Do not feel special because I felt you so deeply — I’m an artist
This morning, I wept for a fallen tree, I had fallen for over these summer months
Now it lays stretched, dead over the creek bed, highest branches brushing forest floor ground eroded out from underneath the roots
The artist’s curse is attachment masked as lust, even love but the object isn’t special just because it’s the perception, the artist’s deception that gives rise to conception
We may have loved this thing before and here we are losing it, once more
Don’t be fooled
To be felt deeply is no honour, because an artist is a slut for feeling
How can one help but try and remember Even ask curiously Who is this and how do I know them from a past life As I indirectly feed them or compete for attention or laughter or share an earnest word on institutional experience I cannot help but question How do I know you? Did we eat at the same table? Drink from the same cup? Have I sensually stroked your arm? Did you birth me from your womb? Push me on the swing? So many lives lived unremembered Remarkable though they seemed At the time
Gone. Gone from my grasp. Yet feelings of familiarty arise At each and every word exchanged The touches given, stopped So weird that you could linger Like an unfounded memory Yet I know within my heart That appearance reflects karma Though unfolded memory remains Tucked away for enlightened eyes only A privilege reserved for tenth dimension beings And here we are struggling in 3D appearance I don’t hear you in my dreams No we weren’t that close so recently But previous lives are infinite Circular I like to believe So we’ve had…how many?
Now you stand before me Like you’ve never known me But you bear the name I’ve heard before Under steepled roof, through Christian door I strive for patience, not to deplore A despicable name I don’t care for You aren’t the same though it would appear that way And de ja vu is pretty peculiar So the dream I know is a dream getting weirder As if it’s possible it could be stranger But that is one thing you’re definitely not As you avoid my gaze it’s clear You’ll never shoot your shot and I think about the shit lot it sometimes seems I got – gave myself? – a dream with Suspicious people in my midst Horrid roommates taking the piss Out of my very livelihood – what a ride My karma has given me, so I turn To the cause, asking “What has given rise to thee? What led this John Doe here to me? What action have a I done or refused That left this jackoff rather bruised?”
Better perhaps to question How do I right the wrongs That led to these damned impressions? How do I purify the karma in the way Of the mind that holds steadfastly Virtuous equanimity, a warm feeling And friendly attitude to each living being? That is peace and happiness to me.
With each rain that comes, the plants and trees bear their happy adversity, making constant meaning from madness.
They do not stop to wallow in the swamp of their existence. They keep growing, often sacrificing their bodies for others.
There is no exasperation at the reckless imposition stabbed by man, only continual growth in spite of sabotage.
We are still the lonely hunters, destroying the homes of attachment-driven creatures grasping at their existence.
Tightly.
Shall we, instead, unfurl our leaves and enjoy the difficulties samsaric existence brings – in order to evade its illusive attack so that we may escape – at least the worries!
Growing wiser, effortlessly, as the plants, the trees.
In the country it is relished Under the shade of friends Oak, sycamore and cedar
(If only I could be near her)
The heat Is only intolerable In the skyscraped city
Though sometimes pretty Reflecting sunlight and cloud Against brilliant glass backdrops
The perfect selfie studio Good cell reception Radiating from magnetic towers
(I still smell her flowers)
In the forest it is relished, And we see life grow, Hiking through heavy fragrance just hanging in the air Without a care, afternoons permeated with water breaks we didn’t all die from the heat but there were other dangers
(The loss is difficult to bear)
The heat is only intolerable in the city
Where it clings to and delivers Dumpster smells, sidewalk-fried vomit Makes that much more objectionable The masturbation in the subway And the skin-pressed embrace of the public transit stranger or do we see that anymore?
It has us hidden away in homes, And air conditioned cafes Appearing separate and unhappy though we suffer sweaty swamp-ass just the same – begging for marketers to quench our summer-thirst, cool?
(Missing mindfulness, I am the fool)
By the lakeside, the heat is relished Finally the sun forgives bathers, Bestowing hot sand and tanlines, Quick dry towels and the joy of popsicles Everything cold is that much more enjoyed, Pleasure derived from sticky drippings Freezies, creamsicles, ice cream cones – Eleven dollar lemonade is for the city-sufferers
(Again, I would suffer her)
The heat is only intolerable in the city without natural escape Less those that die, burdened by The thick, hot weight of smoggy air Suffocating dwellers here Folks willing to pay anything for different external conditions Desperate to escape to another’s arms, bearing summer’s dawn to a heat that’s loved, cherished in evening’s temperate shadow cast long over the fire pit, as memories toasting marshmallows late into the night Sleeping under the stars, waking in the dew
(A fire still burns for you)
A little playlist for when life gets too hot and hard to bear
Looking for a way to judge if your crush is worth upgrading? Looking for a way to analytically rule your heart with your mind? No?
I’m here to help anyway!
Throwback to one of my favourite shows, The League – good ol’ programming just not fit for today’s climate. (If you don’t know the show, look it up for reference):
In episode two of season four, Pete introduces his fantasy football draft “system” – then he explains how it applies to women too. Giving them plus or minuses for different attributes (ex. beauty +2; gets up early, big -1; already taken -2) to help him decide if he needs to …pick up a different player from the waiver wire.
When Pete finds out his old friend Sutton becomes single – ergo on the waiver wire – he decides to try and pick her up. She certainly has the attributes he’s looking for. Little does he know, Sutton has a system of her own – and Pete is running against Taco. Check out the episode. It’s great.
Inspired by this clearly flawless logic, I decided to make my own version of Pete’s system by designing the Ideal Lover Scoresheet – and then I decided to make it available to you! (If for a laugh 😉 )
[Example Scoresheet]
Of course, this is an example scoresheet. Yours may look much, much different. For example, on mine I’ve added “likes Lord of the Rings” in the “Nice-to-Have” category (+2).
What are your must haves? Deal breakers? Share below!
The Halfwit Writer 