Reawakening
to each moment
amid an
environment
heavy
with contingencies,
considerations
incessantly barking
in the
background,
the
burdensome weathering
of
emotional follow thru
discharging
in the air
where by
breathing
as an
assumed comforting labor
of
occasional recognition
is, once
in a while,
appearing
as a sigh,
amidst
the fanfare of symbols
gushing
forth with meaning
and my
audience face
amidst
the reluctance
and
outright resistance
to
intentionally perform
apparently
meaningful acts
that are
simply, empty of soul
yet are
rationally construed
but
barren of juice,
too
thought out distended,
too
comatose automatic
and too
dumb-down rehearsed
to be
repeated to death.
I go away
from such acts
and yet
repeatedly do them
at the
same time.
I give of
myself
and give
up myself
by doing
so.
It is a
helpless treading
of the
liquid of lostness
but still
grappling
with new
found substitutes
for a
shallow
but
spirited existence.
Dutifully
floating down
but
subjectively lifted up
by the
naiveté
of my
first person novelty
prancing
delightfully before
its own
cynical self-conscious view.
There is
a murmur
with a
half mind voicing it.
There is
an exhausted listening
with a
half mind hearing it.
Nothing
is really of distraction
and no
thing is really a focus.
Happening
is in effect.
Living
this life is as affect,
disguised
as a functional self
representing
itself.
I am here
as my agent
to
represent myself
to gain a
permission
to be
myself,
well, to
be my undisclosed self.
I am here
to negotiate
for a
wealth of being
and to
limit performance times,
audience
appraisals,
well
actually,
to be
perfectly honest
to
eliminate story and audience
altogether.
No
standing back,
no
withheld-ness,
no
senseless regard
for the
appropriate demeanor
or the
politically correct topic or delivery.
All
candid, all alive, all the time.
I hurt, I
laugh, I loose.
We hurt,
we feel, we embrace.
Slap me
with
unexpected turns in the road.
Throw
pebbles
at the
windows of my soul.
Rub up
against my caricatures
and make
me respond from beyond.
Validate
my infrequent aliveness
with
likewise when and return.
Sober me
up with soulfulness.
I want
the nectar
of the
depth of being
to wash
over me.
I don’t
want me.
I want
the me of us,
the
momentum of us-aliveness
poured
over me.
I don’t
want words
and
somehow agreement.
I want
the oneness of us
suckered
out of me.
I don’t
want definitiveness
or
accountability’s reward.
I want
the collective
with
empathy slap stick shared.
I have a
moment with voice,
but I am
still only breathing in
what
oneness breathes out . . .
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