Do not encapsulate me as one would encapsulate a theory,
Analyze an allegory or breathe a heavy sigh upon hearing a sonata,
There is nothing lamentable about me.
In all my subtleties, in all my joy,
In my greatest despair, under life’s steady wear,
I sway and stumble, blur, whisk, smell,
Strike my eyes to the ground, back up upon a stray sentiment,
Only to avert them once more, tumble beneath me,
You stones of men, behind me, beside me,
Ahead of me, the weary treads on,
I am somnolent in the morning,
I am taciturn in the many,
In the few I dote daintily upon something new,
Pining for someone to tell, yet pushing and excluding
Those who could never know,
How longing unfolds and stretches its languid tendrils,
Gripping my heart, pumping its poisons into my head,
Concentration, the clock, my shoes, toothpaste, coffee,
My shirt, my pants, the strange glance from my neighbour,
Finally my pen, etching across the blank page.
My head returns atop its body, subdues vivid emotions.
However it is in my quiet hours, that I still glance around the room,
And notice how silent it is, how lonely it is.
I am a world within a world,
Why do I build castles to be destroyed?
On the brink of existence, far from anywhere I belong,
The sand sifts through my toes,
And yet the world rolls on, its foamy waves crash into my keep,
Flooding the towers and the dungeons,
Obliterating the honour and the sordid.
The guards were always fickle, with each imparting folk;
A new face to show their pedestrian subjects.
A new face to show the enemy, and who is my enemy?
The world and its walls of water, hurling themselves at my ramparts?
Its shape vaulting me over the horizon as I stand upon a distant hill,
I look upon what is before me, the pollen of a sweet spring,
As it dances on a fragrant wind.
Everyone is so small, their colours so muted.
Yet they do not stand out, they do not intrude upon the tranquil scene.
Should I force myself into this landscape?
Discolour the harmony, to penetrate the palette?
Who am I but another speck in the distance?
Who am I but everything?
How can you explain everything?
I am of this world, I am of you, you of me.
Do not try to label me.
Do not try to marginalize me.
You are a hater of man.
You are my bane, perfidious, despotic.
Sit and hear me talk as my words glide softly towards you.
Take my hand, and know that I am you, I see you, and you see me.
Is my visage pleasant? Shall I depart never to return?
Say the word and it should be so.
I do not mean to intrude; I am not in the mood
To deal with disparity.
I am radiant; do not cast your shadows upon my glow.
But as we go, you encroach, my brilliance is mired,
The buzzing of the city comes in, and man destroys me.
How can we exist together and never cause malice, nor hate?
Realize I am infinity and you will never cease to be surprised,
By what I contain, what you obtain.
We are all apart, the prism is broken, shattered upon the field.
But, there shall be some repose,
A solve for all your woes.
An end to my longing:
Let me paint my picture my way, you shall cast a verdant hue,
A rich blue, a regal purple.
And as for me, I will present you one of my faces,
Whichever shows, it shall match your composition just as well.
Do not hate, do not impose.
For we can mash our colours together,
So that they do not oppose.
Did I just say I should not try to encapsulate myself as one would a theory? Yes, correct. That is the purpose of this project. It is fragmented, it should be unending, though for lack of vigor it will end at some point. So a series of post will guide me through a typical day, to other topics and off and off into my own self. In the end will I get some type of concrete picture of who I am? Doubtless not. But, that's not the point of this project.
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