Wednesday, November 23, 2011
The warm sun and cool breeze flow over me as the distant train fills my ears. Thoughts of everything and nothing possess my quiet brain. Sights of green and blue, of me and you. Emotions of love and hope. The faith you'd always be near. All of this as my breath subsides. All of this keeps me from wanting to die. Your sweet grin. Our tasteful sin. It's all worth every broken glass and left behind dream. It's all something but not what it seemed. We used to know, but knowing is showing that ignorance is vast. There's nothing more than barking dogs and trains flying past. There's nothing more than the crow calling my name. My hair is caressed and ruffled by the pushing wind. Asking me to move and go to that place within. That place I find is my now, my here, my way, and how. The flag flaps as fast as the sparrows wings. All of it nothing and all at once the beauty of your eyes when they've just awoken. The beauty of words that can never be spoken. The trees know it and the wet ground can taste it. Only they know what we know of nothing, only the flock knows the path. Only freedom can be found in the gusts that lift us up with our open wings. Only this, my heart sings.
Posted by Matthew Marchant at 1:18 PM
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Candid is always best. Whether it be a photograph; a moment between friends, or face you make during good sex. When we lose that idea of looking right and become the moment we're in. That is where life and love and the pursuit of happiness exist. It's in those little moments when our mind is silenced and we allow ourselves to become that look, that laugh, that tear, that sigh. I can preach from my pulpit about knowing it with all my heart. But to what end? With what point? I've surely got no idea how to get there. I simply want to cherish the fact it's there. But as it is you can't really acknowledge that candid truth without falsifying it somehow. As soon as it's seen it's gone like that light you see in her eye. So I don't know what I'm trying to say or even why. I think maybe that candid truth is our only truth or our only lie for that matter... Maybe that's god or that spirit of the universe we all know to be there? That true lie some of us know so well we call ourselves agnostic or atheist in order to piss off the daddy of our own conciousness. Maybe god isn't meant to be seen? Maybe it isnt meant to be acknowledged, understood, loved, hated or even ignored but maybe just a candid realism we shouldn't try to see but only try to be.
Posted by Matthew Marchant at 12:27 AM
Friday, February 4, 2011
Sitting on the rocks of the bay. At the point just before the ocean stained boulders meet the shore. I'm sitting here wondering if I've ever seen your face before. The tide, dead calm, is awakened by the intrusion of a tourist barge. Then left calm again after they've gone, but never to reach once more it's peaceful peak. I feel a presence, overwhelmed in attack, attempting to move me from my earthbound throne of granite. It can only cause a weak shift in my movement. Enough to have me turn and look, yet return to my sinful stare. Looking into and holding tight your sinful hair. Something keeps the tide alive as others attempt at breaking its untimely spirit. Left without hope the tourists return to their lifeless mope. This is the story of those who've settled but still long to grope at that image of peace they inevitably break and disrupt. Just when they've entered, it's over and just as they leave, it returns... like a crowd scatters as danger approaches, her peace runs away from their hairlines and broaches. I am left standing watching you there. Ever so changing as you look into the light's glare. I am left standing waiting for your return from the destruction. The disruption of all they've put on you and try leaving in their wake. You will not move me from my granite throne. You will not leave me here all alone. They will quiver and shake in the power of your wake.
Posted by Matthew Marchant at 4:07 PM
I'm not leaving no matter how loud your screams of hate may get. I'm not leaving and going out into this world of black eyes staring blankly at my misfortune. At my failed attempt at a dream. I see the way they soften their mouths at my sadness. I see you wanting to make me whole again... As you wish I'd find a friend. You want me to run to that? Your hate tastes sweeter. Your hate has feeling. Their sympathy at my pathetic gait has no life. It has no weight. I'm not running away from my destruction or the forgotten me. I'm running into my self like a cannon meeting the target. Like a child's smile of hope for approval. Like the salty taste of dirt a tear leaves in your mouth... I can taste my disgrace. I have faced this dirty demon and his evil face. I can be what I am and you can leave running for the sun. You run away? You be alone with your hate if you must! Don't leave that burden on me for my soul is much too weak to adjust. I'm only particles of dust left to settle. Softly and slowly falling into place.
Posted by Matthew Marchant at 3:12 PM
Saturday, January 8, 2011
So I take my last two chips to the cashier sitting in her prison of gold and neon lights... "Failed again... Another sleepless night." The only solace in having two dollars left in the world is the fact that they're the crispest two dollars I've ever known. What have I become? The thing I've always been? Been fired from every source of gainful employment I've ever had. Hell I can't blame them. I can barely get through a night of drowning in sleep without wanting to fire myself. Take my belongings and place them in their casket of cardboard. Shouting to no one, "Give me my last paycheck and have security escort me out?" My heart is broken and can't be mended. How did I let it go this far? How did I end up alone in this overcrowded world of emptiness and shame? Those crisp ones so starched and hard they cling to each other in my empty pockets as if they know the other is the only friend they have left. Those last two bare naked things. I'll dirty them up and fold them good before letting them go. I'll take away their loveliness and they'll leave me used and left over, as others have before, with nothing to remember me by but scars of dirt and creases of pain. I'll be left alone for good. Wide eyed and broken. Nothing worse than knowing you have failed. No greater pain. No way to leave it. Ignorance you are the bliss I seek. You are my last belief. Please rash over me with your indifference and clear my name.
Posted by Matthew Marchant at 1:06 PM