I Wonder If You Always Tell The Truth

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The Bridge And The Flow (Reflections In The River Of Tears)

do you have to have experienced hard times in your youth to have said you have never had a childhood? my early years were far too easy for me to have any strenuous complaints. at least that's what i assume since i have no memories of one. not the care free idlings that usually accompany such years. although i was no david copperfield then either. reach for the switch, turn off the memories which linger longest. every star has a story, it doesn't matter which shines the strongest. in the icy wrath of winter or the warm caress of summer, face to face with my mentor; teacher father and mother. ripples in the ocean of time, the water in perfect blueness endowed. previously unbreaching in the bitter sky, a grey river of angry cloud. and the golden spray, weeping from the sun; the towering heavens, lighted as one. speaking of which, does anyone know a rhyme for movement? i think i'll leave that one to the ages to ponder. and what is the idea of using those three dots to end or separate sentences? is one not good enough anymore? if you're going to end a sentence with them then at least give it a bit of suspense. but, i digress. from what i don't know. seventeen hundred and sixty three would have been a good year to be alive i always thought. like most things i think of it has no reasoning behind it; i just thought of it now. i just like the idea of using the letters v and w the opposite way around. wery funny vay to speak that i find. i wonder how naturally it came and why it ever went away. personally i blame you. on the subject of you, your favourite subject i know; did you ever try that poetry in motion thing they have on poetry.com? i do wish they'd put new ones up. there's only so many ways you can rearrange the words northern, floats, patiently, stars, nerves, planet and other celestial references before you start repeating yourself. one really, because you start repeating yourself the second time if you've used the words once, but you see what i'm getting at. and if you do, here's a not-so-hearty pat on the back for keeping up. we don't want anyone getting overly pleased with themselves now do we. especially since all you've really done is either happen to read this bit while skimming through or you have actually wasted time reading. either way, good for you for whatever reason you can think of. i can't think of one, i just wanted to make you feel better. not anymore though. those days have gone. those days went out with the seven candles. you'd forgotten about those hadn't you. do keep up. they meant something once. as did the people to whom they were attached. not literally attached. that would just be dangerous and i have no desire to harm them in spite of what they have done. i wouldn't know them if i saw them. not because they have changed, though they might have done, but because i have. was i made for these times? is my place really here? i've never known love to exist without fear. peddlers of suspicion, working on commission; architects of the guessing games. confusion ruled, had us fooled; the recklessness of invented names. only ashes of desire remain from the fire that yesterday burned so relentless. the lies that were told from behind the disguises so bold; did they know the child was so defenceless? just one more recollection that i'll re-live in regret. why is it easier to remember what we want to forget? the candles weren't going to buy themselves. the thunder roared, the sky cracked and the ante-meridian skyline was making good progress as the midnight wept at it's own demise. old man sun, amidst various unspoken insubordinations, laboured through his daily routine; eventually finding his seat at the head of the table, rising in all best possible humour to crown the day with such a golden splendour as would make midas himself overflow with envy as though he had usurped that man's own special touch. they had to be special candles. the ones with the spiralled indentations running from top to bottom. or bottom to top depending on which way they do it. i never tried my hand at candlestick making to ever find out. butchering and baking on the other hand were well known to my solitude; one necessarily having to follow the other. hmmm, i spelled necessarily correctly at the first attempt. wonders really will never cease. other things that will never cease are eternity, though only by definition, and good and evil, though only by default of their retaliatory dance being in itself of the ages and possessing that timeless, albeit in this case, dubious quality of being a revered and well-attended spectator sport. madness it is. hah, madness. everyone seems to be mad these days. or at least they say they are. people appear to take great pleasure in telling everyone how crazy they are. well, i tell them right now, you are not mad. you are not crazy. you aren't anything. if you were genuinely of an odd disposition then you wouldn't even know it. everything you did would be normal to you. you certainly wouldn’t have to make an effort about it and then still have to prove it by announcing it. no, you're not mad, just wanting some kind of attention. it's not like anger, where you can feel the fuse burning, burning, burning until nothing can contain it and then BOOM! everything scatters and it can take years sometimes to piece together the debris; and that's only if you manage to recover it all. too many good things have been lost that way. they say no good thing ever dies. maybe so, but for all intent and purpose they are finished. sometimes you can't go back. unless there is a change, either of situation or character. and whichever one it is, it must be of a sufficient degree as to signify to everyone the new intentions and direction. everything has a limit though. once that limit is exceeded, there is no going back. everything loses control of itself and hurtles towards oblivion, leaving nothing in it's wake but destruction and a compound, deep-set stain of mistrust, confusion and uncertainty of everything that once held any value, that not even the tears of heaven's own angels could wipe clean. i knew an angel once. the purity of spring, the fire of summer, the grace of autumn and the majesty of winter never graced this mortal realm in human form, before or since, as in the heart, soul and countenance of that perfection of creation. i'll miss them. as on the day she was born, god had never looked down on his creation so joyful and proud; the angels hallelujahs accompanied the act of his right hand removing her shroud. i'm a metaphorical man. that's not to say that i am not really a man. i just have a leaning towards cryptic simile. not unlike old sam weller. the great traveller, sam weller. faithful servant, sam. and of the fashion of the times, praiseworthy son, samivel veller. or newman noggs. or that great man and most affecting manipulator of words, wilkins micawber. even the poor in monetary terms but rich in all the aspects of human nature that makes a man complete in the most profound manner, mr. peggotty, (if ever there was a case of rags and riches, it was he). that dickens had the right idea. i haven't had a dream, (except those black and white ones whose sole purpose is to haunt our slumbers), in a long, long time; but if i had the opportunity of one coming true then i would be a happy mixture of those men. and maybe a few others. my dreams really are a thing of the past then, on more than one level. i've grown tired of the shadows stealing my sunshine and the clouds stealing my thunder. there was a report in the newspaper the other day, i forget what it was about but it really got me thinking. the point of which is to prove how everything gets me thinking these days; and the ensuing thoughts are not necessarily related to the subject just visited. everything comes back to one, maybe two, yes, definitely two things. i am, however sworn to secrecy. should i reveal anything then i will be forced to walk over a particularly sharp cattle grid in an extremely heavy hat! alright, i stole that line but since it's not copyri...oh it is? don't worry, i'll pay the fine. anything to relieve me of one of these evils i've become attached to. money. unintentionally attached. i've even tried giving it away but no one wants it. i was thinking of burning it. just to see how i'd feel at the sight of thousands of pounds going up in smoke and knowing that it was mine. i imagine that would be quite liberating. i think what would be more liberating would be getting rid of all attachments. monetary, material and emotional. that way you wouldn't have to please anybody. and after the first act of unquestionable selfishness of thinking only of your own well-being, (and heaven forefend that anyone should do that!) it wouldn't be selfish because you wouldn't be putting yourself before anyone or anything else. i suppose if you could make the decision to go it alone then you could be the happiest person who ever lived. i don't know how anyone could be happy all the time though. did you ever hear the story of old oswald? no? me neither. i caught the end of it once while i was staying with someone i used to know somewhere. apparently it ends with him swinging from a ceiling fan and cursing his own good luck. or was it good looks? i only heard it spoken; and that was by a foreigner. they all have that peculiar attribute of, when speaking english, being incapable of pluralising nouns. i wish i could remember more. fact is, i can't afford to. every memory i ever had (except one), is nothing but the impenetrable blur of a never ending charade whose chapters i cannot separate; a long forgotten face whose features i can no longer distinguish; a collection of dreams whose highlights now fail to excite me. nothing has any distinction except for the enduring feeling that there is a place where i know i would feel at home. i've been before. the only memory that stands alone from the rest. i'm leaning on an old city wall, about one hundred feet high. i'm at the top of the silent city. there are no windows, just holes with shutters perpetually closed except for the hour where the sun is at forty five degrees. the streets are cobbled and thin. all alike and all sloping. there are tourists but they respect the traditions. from the top of the city you can see right across the open, flat landscape all the way to the sea. nowhere is there a more tranquil air, a more refreshing attitude or a more refined art of easy living than here. i'm there now. i can see it with my eyes closed. i can reach out and touch it. but it fades every time. it's demise as unannounced as it's arrival. much like old duke totem. a remarkable gentleman, in that he never owned a knife all the time he lived in town, (which was incidentally his whole life). he used to come and go without warning. only he never came back empty-handed. nobody knows how he did it and he never let on as to his ways. he was as close to a role model as i ever found. just this morning i stepped from a self imposed exile out into the garden. i was met by a blazing sun, who i thought seemed a little more pleased to see me than i was at his presence. partially blinded i looked about the sky, clear blue and cloudless as it was. almost untouched, except for the jet streams of a number of aeroplanes; all of which i had a faint desire to be on. alright, i admit, it was more than faint. i didn't know where any of them were destined, but it didn't matter. i don't know where i'm destined so what difference would it make? the more i watched, the more i sobered up to the fact that i wasn't on one of them and what's more, i probably won't be anytime soon. there are plenty of places i want to go, but not yet. what a waste it would be. i wouldn't enjoy it. i probably wouldn't even know where i was and that wouldn't matter either. there are only two places in this world i really want to go. the first i wouldn't be comfortable in right now, and the second is called home. i've never been so far away from home before. and especially not alone. i'm quite sure that this was meant to be written in the third person, that way it sounds less self-pitying, but, whether consciously or subconsciously, (or maybe and most likely, with my constantly receding hours of sleep, unconsciously), it has become all about me. i've been guilty of that a lot recently. maybe because i used to think of everyone else before myself. how the times have changed. the sun isn't shining so brightly now is it! no sir! i wonder how many of the people who have told me to think more of myself would still agree with such a sentiment if they were the ones to lose there place in line. a lack of knowledge of human nature and of experience in general, i am just a kid after all, prevents me from giving a definite answer. however what i do know is enough to give an answer, as incoherent as it may prove to be. and that is this. people in general have a way about them that, whether it is inherent or developed or just a part of what we know as human nature, is contradictory. it's all very well saying think of yourself first. but it was at the expense of someone else. when it comes to sacrificing their own good fortune or high standing they get reluctant. they get frustrated. they get argumentative and unclear. i know, i've seen it. i've seen people play the victim without so much of a hint of shame. no hint of irony. no recognition of the fact that their behaviour only causes more harm. now, as i reflect on what has passed i see a change. a change in my thinking. a change in my wants. a change in my needs. a change in my perception. a change in myself. i'm a different person now. for the better? i won't even try and convince you or myself of that. we both know it isn't, but it is where we are. i've changed for the better once before; maybe i can do it again. of course, i had some help then. whether or not i can call on that help again only time will tell. i've burnt all the paper that bore my hand; i've snapped all the pencils that felt my grip. they are, as the king said of life without his queen, pointless. i thought of something as i was lying in bed earlier. we don’t find love. love finds us. despite my dislike of the word, that’s one of the truest things i ever heard, read, saw, anything. i may go as far to explain why i say that too. if we found love then that would surely mean the one we found would return the compliment; which, as we both know, isn’t always the case. however, if it be true that love finds us then there wouldn’t be necessarily be reciprocation. it just means that the two parties aren’t close enough on that level that love would be able to reveal itself to them both. a very inexperienced definition, i realise, but it makes sense to me. and also satisfies the vanity in us all, or at least in me, that cannot believe that someone we are attracted to doesn’t see anything in us. that is what it is all about really, vanity; and it will take something/someone special to change my mind. and now, as divide my time unequally between the comfort and quiet of my favourite chair and, in favour of, the thin, sloping streets, i notice more than ever the symmetry of the stars. but there was a restlessness there. a disquiet amongst the constellations. an uneasiness in such rigid formations. a change is necessary. i told you i was a metaphorical man. this has gone beyond candles. there is a fire inside me now and the old flame is showing no signs of fading. this was nothing but an aside, or maybe an affront depending how much you think you know. i make no apologies. not anymore.