Highway of emotional expectation

Notes to self when crossing the city.
getting through to myself.
Seeking connection through the walls of myself.
Each step is a word and the journey is a book.

Inner conflict and frozen dread one clings to their homes.
When a path must be made forward.
Inside our human nature is the capacity to manipulate.
we want to fool and be fooled in certain ways.

Our blood runs hot and then runs cold.
Spoiled by fulfilling all emotional needs.
Religious adherence to routine and performance.
Our convictions often based on empty platitudes.

Enjoyment coming eighty percent from anticipation.
The other twenty percent pretending the outcome matched the prediction.
By the end memories of fine foods, jewelry and sensual confessions.
Dry up on a sunny highway replete with roadkill.

Testing the limits

 He is restless, he just never stops.
Up and down. He'll sit for a minute then he has to move.
He has to cause trouble and sniff and bark.
He is not satisfied to sit and observe.

What kind of creature is this who is more anxious than a human child without its Ritalin.
He jumps up on the elderly on the park bench.
In this country all ages must pretend to like this kind of animal behaviour.
So he puts his paws on them and sniffs them.

They use their baby voices as if addressing a toddler.
He licks and licks them, a level of affection far separated from what should be appropriate.
The animal that has a million more bacteria than I have has the right to embrace anyone.
If I did the same thing I might be beaten or arrested.

So I loosen the cord and pretend to be appalled just wondering how far my dog will go.
And he goes deep. He doesn't just want to sniff the hand He wants to lick every crease of skin.
He wants to nestle into your crotch, everything I taught him not to do in private.
There he is testing everyone's limits in public.

How the path changes

 The brick path on the way to the park, absorbs every part of the year.
The kapok tree flowers accumulate over the ground covering the brick path.
The late summer rains, sun and pedestrian foot steps that squash the flowers.
Those pink and white flowers turn dark orange and brown and get squashed down.

In the humidity they expand, in the dry it all contracts and fragments make their way into dust.
The breeze and wind picking pieces of it up and send it to the corners and gutters.
Filling up the drains and forming a layer of decomposed material underneath.
Weeks later it is all gone, not even a stain remains, as of the flowers never happened.

Not their bloom, not their incredible display and not their imminent fall.
Not their turning, not their decay, not their mould, not their organic remains.
The brick pavers become clean again and the sunbleach and rain maintaining it all.
Ants nests encroach mounds of yellow brown sand emerge.

Autumn tries to hold onto the sun but the cool fronts break through.
The nest is empty, the wind blows them away, and the brick path is once again flat.
It never remains the same, it's litter, it's tone, it's stains.
Like the face of a changing person, how the path can change just like the wanderer.

Pseudo supplements

 The nature of relationships when passion dries is transactional.
The painful struggles to conciliate and rectify the give and get.
Often fighting for our piece of the cake.
Our sense of value from how we recieve.

Everyone on the world seeks something for nothing.
Using cunning, feigning vulnerability.
On their quest they forget the truth of things.
The inconvenient consequences.

Those being outward deception forces you to live in a world of excuses.
Excuses you tell the others so often and with such conviction.
That you start telling yourself those excuses.
Until you are among the group eating our of your hand.

Perhaps with an even bigger appetite than your regular fans.
The adulterated blend you've designed for the outside world,
Is now part of your own personal nutrition.
The sham components don't grow you.

Foreign desires

 Losing yourself inside your own flavor.
Your own preference and obsession.
Exhausting long days.
The world distracts you from fantasty.

You curse it under your breath.
Now you suck the milk of the fixation.
Sustaining that one untidy corner of your mind.
Practical advice makes your stomach turn.

You dive back into the limitless shadow world.
Where each monster turns you on.
Where each haunted place calms you.
Each one tailor made by your sharpened whim.

For the things you want in the real world you can't have.
So create them beyond on your screen and in your mind.
First littlle pieces of yourself that kept growing in the dark like fungi.
What do they look like now?

How do they tickle your psyche?
How long do you dare to resist them before they drag you under?
Into the depths that your pretend don't exist?
Such a foreign foreign place.

The angel's speech and the reality of the world

She saw us at the end of our purchase
She greeted us with wide smile and twinkling eyes
Her age showed yet vitality hid inside
She took our hands in hers

The awning eavesdropped
Heard every word she said to us
She spoke of the journey of life
The deadly shortcuts

She gestured with her hand 
About the circle around
About the impact of self deception
In simple words of course

I wanted to tell her If there was another existance beyond this one
I would heed it all and put it into practice
But in the meantime everything from a greeting
To building the house of my dreams...

is based on pure deceit.

Jeremias the gaunt with his parents

 They are just veins, his mother and father maneuvering their steps.
They hobble through the mall and end up at a table.
Early nineties, blood barely makes it through the arteries. 
The limbs and extemities struggle across the floor.

They are loose skin and one day I will be that.
Their curiosity is seen through their shy son.
Late forties, recent divorce dark clothes and depressive brow.
He looks up from the table and his parents who are just loose veins use him to see the world now.

He picks up the keys as if he is goping somwhere but instead he walks into the cafe.
He buys a slice of coffee cake for his parents who couldn't care less about his burdens.
He takes off his black shirt to expose his black tshirt beneath. 
His pale skin reflects disdain for a world that had forgotten him a long time ago.