last night, a dream, a noteworthy attempt of flight, a singable journey we had through an imaginable scenery. i scribbled it in with the incompletes, the foggy mirrors where we sketched our irrelevance with stick figures and shiny toy figurine warheads, rough drafts of future plans where we wasted money on lottery tickets that cashed out insignificant green paper dolls that never liked to play with us, only themselves. bathtubs where you wept over ACT scores and the pressures of being a sprouting vegetable in a patch of under appreciated, over grown brilliant little weeds. lola the madness is the in the question not in the answers, don't ask me what that means i'll only stutter in my intelligent lisp, all knowing, all understanding i'll say, i don't know the half of it.

june 26th, 2009

a voyage into the imaginary, we brought silver canteens filled with goldfish to let free into the creek, 'captives of cheap tin and aluminum linings' you'd say, and so would i. follow the trail to the water bed, observe poison ivy that smears itself onto portraits we could never figure out. little by little we collect ourselves, big and bigger steps as we stroll past the indian trees, the vacant honeycombs, the tree fort we built when we were seventeen. the goldfish swimming circles in a thermafied current, the friends and families waiting to greet their arrival with carved out stone welcome home signs and algae confetti.

we walk, skip, but not run to their future home, taking in the morning breath of the ferns and flowers that we wake up with every step. through the apple orchard, the fields of lament, silently waiting for fall so they can rest. aup through the valley we see the mouth, a waterfall swallowing the burden of passing the season's uncharacteristically cold water, blue is its face, blue are it's personified feelings.

rest, we will rest and in the morning we will finish the trek, up the few last patches of manicured grass, past the knoll and down through the forest of last year's christmas trees. past all this there's a creek where everything living sleeps, there we will let the goldfish decide where [what] home really is.
Last edited by rushmore at Aug 29, 2009,
Be back to this in a bit.

EDIT: I don't really have any complaints in regards to anything other than the first paragraph. The rest of it felt solid. It told the story well without getting far off-track.

Okay, so in the first paragraph I'm not sure that "an imaginable scenery" is proper grammar. Either "an imaginable scene" or just "imaginable scenery" would work. You may very well already know that, but I thought I'd mention that it threw me off.

Also I think you kind of over-killed the idea of worthlessness in using "irrelevance", "insignificant", "under appreciated". I don't think you really needed that much to get that point across. Maybe that's just me though.

I enjoyed the piece regardless.

thank you very much.
i can't really seem to get a grasp on writing anymore, idk what it is. i feel too scattered to write anything concrete, i think i lost the ability to tie ideas together. hopefully it will come back to me.
Scattered is indeed what I've been feeling with your recent work. Having been a fan of your writing for a long time, I can tell you're definitely not in the same mood or mind frame or whatever as you used to be. Your last few pieces, to me, just seemed to be trying to say the same thing, just approaching it from different angles, never quite getting there. I hope it does come back to you.
This poem seems to exemplify the problem you're having. Your writing past and present. It's got all the hidden goodies that I remember you having in your bag, but it still feels strained.

I don't know. It's refreshing to read writing that was actually a struggle.

"Success is as dangerous as failure. Hope is as hollow as fear." - from Tao Te Ching