There are times when life feels dark and empty, and the yawning, aching void in my chest is a reality that I am forced to deal with. Then there are times when I am reminded of the beauty present in all things, things that I take for granted on a daily basis.
I remember driving home from work last night, fearing the emptiness of my barren apartment. And then I saw the moon on the horizon, orange and pregnant and as vivid as a hallucination. Its light was so brilliant that the sultry night sky was lit with a silvery halo, and the only intrusion the jealous dim glow from the surrounding buildings. My mind was vividily clear for a moment, and I nearly forgot to look at the highway.
Beauty is also the quiet comfort of a friend sitting next to you on the couch, knowing with out speaking that this friend understands you completely, and no words are needed. Knowing that this friend shares your pain yet never contributes to it. This communal sharing decreases this pain by half into infinity.
I experienced a similar moment of zen when in the midst of orgasm I looked into the eyes of the person beneath me, and for just a second I thought I saw wonder there. The moment, real or imagined, was lost a fraction of another second later when I blinked. Imagined or not, it was still a thing of beauty.
It is also the quiet close heat of my empty bedroom, late at night when the world is silent, and I lay naked swathed in my faded black sheets. That is a deep introspective silence that knows all my deepest secrets, my darkest fears, and my most exqusite dreams.
And again- the spark of a lighter in the darkness, flaring brightly as the tobacco from my cigarette screams bright orange and I exhale plume of thick blue smoke. It curls cloying around my nostrils, and stings my eyes. I wondered for just a second, could I see the shapes and portents of the future in its languid tendrils?
I am prone to introspection of late, and currently that introspection is not clouded by a smoky intoxicating haze of scotch. The things I speak of above are private, personal musing- to me they are moments of sacred unmatched beauty. Life is full of these things if one only remembers to open thier eyes a second time so that they are able to see. It has become the search for the next sacred experience. I have a home. I have my beloved friends. And I have my art. I do not know if I am happy. But I think I just might be content, in this one moment.
Sometimes, I think the strangest writings of all come out of the crystaline hallucination that is sobriety.
I remember driving home from work last night, fearing the emptiness of my barren apartment. And then I saw the moon on the horizon, orange and pregnant and as vivid as a hallucination. Its light was so brilliant that the sultry night sky was lit with a silvery halo, and the only intrusion the jealous dim glow from the surrounding buildings. My mind was vividily clear for a moment, and I nearly forgot to look at the highway.
Beauty is also the quiet comfort of a friend sitting next to you on the couch, knowing with out speaking that this friend understands you completely, and no words are needed. Knowing that this friend shares your pain yet never contributes to it. This communal sharing decreases this pain by half into infinity.
I experienced a similar moment of zen when in the midst of orgasm I looked into the eyes of the person beneath me, and for just a second I thought I saw wonder there. The moment, real or imagined, was lost a fraction of another second later when I blinked. Imagined or not, it was still a thing of beauty.
It is also the quiet close heat of my empty bedroom, late at night when the world is silent, and I lay naked swathed in my faded black sheets. That is a deep introspective silence that knows all my deepest secrets, my darkest fears, and my most exqusite dreams.
And again- the spark of a lighter in the darkness, flaring brightly as the tobacco from my cigarette screams bright orange and I exhale plume of thick blue smoke. It curls cloying around my nostrils, and stings my eyes. I wondered for just a second, could I see the shapes and portents of the future in its languid tendrils?
I am prone to introspection of late, and currently that introspection is not clouded by a smoky intoxicating haze of scotch. The things I speak of above are private, personal musing- to me they are moments of sacred unmatched beauty. Life is full of these things if one only remembers to open thier eyes a second time so that they are able to see. It has become the search for the next sacred experience. I have a home. I have my beloved friends. And I have my art. I do not know if I am happy. But I think I just might be content, in this one moment.
Sometimes, I think the strangest writings of all come out of the crystaline hallucination that is sobriety.
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I often have similar feelings while smoking cigarettes or cigars and looking up at the stars.
Even when there is a breeze I attempt to create smoke rings. When I achieve my goal, the fleeting success remind me of all things ephemeral. There is a brief measure of control, and it is followed by the inevitability of all things created. Watching the ring dissipate is carthartic, an understanding that emotions also fade.
So, anyway. I like your work.