
Up fanes — up Babylon-like walls —
Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers
Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers —
Up many and many a marvellous shrine
Whose wreathed friezes intertwine
The viol, the violet, and the vine.

 Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
So blend the turrets and shadows there
That all seem pendulous in air,
While from a proud tower in the town
Death looks gigantically down.

The City in the Sea – Edgar Allan Poe