bouncypear.net

 Apologies for leaving this blog dead in the water. Guess I've got another backlog to upload. For now, here's this. Tears stream down my cheeks again. What am I to do? To cry once more upon an end- Not one more pulse I'll feel. Are my feelings so simple? Is that which I feel pain? Oh, you didn't hear. You didn't hear over the rain. Rain of tears falling. Rain of blood spilling. Rain that surrounds the electricity The electricity that powers the negatives and positives between you and me is gone. It won't come back. We've split apart, as climate cools. You've insulated with rubber, and I've insulated with paper. So I still feel each jolt. But it's not a pulse. It doesn't help that the clouds dampen all that is around me. Water seeps into the spots I don't want it to be. Water flows out of me, uncontrolled, uncouth, uncaring. Saltwater flows into every open wound. Saltwater flows into my mou

Day 9. Agagagagagag. Here's another piece from the good ol' backlog- a piece which I've post-hoc titled "Distance". Originally, I didn't have a name for it, but I think this'll do just fine. Distance To be broken at such a state is incomprehensible, in this world so out of my control and out of my mind, to the point where it is fracturing, demoralizing, and oppressive. This walking of the line between ability and inability, between possibility and impossibility, leaves me lost walking in a straight line toward a destination which I don’t know if I can reach. The distance from my point on the center dashed line is equidistant to either side of my ego, and as I walk my feet balance precisely atop the ridge where one’s traveling on either side of which causes that drift toward regression or progress.

Day 8. I've only a bit left to spew onto this here blog, so take that as you will. Today's is another from my backlog- a third in line with the last two. Enjoy- this one's more positive than usual! A reason to love It’s those happy moments we’ve had. When we held hands, when we stood in the rain together, when we stuck close in our moments of conflict. It was short, but meaningful. And in those moments I… I was truly happy. I’d like to think that was both of us, at least I hope. I’d like to be back there with someone, someday, just to fill that little hole that’s there when I can’t know someone who can look at me and smile. And in that moment in reality, so far from a dream, I’ll smile back, in earnest, in appreciation, in respect, and in love.

 Day 7. Another from the backlog, same as yesterday. You may start to see a pattern here, name-wise- these are from a project in my Creative Writing class. I hope you enjoy it, either way. Something red Anger is not red. Red is of half-baked goods, of undercooked meats, of tomato bisque. The colour of disappointment, of the end of the rainbow with no pot of gold, the final river crossing where the bridge is out. It is the sands and rocks of the lakeshore harbouring memories of mediocre value, of the positive terminal of a battery which is that same colour of fear. This colour of history, of blood, that one deep red, but also of granite, of being set in stone, of finality. The reddening of the sky and the sunset is that which represents the closing act, the last line before the curtains close and the stage lights darken. Past the end, it is of rust, of things left forgotten and ignored, and a gradual, painful death. And to that end, or in that end, it is the reabsorbment of that dust in

 Day 6... Ough. I'm getting low on material. I've got a big piece I can't wait to release, but it'll have to wait until I've performed it live in class. I hope you're excited for that- I know I am! Ah, but for now, there's this. Another from the backlog! Something confusing Tell me the truth. I don’t know how you really feel, and so I pour out my heart, where yours is locked up. If it’s not too much to ask, all I want is a key. Just a key to open that lock and hold the insides, to gather them and split them and understand them. I want to know your feelings, truly. I want to try to heal those wounds that pain you, even if I can’t. I want to be there for you as you are to me. It muddies my mind and it darkens my heart when you’re blue like you are and you haven’t told a soul. There’s so much I feel when I see you like that, sitting down deep in thought just as I have myself so many times, and it’s overwhelming. It consumes me, this visualization of your though

Heyo! Day 6, and as I'm writing this (I've scheduled these to release in advance so I don't forget) this is a poem I wrote today (11/29/21). It's... something. But I'm fond of the language I used. Alone, albeit popularity It is a strange feeling. Strange, though, in that I’ve never experienced a life like this. Am I now someone who I once envied? Maybe not. If I, then, could have envied, I was certainly incapable of such a feeling. It’s the way I was, and, to some degree, that which I am.  And that, for sure, is all positive. Even so, though… Even now I feel this reclusive loneliness. Could it be stress? Or that I can’t believe their happy looks toward me? I’d so love to suspend such a disbelief, what with self-esteem and all. I would, I swear. Without a doubt. But I still feel that this is not the real reason behind this wracking feeling. I suppose it’s that no-one looks at me in love.  Not anymore, and however much I wish it to be the case, this popularity, this m