Writing.

I wanted to try and write something today, this morning, but it never happened.

I was focused on writing something, but nothing really came.  The thoughts just pooled in my head, my brain; swimming and coasting but these finger taps never came in the short time that I had.

Distractions.

A call tore me away.  A call killed the drive, the urge to put finger to keys to press to words – sentences – paragraphs.  Getting my thoughts out of this brain of mine into this void of 1s and 0s.

It never came.

Now I sit here, not in my usual place of typing, but in my home trying to get into the grove, trying to find the words that I needed to say; the thoughts that were swimming in my mind just a few hours ago.

*    *    *

Flickering mind images startled me last night.  Not in the way of nightmares or tremors, but in a different way, a way I wasn’t expecting.

It was another flickering mind movie that involved family and Ms. D. 

It’s been a while since those two combinations happened, but it happened. 

The first, was me introducing her to my mom.  This one, I’m standing up for her to my Auntie, because my Auntie was upset that Ms. D did something.

I don’t think she did anything wrong, it was just that Auntie was annoyed.

She, with family, interacting with family, like she is mine, with me, my partner, my girl, my wife.  Mine.  A part of my life.

What does it mean?

I don’t know.

She’s just on my mind I guess, constantly on my mind. 

*    *    *

Don’t want to think, don’t want to think.

It’s neither here nor there that she’s in my dream.  She’s just on my mind and there’s nothing I can do about it.

*    *    *

So I sit here, trying to piece together my thoughts, to empty this mind of mine that has been tired as of late. 

Empty.

Nothing flows as I try to get into this habit of typing out letters on a keypad, as I try to continue on my journey of finishing my script and emptying my ramblings and contemplations out in this void of mine.

Getting back into it, getting back into the groove.  It shouldn’t be so hard as I try to write cohesive thoughts into this blog of mine, but again, it has been difficult as of late.

My last entry flowed with the excitement that I once had for these type of things.  The strong conviction of my thoughts put down in this blog, but now, with each finger, with each press, with each letter, I wonder, if that was the right thing that I wanted to say.

There’s no focus.  There’s nothing that ties anything together.

Even in my previous writings and ramblings, my previous oh lyrical style of yore I was able to just finger tap with gusto, putting my thoughts down in a cohesive focused nature even though they were just jingle jangle of rambling thoughts with their little cute hidden meanings that I only know.

The cryptic sing songs of someone that has lost his mind and is trying to find it by emptying his stream of conscience out of the way, hoping that he can at last figure what it is that he wants, and where it is that he is going.

What happened to those lost days?

My brain just doesn’t seem to want to work that way anymore.  What is wrong with that way? 

Was it just a immature trapping of a fledgling new writer and that I am now more matured, more direct, more succinct in my thoughts and my finger tappings?

Wishing.

Hoping.

Why don’t things these words just come easier? 

*    *    *

…and now all I want to see is a sky full of lighters…

Searching in this ever long search of searches, finding the ever elusive findings of things hidden in the hidden nature of my heart.

Ramble ramble.

These sing songs aren’t going anywhere fast but they just need to go and get where they need to go. 

My thoughts just need to flow and flow into this pool of ideas and free me from this cage that I seem to have locked my self in.

He shot me down. BANG BANG.  I hit the ground. BANG BANG….

Goes the words that is softly whispered into these deaf ears of mine.  BANG BANG…

It is an awful sound indeed.  I use to shoot myself down down…indeed.

Shot and bleeding.  Dying.  Bleeding out, with the pains of pangs that I am quite familiar with, but they simply don’t hurt anymore.  They just don’t hurt.  They just linger and pass, faint, as if it really isn’t anything at all.

Those heart pangs just seem to disappear, as I can just sit there, with you in proximity and in a way, not be uncomfortable as I just sit and socialize with the others in the group.

*    *    *

How deep is your love?

Sing songs of quiet rumblings that erupts in these ears of mine. Coming to me in this warm summer night breeze. 

I ask again.

How deep is your love?

*    *    *

Never.

It’s just never. 

Never indeed.

Always.

Always just a few feet away, off in another conversation, separated by separation and just off, each aware of each other, but just off.

We can never be like how we usually are when we are together, but in a way, we just act like we are these distant strangers that only come together once in a while in these off chance meetings of get togethers and hiyas-howyas and there’s nothing more between us.

Yeah, I’ll tell you something that I think you’ll understand…

What is it?

Say to me…

Please.

Say to me…

Please.

Now let me hold your hand.  I want to hold your hand.

These soft words, sung, not by the fab, but by the horrendous movie musical, but best song of the bunch.  The T.V. Carpio that sings to my heartstrings, pulling the rhythms, culling the timbre, crying the words and tearing at the yearnings that is in my heart.

Pluck me out of this misery and let me fall asunder. 

*    *    *

Ramblings and ramblings. 

Resemblance of the ones of yore, the old ones that I am trying to get back.

The just mindless mind ramblings and thoughts of mental diarrhea that I am use to. 

The mixture of musical lyrics mixed in with my tapping lyrics, creating the emotions that I can easily manipulate, only going when the words that flow into my ears fit the equation that I am trying to make, to solve the issues, to come up with a solution to this little problem that I am having.  The problems of the PANG.

BANG BANG.

Bang bang indeed.

*    *    *

Back to me, back to here, back to now. 

Come away with me…

To me.  Here.  Now.

Come away.  Here and now, with me, here and now.

Coming back to this old mind of mine, putting the pieces together, putting me together, trying to get me going, rejuvenated into the me that I am finally growing accustomed to.

Me. 

Coming back.

Coming away.

Soon, will I even resemble myself.

Will it be me staring back when I stare at you?  Will you even recognize me as I constantly change and hardly recognize myself. 

Me yesterday is not the same as the me the month before, nor the year prior or the many year before.  The man staring back at me now, my reflection, is definitely someone that I have only a vague recollection of.

He is someone that looks like he knows what he’s doing, someone who seems to have a life that is worth living.

He sure took me by surprise the first time that I actually got a good glimpse at him.

He definitely looks like a man that I surely would like to be.

He is me.  I am him.  We are we.  Let us be.

One.

*    *    *

It’s a heartache…

It’s a fool’s game…

I’m a fool, standing in a the cold rain. 

Dancing, getting wet, jumping for joy. 

The quirky quirk of mine, celebrating the things that many would just whine about, the wetness of wet precipitation palpitating down on the earth, drenching everything in the refreshing our mother Earth’s wonderful tears of joy and sometimes angered sadness.

These are just emotions that she needs to shed, and eventually it cleanses our soul, washing away the problems that we may have.

Like us, standing in the rain, boom box (or ipod/ipad speakered-up now-a-days) in hand, arms extended, blasting without shame, without embarrassment, that sappy love song that just moves us, hoping that it moves her too.

The sentimental man that will do anything to win, to win, in this game of fools. 

It’s all just a game, played by fools.  There’s no winners here.

Only mindless, blind fools with nothing to lose.  Unafraid of baring one’s soul.

Say you want the same thing too.  Say you feel the way I do.

*    *    *

My time is on a schedule.

Seconds tick by, as I wait, wait for the allowed NEXT.

NEXT.

As I try to patiently suffer through my punishment by doing other things, like these finger tapping breakdancing of mind thoughts, to scouring the web for thing that keep my interest, so I can just let the seconds tick my so I am allowed to click NEXT.

NEXT.