ALL I REMEMBER IS GETTING THE ELEPHANT STONED

by triplee19

Your body.

Pressed to mine.  

Skin to skin.

Breath for breath.

We move in rhyme.

Motions timed.

Passion burning through our eyes.

Heat.

Sweat.

Sex.

Love.

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(Source: triplee19.deviantart.com)

Experimental Writing

Just some experimental writing this morning. Unfinished, of course. 

The crisp, cool autumn air never felt so refreshing. I close my eyes, breathe deep, savouring the freshness. I’m ready to take on the world. When I open my eyes the feeling is gone, vanished; I’m encapsulated in a blanket of terror. I am a baby bird, evicted from my nest by those I most trusted. I will soar, they say. But I don’t. I’m falling fast and hard, frantically flapping my small feathered wings. A cacophony of chirping escapes my larynx as I stare up at my mother with eyes that scream desperation.

Her beady eyes peer over the straw of the nest with intent, a twinkle of hope that I will prevail. Oh, how I want too. I long for success. But again, I meet failure. Thud. I hit the ground creating a whirlwind of dust around me. When it settles, I’m left feeling empty. I scan my surroundings from my new ground level perspective.

Desert.

Ghost town.

Although, it’s not really a town, for that implies buildings, streets, activity. A 360-degree view of nothing but brown dirt. No grass. No obvious signs of life. Even the tree I fell from is gone. Fell? More like tossed out, thrown out, left for dead. The perfect solitary scene with vultures circling above to complete the pathetic fallacy. Perhaps a sign of good fortune.              

If I’m ever to learn to fly, I need to get to higher ground which means I must first find higher ground. Fueled by the growing fury as I ruminate in the situation at claw, I pick a direction, not sure which, and start walking. Eventually, with nothing to see and no way of knowing when or even if there will be something to see, motivation reaches its peak.  

“TAKE ME VULTURES, JUST TAKE ME!” I scream at the sky. If there were anyone around to hear, it would have sounded more like a series of high pitched agitated chirps, “CHIIIIIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIIIIRRRRRPPP!”

There is no one.

Too tempestuous to stay motionless, I continue the path I started.  

A dark, distorted outline appears in the distance, just before the horizon. I have a goal now. A more concrete goal, I mean. The dominant goal is to fly. Locating higher ground is the task of focus to achieve this. I am surrounded by nothing. Therefore, the immediate goal is to find something.

My pace quickens, movements become purposeful.

As I close the distance between the unidentified object and myself, I see that it is a cactus. A beautiful, mighty green, albeit prickly, plant. A symbol to proceed with caution. Curled around the base of the cactus is a small desert snake. Sensing me approach, it wakes from its slumber raising its head to see the cause of disturbance. I freeze. It’s evidently sizing me up. Oh, if only I could fly!

Fight or flight.

Fight, flight, or freeze.

I cannot fight, for the snake will surely eat me.

I cannot freeze, for the snake will surely eat me.

I cannot fly, for I have not learned.

As I weigh my options, the serpent must have been doing the same, deciding that the costs out weigh the benefit. It’s not worth it. I’d rather sleep.

As my initial panic subsides, I realize I still have a decision to make. Risk walking past the serpent, for its behaviour may be in vein, or walk a new direction, away from the only glimpse I have of hope.

Perhaps there is a third option.

Call out to the snake.

I’m aware this is much riskier than my first option, but if it’s going to eat me, it’s going to eat me no matter what. It could change its mind right now and eat me before I’ve even finished this thought.

Perception is defined as the processing, organization, filtration, and interpretation of sensory information; of sensations. How I perceive who I am and how I am and why I am is a collection, a sum, of my external environment, of my collective experiences. The same as how others perceive me is defined by their experiences.

So if how I perceive myself is a product of my subjective interpretation of the sensory world, and how others perceive me is a product of the same matter, who then, is the real me? I am the real me of course, but is how I see me how I am? And is how I am changeable?I f I am mould-able by external events, then the question is not, can I change? The question is, is how could I not?

This is more important than how others see me. But how others see me isn’t the real me. They could never see the real me unless they can get past their own lens. But without knowing me, without knowing my intentions, they can’t know who I am.

I use the universal “I” here. It’s very much applicable to everyone.

There’s so much more I want to say. This is what you would call a snippet, a brief. 

bands-arent-just-bands:

miggylol:

I googled “angry duck” and I’m really glad I did

I feel you, little duck

i caNT BREATHE

(via notpassivebutaggressive)

" Don’t get attached to moments. Good or bad, they all pass. "