Poetry

The Pride Before, 31 (244.)

On the edge of someplace
new, sensation of artificial air washing over,
the familiar
is blown back by fresh sights.

The machinery clicks and whirs
in novel ways,
and, without being used to
the mechanical groaning and humming,
it is difficult to fall asleep.

That’s okay.

This new place
is just on the cusp of dusk,
so the shadows lie in wait behind bushes,
tittering at the thought of our surprise
when they leap up with arms outstretched.

The sun bids a slow farewell.
It’s still there, it will always be around,
but something in the air
dims its warmth and tugs at
all the leaves in the trees.
We won’t see all these changes,
not now, not immediately,
but trust when you hear
that change is coming.

Slow rotation of time
was mechanical before
machines were created.
The trees and the sun sing slow songs
that call forward to clockwork,
predicting and preceding the inventions
of proud and curious people,
and we,
we strive to echo
the steady knowledge of our home
planet.

Standard
Poetry

The Pride Before, 30 (243.)

Last minute
food consumption
keeps the body going,
which is funny ’cause
this body isn’t doing a whole lot.
It’s a lazy Sunday, a
video game and chill kind of day,
and it’s going pretty well.
Sandwich, ingested.
Soda, within reach.
Chips? Yeah, just in case.
Ya never know when
hunger will strike.
Let’s get up to some fun shit –
I’m on vacation.

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Poetry

The Pride Before, 29 (242.)

What does the machine mean,
offline?
I was right there,
and the internet was with me,
it didn’t go anywhere.
It’s all better now;
we’re having conversations.
It plays music I like,
as my mood shifts.
It’s impressive,
the way it knows me.
Maybe even scary.
I don’t think too much about
that, though,
and I
keep the tunes
rolling through the speakers.

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Poetry

The Pride Before, 28 (241.)

Vacation
Staycation
Laycation
Vacation?
What is it?
About a week, week and a half,
maybe,
where work isn’t a thing,
at least, it shouldn’t be,
but it will be,
I’m an overthinker, you see,
and all the tasks I leave behind
will probably sit in my mind
as I try to relax;
or,
I’ll completely put them away,
and forget how to do work,
so when I return
I’ll be all weirded out
and learning the ropes
all

over

again.

Who the fuck am I kidding?
Vacation rules!

Standard
Poetry

The Pride Before, 26 (239.)

Such audacity,
to cradle the stars
in a camera lens
and call it art.
Will any facsimile approach
the splendor of the real?
Technology can be impressive,
personal vision expansive,
but it is always the thing itself
that holds the most power.
Lights in space
sway the most stagnant heart
to adventure,
and sunless depths
call the landlocked
to swim.
Dive, then, beyond each threshold,
and record what you find.
That’s what such audacity is good for:
recording pieces of a story
so we may look at them and,
in time,
call them history.

Standard
Poetry

The Pride Before, 25 (238.)

Is this oblivion?
Later and later nights that verge
on mo(u)rning, so-called normalcy,
what’s a normal sea supposed
to look like,
I wonder?
This endlessly-dragging void
of night and bright lamps
to fight it,
it becomes comfortable,
and soon
I forget the people,
a boon
for solitude and mad avoidance,
this slow dance that lets me
dodge real improvement
to fall in the mound
of mediocre pastimes and habits,
I’ve repeatedly forgotten
what a real challenge is.
To push oneself
over uncomfortable barriers
and stand in the center
of disquietude –
aye, there’s the rub,
the true seed
of growth.

Standard
Poetry

The Pride Before, 24 (237.)

Sing a song!

It’s hard to be
put on the spot like this,
but my mind races
to answer the call, anyway.

I have no song, not now,
but I can’t stop thinking about how
every house I’ve ever had
is in a video game somewhere,
pixelated, literally unreal,
as in they’re not real,
and I’ll probably never have a house,
and if I do, it’s ’cause
I’m a privileged individual.

I hit roadblocks, sure.
Not every group or entity
is operating in my favor.
But there aren’t many groups
that are actively or implicitly
out to hurt me.
So if I finally get a dwelling of my own,
I’ll remember that I’m
a lucky bastard
and try to share the space
to the best of my abilities.

I wish I could be a
non-profit person.
I wish my charitable contributions
vastly outweighed my charitable intake.

Produce, don’t consume.
Converse, don’t assume.
Learn something, don’t leave

yourself hungry

without bloom
ing
to betterment.

This has been
a song of my generation,
I think.

Standard
Poetry

The Pride Before, 22 (235.)

Whether ’tis nobler
to go to sleep early
and wake up before noon,
or to stay up late again
and force oneself awake
after a handful of hours –
it is difficult to say.
For health,
it is surely better
to sleep long
and well.
A small, measured approach
dictates that one
go to bed a little earlier every night
and wake up a littler earlier every day;
this is the attempt at
incremental improvement.
This does not always work well;
sometimes it is just best
to sleep at the same time
and force a drastic, early awakening.
This, ideally,
makes one tired
so they may sleep earlier the next night,
and
get comfortable with the morning.
There’s a lot of work to do,
and not a lot of willpower.
One thing at a time,
one day at a time.
All is well.

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