Nothing Real

–            I’m starting to believe that nothing is real. The very words on this page, simply the impression of something which cannot be passed on, handed off, or exchanged-what is left are the signifiers which lead you down a path which is similar to but not quite the one which led to their creation. I could be wrong. They could lead you down a completely different path from which you simply judge the validity and authenticity of these words and what created them, having no parallel reference point yourself, you can become distanced and eschew any value you might have […]

A la Solomon

-How much of life is dream, how much of life is verifiable? If life is not what we remember but what we recreate…is there a single moment that can be held onto? Everything is fleeting in the moment it is lived…leaving nothing in the moment after when we attempt to recreate. Dust constantly swirling is all we are; what we live, the brief posturing of sand castles before the continued blowing of the wind.

What Can Never Be Recovered

–In the middle of a restless night, the moonlight crashing; on, through, dissipating in – the window’s pane, the glass, into the moments of the past.   The wrestling of the body  the mind writhing in attempts to extricate and mount all memories remaining of moments exposed ———-now displaced.   The etchings, now time worn vaguely recollect life, some times a lifetime, some times simply brief breaths held so long nothing remained but laughter.   In the night’s breeze, in its debris what remains tumbles about, reminding etchings of origins and whispering of a possibility that has long been spent.