Hidden Mickeys at 1:38

377

378

How many millions of blogs are there in the world?  Are the bloggers all seeking a sizable audience or is it enough that whatever is inside their mind gets posted?  I always think of an audience of one – one person reading every word that spills out of the keyboard attached to my fingertips attached to my arms attached to my body attached to my soul.  This finding expression, this compulsion, this habit that rules the being – what is this digging for but to know ourselves in ways that put us in touch with our personal, multiple truths?

I wrote the first one and a half lines of the verses below at 1:38 am and continued the next day sitting on a hammock-chair hanging from wooden posts on an unoccupied corner store in the middle of an area not yet besieged by tourists because it was morning in a place too manufactured for comfort.  But hey, it’s people’s source of living around here so even if I cringe at the fakeness of the environment, it is still woven into the local community.

Something is teaching me to listen because too often, I have ignored it.  It’s acknowledging a voice that wants to speak for no particular reason but to be heard by no one in particular but itself plus that audience of one.  It wants to create a quiet, safe place where it can burrow and never leave my side.

But what about the incessant noise the sum of all bloggers including this one creates?   The online hum of navel gazing, blah blah-ing reaching the pinnacle equivalence of a fart.

379

 

Coy Mistress

Oh the lies you tell to get things done
Oh the lies you tell yourself to make things acceptable
Oh the lies you fabricate until they become the truth
Oh the truth you want to hide from with piled up lies
Oh the truth, the truth, what is it but lies that have become something else but themselves
Oh the truth is a coy mistress that wants to be sought for who she is, not what she represents
Truth is a cradle that lulls you to sleep
Lies are there to wake you up
Truth makes you proud
Lies keep you humble
Or is it the other way around
Around and around two sides of one coin
Keeping us up at night
Keeping us on our toes
Whirling dervishes where the roulette wheel
Stops, that’s where you hop off
Wait for the next ride but failing that
Make a raft out to sea
Row into a dock that serves your purpose
With more truth than you can ever imagine you can swallow.

 

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