Right now, at 4 years old, you are slowly losing the ability to only feel "now".
I've seen it, you like to process what comes next - fun, toys, trips to the beach.
It's normal and I'm proud of you for this.
I hope when you read this, you know that the time before that - when everything was just a pure raw intake of now. That it was a gift to me.
As you age, life will rip away at your ability to process now and replace it with later..and sadly, for some of your life will only leave you with "before".
As you age some people will never notice they lose now. They'll only see later and before. I'm part of that, struggling to find my way back to now.
I attempt to find now with focus. Let the thoughts drift into your mind and sort them by past and future, and look for ones that are neither.
The neither is something unique and special, it is the quietest part of your mind talking.
It'll show you who you really are, what you really want and what you really fear.
A roaring engine
Positivity is a hybrid, quietly humming along ignoring the fact it’s core is made by slaves in China with products that are radioactive. Positivity is the loudest quietest act of smugness. Anger is the V8, obsessively tuned and modified with a super charger and a turbo. It doesn’t quietly rev, it fucking roars at every green light, pounds pavement out of every dinky gas station. It consumes the rawness of this earth at a staggering rate trying to control aggressive explosions at 12,000 RPMs. It’s just waiting to lose it’s death grip on the asphalt and to meet back with the earth leaving it to be consumed by in it’s own blood.
A depressing companion.
When our eyes first saw light, we both took it in, we both saw something besides our warm, dark home. Today we walk together, looking at the world. Hungry for anything to forget the cold light.
Around this globe we move, searching, hoping and yearning for a release. One day, we’ll be welcomed back to the warm dark. How long must we wait? Why must we wait?
Who am I to argue, when we are one in the same.
These poems are written as I dealt with depression, then anger and finally acceptance. They link closely to the death of my mom, birth of my son, moving out of the USA and opening of a tattoo studio.
Most everything I write is when I'm most tired - when my subconscious can send whispers of reality to my conscious. I have a lot of trouble expressing myself, it takes weeks or months to process a single emotional response. It all seems so backwards.... In that regard, if chosen, I'd appreciate it to be printed upside down, the text to be white and the page to be black. I'd like the order to be: A depressing Companion, A roaring engine, To Malcolm.