Earth-Holed-Story


“There’s a fountainhead inside of my mouth, and all the times words break loose, my mind rambles thru the wildness of this world. I travel thru dimensions engraved in cemeteries and embedded in our embryonic beginnings, but that’s only an explanation. I have no real cause, I have only a dream. And much of what I see, most of what I catch has only had truth building in findings over time, slowly, growing out to be a fatter, more fulfilling sandwich of all the events that led to a sane pretense- as my front. What do I show, and what do I mean, and to what people, at what costs. These thoughts get no one nowhere, and nothing compares to that quality of time to push wave after wave and high water, right thru the open lips, in a revolutionary splash, and spasm after spasm forcing the making of swimming strokes. And this life feels endless, sometimes, and on good days and dark nights, it seems to close, just awaiting sunrise.
What I mean may be lost and disarrayed when released into the difference of crowds that aren’t an audience. But it’s betrayal really, that we scatter over matter, and hardly get to sink completely within ourselves. We do the best we can, to curl, and to curve into corners, sense the second-hand wind that blows in thru the west sides, taken in recesses before, by others-strangers and future or past acquaintances, even celebrities. As indulgent as this seems, it helps. But there aren’t enough moments to keep, so many waste away, since we have so many things to collect and we have so many hatches to bury, simply to end up in a better position. Above all we have to create many attachments and connections to distribute like sweet candy pre- the dusk of our era. That’s just what being a person is. Be a good person.
Because there are nails on fingertips that can scratch the finest Mercedes, and there are words that can bruise even diamond skulls, there are storms that take oceans in a swirl and sway them across the harbors, onward the cities, crashing buildings, crossing them with one another, flooding lungs and hindering heart-beats, hunting love and storing it in heart-shaped boxes. And seconds fall into constellations that divide with memories into nano-seconds, while washing you to the sidewalks in aquatic defeat forever.”

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Watt

It's all a matter of rust and shine, to serve a distinction between to have and to have not.

76 thoughts on “Earth-Holed-Story”

      1. I’m really happy that you do, Bojana. Also, do you know that we’re not notified when you respond to comments over on your blog. You should look into that.

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  2. “…and most importantly we have so many attachments and connections to distribute like sweet candy pre-the dusk of our era. That’s just what being a person is. Be a good person.
    “Because there are nails on fingertips that can scratch the finest Mercedes, and there are words that can bruise even diamond skulls, there are storms that take oceans in a swirl and sway them across the harbors…”

    I think this is true, Watt, and if it is, then I am both relieved and chagrined… but mostly relieved, and made lighthearted.

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  4. A masterpiece of a creed; a credo

    a thoughtful summation of what we (you) know, what we see and feel and the limitation of what we can do if we have the impulse and courage; and what it takes to go on.

    I don’t agree that what you write is lost and disarrayed when you release it. Actually, in part yes. But not entirely because you are describing a reality widely lived and thought if not fully articulated. If you wrote on paper, you would be able to gage this because your work would be sold in bookshops. And there would be stamping of feet and applause at the venues in which you would read this.

    But you cannot see us and you cannot know the full impact of your words. It is not your words that is flushing away in aquatic defeats down sidewalks. Nor, because it is difficult to look back from a future that has not yet arrived, can you gage at this moment what rich soil you lay down for yourself ——— slowly, growing out to be a fatter, more fulfilling sandwich – but there is nothing fake or sane-pretending about this ——– in your writing until you are at the top of the metaphorical mountain. ‘This’ takes time and you will forgive, please, this lecture. It is not my experience alone. Sapiens sapiens.

    I have appreciated, just as much as the glittering fountain of your words these last six months, the fact of your thinking through what your words may mean for others and for yourself. I have appreciated your self-scrutiny and your alert description of things and people and states of mind round about you.

    I can’t see the point of words if they are not pointing to examination, questioning, questing, determination. Description also.

    And that is what you have done in this piece which is the finest thing you have written of many fine things. It resonated with me from beginning to end. I read it almost diagonally so well it flows. I recall doing that only once before. Diagonally as though you had given me special eyes. Which, of course, on this occasion, you have. That is rare for me who usually pores over every word…………..

    It takes everything to go on. And I hope you will! Thank you!

    Sarah

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    1. Thank you, Sarah
      It really does feel that words are pointless without examination and description because the dull silver life rusts otherwise, and we age and are blinded by wavering rot. It means a lot that these words resonated with you on such a level. This month, my main theme is to submit to a part of the brain that is philosophical and then make friends with the other poetic and imagery section to “create dangerously’

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  5. I am adding this to my list of favourites. I felt like I was water carried through the entire cycle of your thoughts, but at the same time able to connect with them within my own self and experience the tidal wave of inspiration and despair that followed. I think it shines not just because of the incredible imagery you use, but because you carried through such complex thoughts in a unified way, from beginning to end.

    Truly awesome 😊

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    1. You are totally awesome! Thank you. I love what you have said about unification of complexities in thoughts (that seems like a dissertation by young writers 😂). And the best part about writers is that we are able to summon every thru images of our making, and that is really effective and expansive in the people we have to combat just to wiggle ahead.

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      1. You really did weave this so well with the fountain metaphor. And I like it how it gets a little gritty too.

        I hope you are right about what you said about writers, and as small as it probably seems, that you used the word ‘we’ in this 😉.

        Truly a favourite!

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    1. Ohhh. That’s a big big questions. There is a TV show called Six Feet Under- it’s majorly that show. And you know, else its the usual music, movies, book. My favorite being Transatlanticism, La Dolce Vita, and Catch-22 in them respectively. 😬

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      1. Thank you my friend. I took a little break and I’m back. 🙂

        Hope you are well.

        Question: Do you know a Scott Rainer? He’s been stopping by my page and commenting nice things.
        I went to his page and he wrote something titled: Are we still friends?
        He took it down this morning…so I don’t know what that was all about.

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      2. My God. Please don’t ask.
        And if you find his work worthwhile, please do whatever. There was some drama, and I’m just glad to have buried the hatchet.

        Also, welcome back! Really missed you a lot and hope you’re feeling awesome and not only being it.

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  13. I read and reread. I walk through a density of metaphors which speak to the soul and a multitude of ideas which speak to the mind. A walk in a brilliant forest. Trees whose roots grow in the sky for there is no real causation here. There is only a dream. Perhaps more than a dream. Whatever it is, is it about to die? cemeteries… our embryonic beginnings… aquatic defeat .

    Yet, why do I ask questions? For each question that I possibly could ask will do nothing but harm. The expression of feelings in this piece is majestically done. One does not want to touch it for we do not touch the magic. We live the magic. There is a undeniable force here, that of your talent, that is stronger than anything one can say about it.
    “We do the best we can, to curl, and to curve into corners, sense the second-hand wind that blows in thru the west sides, taken in recesses before, by others-strangers and future or past acquaintances, even celebrities.” Teach me philosophy, Watt!

    “There are nails on fingertips that can scratch the finest Mercedes.” Marks of love nights? Here I go again! I find myself asking questions, swinging between my heart and my mind, when I should be silent in front of your exceptional talent.

    Watt, this is a masterpiece, roots in your soul, leaves beyond this world. The work of a genius. I rest my case.
    BTW did I tell you that this piece is about love and/or loss of love? Here I go again.

    I read and reread.

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    1. Wow, thank you so much.
      Okay, to show some of my clarity on this (Writing is subjective, even for the one who writes it) I agree with Sarah Abraham. This was a creedo, my recollection of ‘knowledge’ that I have plucked and made them crawl inside a brainy basket. In vessels and veins, the work is doling out emotions, feelings such as loss of love, love, and a tie-dye range of secrets and privacy.

      And you have one of the strongest philosophies, and I learn things from you too!

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      1. My pleasure and thank you for the compliment., Watt

        “Writing is subjective, even for the one who writes it)” Reading is subjective too. That says it all, doesn’t it? We are a collection of subjectivities 🙂

        Exceptional piece.

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  15. This is quite brilliant. It speaks to me of the complications of reaching our potential regarding connection with others, self and life. It seems that although we do our best, the complexities make it rather difficult to achieve all of the minute intricacies possible. We take a step and find that a thousand paths open, and no matter which one we take, a thousand more appear. We see it… on the verge, on the edge… or perhaps just feel it – whatever it is – but just can’t quite grasp it. “But there aren’t enough moments to keep, so many waste away, since we have so many things to collect and we have so many hatches to bury…” So many choices, paths, ways to go, which means that many will have to fall away… Really quite beautiful 🙂

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    1. Thank you very much! Its true a thousand ways leads to a million more, and sleeping thru a million nights, or walking past a freeway is only an escape of the mind-which is important for brilliant direction of brainy truth.

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  16. To start with, the photo you used moved me immensely. I think it says so much, the images you choose.
    Others have said such eloquent things which I agree with!
    All that has burst from my mind is, I really love your writing!

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  18. Somehow this gave me the feeling I remembered when I saw the movie City of Angels with Nicholas Cage. It’s the scene when he’s a spirit and he’s watching the sunrise and tears roll down his face. Your words here are full like that scene to me.

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