the wind on my face

I'll savor those feelings in the world I identify with the most as the ones I dreamed away by the interest in feeling the things I heard and wanted to know the visions that I felt should be my own. I stood in the snow last night like the world was darker and more bright than I had ever felt it was with wet freezing water fleeing the sky into the depths of my face, my beard taking on the moisture like a warm place to spend the rest of the night was all it needed. I'll never be able to know what that would have felt like a year ago, I'll never remember the connection between what that moment in time was like in its correlate moment in the passage of the earth around the sun. It was a singular moment given a feeling turning in my head like a new way to think of the cold sensation I wanted to avoid in the warmth of my electronic lights. I'll listen to that feeling like a warm memory of the sun on my neck in the summer, like the rain on my head in the middle of the day, it won't matter as much some other day I'll know, it won't give me the same trouble with decision in my later years, I may think I know it, I may imagine the fading memory as a person aged by the nights I spent in head contemplating the ways I could take a new approach to where I was and how I became another person, but I think all I know today is I loved the snow on my face when I was young.

the morning light

I awake to an orb of light, bright orange and not pale to the night. I think in the light of an ancient radiance that gives meaning to every morning. I haven't seen the risen rays every day as some imagine they might. I'll give my perspective of the sun thought many mornings and the days growing shorter is not about only my life. The people around me know but expression is about more than intellectual heights. I writhe in reactions to some thought about my life. The emotional devotions of another dream I didn't invite. I think of every morning in another type of light, I'll listen to every thought I get, I often gave them more time at night. The time of listening has been the removal of myself from other types. A little written expression gives emotional expression a kind of life, desolate in some places, driven to new information types, I gave the weights of interpretation the level imposition in around about - letting some fade as though I couldn't say why they were important without others justification and the words and reactions of someone more important, or more knowledgeable, perhaps the experienced thoughts were too jumbled to make sense in my mouth. I'll know that my words are sometimes not quite my own though I thought through them as any person might. The pattern I have taken connects to others many times through out the sights and sounds of my life. That communication jumbled, mistakes I've felt or made can take my new meaning overnight. Those others I lost the will to know gave me a part of their life, whether I knew it that day or not, forever etched as memory, the connections lost or not. This moment recent not much unlike others I've had an interest in occurring through my life. The conversation given to what topics are at hand, the continuation always interrupted, whether my own or some type of distinct real event that made connection stay out of that part of a life. The actions as a part of that interest in connection stopped by my own analysis of why I shouldn't have time to be involved in such things, my imprecise personal life as different as some others say I could be. The test I felt was of my own design but was how I felt trapped by my own interest in words precise. There are other words to say this, there are other days about which I could write, the same thoughts may apply, the actions as well could be less about how my time was given to others and more about the little ways my own confidence was given to how others felt my life was right. The way I wrote about the things I read was less of my voice and more of the time inside my head. There is always more to say but I remember the time thoughts swirled as the moment had passed.

another long night I've felt in my self

I desire to know what I am as a being, and I have known the many splendid things I have felt with powerful contemplation. I know when I have expressed my being as I intended, I know when I have thought in conflagration and consternation of the difficulty behind my intents. I know the feelings you showed me and I thought about how my feelings were not mine but the ones I intercepted in the light of day or the dark screen of the night. I think as you might have once but I don't intend my distance from that intimacy of relation to retire my self as a personal being intent on giving who I am a different type of rhythm and the place of my mind new routines or standard interests a new flame. Living as we know the sun and moon all of us by having seen them, the different ifs of my youth gave way to the if and whens of my adult life. I'll remember those as long moments extended by what the days before had ignored, when I wanted the best for those around me and gave myself the ponderous weights of what I could accomplish by the right decision in that moment and what I failed by not giving myself the operative rest of worry and the vision of my personal self the concentration on feeling the connection between who I was by making that decision as I intended and not by ascribing more weight to the personal and emotional reactions of people important to my sense of self. I'll remember this one more than most I've known, but the days before may always be more important to who I am than the nights, as much as I desire the days to have been more like the night. Placing the fingers here is not my favorite feeling in the long moments of my life, though I have felt them here as I have felt them elsewhere.

little cities

I have mired in the contemplation of a life lived loosely and young. I think my harassment of myself is less important than the integration of my actions into a community outside of the digital hogwash and information overload (ok so a lot of it is really interesting) that has defined a lot of free time in my life. Expression of my thoughts in written form in this forum might not accomplish much in that desire but it is something. I'll be less obtuse someday, I tell myself, I will speak my thoughts and act on my desires when that happens. The culture of control and surveillance won't be the only preface to my day. I will not allow myself to consumed by the gargantuan issues of massive social and environmental movements without actually being involved in the personal relationships they engender. I will be the person I can based on the investments in the world I have made and those I wish to reap further benefits from, and my priorities will include the gifts I have to be in relation to people as they are, not as iconographic imaginary possibilities. Perhaps my ego will be stable someday, but I think that will be less interesting anyways. I don't think that makes sense, but I'm going to leave it there anyways. My own psychology has long since bored me, and I need to speak with a new identity. May Copenhagen this week make some difference in my life? We'll see, I think I lose credibility thinking so. Anyways, may the next blog posts be better structured.

I wrote something yesterday, and I could tell you how I felt about writing it. I used to keep the written word to myself most days. I read, I don't write, I write, I don't share. I wanted to tell you how little I felt many days ago, and how large the world seemed. I thought I would have something else to type right now, because I have thought so many words and felt so many things. I'll let you decide if you want to read into what I wrote yesterday.
The day I wrote a new poem I failed to analyze where your eyes would fall upon the page. Without a pattern the poetry looks like you could destroy a whole life. I have not been the only person alive who took chances and felt the world as I was touching the ground. The days and the weeks went by and I took a day for the rejection of your feelings. Once I was alive I became further enmeshed in what you wanted to balance your life like, a total disk filled with water and the art your friends told you was worthwhile. I left part of me behind and I was ready to speak with you before I stopped. Look around, don't be lofty. The aspirations of those you have known are greater than what you ever imagined. The dreams you have seem selfish when you look to the future. You were not as able as you thought, you were not the writer you were told you were more, and you were aware of a pallid constancy to who was behind you, you. I deserved to say more to you, your self, and to the people you loved. I was ready to listen to my voice and engage what the days you dropped to basic desire were telling you. The deeds of your personal actions were given to a different state of mind. That knowledge, that understanding, that development was to be delegated by your constant thought to give more time to who you wanted to say yes to, who you wanted to give your time of love the most interesting level of creativity. There were many I said hello to, I would do so again. There were words ready to be spoken that never found the air. I wrote something somewhere never to be seen again. I once thought in the emotional context of a pen to paper for the personal desire to care, to express, to feel, to know that I was still there. I was and I am. I'm not a monster and I'm not what I dared. I loved the thoughts of emotional connection and thought in parts I would return to act on as fair. The time I was given was what the others I had found under the acts of deeper lack of direction desired someone to compare with real interest in where I would live with the tired conditions given by loving hair and the generous stare (there is more there). I don't have the same connection to contemplation, I won't live like that again. The stories others have told me I gave weights chosen by my love for the ear. When sensing your lack of decision, one can think in ways that leave you feeling an eligible hatred from others who lived to risk a rightful distance from the condition that was brought upon your cares. I know what I thought of this condition of written rhythm and voice when I gave it my time writhing in the bare method of your eyes in the time I was given to compare that vocal precision to what it sounded like when I gave new starts to the sentence, I lost serious interest in sounding like I was out of breath or giving you elation you didn't deserve or want to hear. I'll revise that type of rising emotion, I'll take who I am to new types of people I was overly driven to know could care. I have your time locking up with mine, I started an in on what I loved and the rest of the story might now compare. The rhyme I gave myself was greater than who I gave your mother and father the time to understand was still less than more aware.

A new purpose to a blog

The days of this year have been filled with the thoughts of change and direction towards the desires I have held for the betterment of the lives of those around me. I as an entity and person and the interests in fulfilling my life have been diverted by the interactions and personal mental ego and cognitive processing blocks and cycles that have defined the personality and life that I have led. I do not desire to live as I have for the last year, I do not desire to live as I have this week. It is the struggle of many people the world over to accomplish the betterment of the lives of others in fulfilling their personal desires and interests, and I am one who has been prone to fail. The life I lead has many meanings in the perception of who I am now and who I once was, along with the various perspectives outside of myself that I infer, observe or produce in likeness to experience I have had and constructions that have occurred in the imagination of my youthful brain connotations. I may have the feel for myself, but I have not had the feel for others in the ways I once did. I still desire not to avoid the people I admire or have had relation to, I still desire to live in relation to others I do not yet know. I wish to live as a social person beyond the limits of my current abode. I have connections to what I am, I have connections to what I have been. The connections to the future are what are less apparent in the usual way I have encountered. I have lived in my head with less vocal and personal interaction than I have ever desired or confined myself to previously. As the need for change was given a different incidence of chance and deconstruction I have taken the path ahead in leaps or small steps, in circles or in zigzags, and the core of what I have desired has been malleable to the environment, though constant in its idealization of philosophical listening to others. I have a personality, but a self defined in fits and starts I have hardly enjoyed. It is still evolving, but it will be delineated by the past year in ways I regret more than others that had confounded my emotional social contextual behavorial expressions in the living of my life. I have seen more anger than I ever desired, more lessons on my past faults than I ever imagined, and fewer smiles than I could write about like a novel of indulgence. I don't want to be vague and pontificate about only my life in relation to other beings, I don't want to feel isolated and denigrated by powerful forces inherent to where I have been or am. If you read this, I have wanted to speak with you more days than you could have been able to, or I wish I would have given you a chance to ignore me sooner. Maybe I just wish I had known someone else whose face I have fond memories of and can't get back again. Without the written word my life would be an entirely different affair and the spoken one I will use more frequently than the recent past. However little I have made it possible to develop that skill recently is based on many nonverbal actions I have taken or stopped myself from starting. I would be happier as a person if I knew you more than I know myself of the past year, though I still am thankful to know myself as well as I have many times. Disconnect has not served to enhance the relationships I valued, and taking too much time to analyze those relationships has not given me the opportunity to make paying attention a priority when I have tried to respect the opinions of so many I have known. Not respecting myself as a priority some days has taken the lack of face to face interaction to new heights. Some people don't want to see you, I probably did and told myself I forgot how, or maybe I just didn't remember who you were anymore. The complicated has risen in ways I have tried to catch and reduce in simple breadth. And the complication has multiplied in my simplistic desire to follow the heart of the matter. My heart does not feel so well today and it has had many positive things to give you. I live with myself as I desire to live with and within others. I take from the knowledge of myself that I have always wanted to give that desire a chance and the chances I have had I buried in thought. Or maybe I told you I was afraid and you lost interest. Or maybe I lost myself on a page like this one day and made you hate me. Feeling as I do today does not make me satisfied with many decisions I have made in failing to communicate with you like this, or in more precise, perhaps cogent ways. I doubt it makes you feel much better knowing that, but I don't presume to know what you feel or think about me by simply reading this. I do know that I can communicate with you better. That is one of the most important things I have ever tried to learn. So read I have, and type I have stopped. But typing I will, and speaking I will. I miss hearing my voice as I once did, and want to hear others as I have desired. Wanting does not mean achieving and I have not given myself enough credit for other work I have done. So if you are a person, I might miss you, if you are a woman, I almost certainly do.