word (life's a bowl of cherries / here we are)

Writing, it seems that I only visit you when I'm flustered, got lots on my mind, cluttered and struggling to hold onto my purpose. How much of me is really me? How much of me do you get? I'd really like to write not merely just to vent, though lately, I have been doing just that, trying to hear myself amidst the clutter, allowing myself to speak freely, for a lot goes through my mind throughout the day, and it is a pity that only a minutae, a fragment of that racing mind is captured. The most intimate parts of me, my most vulnerable side, my grievances, my sorry and rage, my hurt and envy, my happiness, it is the real record. I've been doing this (writing, documenting in you), since I was a boy, except, these days, I expect something I shouldn't from you. But, what I gave before and have always given before resulted in a product, words. By merely recording just thoughts, freedom allowed those thoughts to blossom into a purpose, a reason for me, and I looked to you, the form of a word, the outer garment, the attire of meaning, this penmark on paper. But the meaning, the hurt, the moment, the music, the memories—the essence is truly invisible to the naked eye, and if I let go, discard the outer garment and the word, and the attention to how I am perceived, how I carry myself, my meaning will come to life and emerge on its own. All I really need is to record the thoughts, as I always have been doing. Let nothing be secret. Let it be. I'm going to be one, and whole. I'm going to find it: I write, I think, I fly, I am. There are no words, just me stained on this paper here, 2013 an evidence, an ephemera of my existence, evidence that I was here.

but something in me craves that this not be kept secret. So I move about. I move other ways to find it a home, visually, so that it can have a home, so that it can have the proper attire in its resting ground and that is why I make art to encapsulate the proof that I existed, to encapsulate the proof that I too was hurt and that I persevered, that I overcame, that I listened that i gave as much as I took. i need to be heard as much as you need to listen. i need to listen as much as you need to be heard. today i lived, and today i felt, today i doubted, and today i sighed from the monotony of this existence, today was levity, today was too heavy for me, today they looked at me, laughed at me judged me. today i did too. today i reevaluated myself and today i decided to change for better and some worse. today i floundered and lied still. tomorrow i got up. the day after that i repeated the act, but as i rose tomorrow, i picked up your hand and we stood up together. tomorrow we worked together. tomorrow we worked things out. tomorrow, we reached an agreement—that yesterday we will do the same if one of us were to fall. and yesterday was a little bit better and a little less worse because of tomorrow. yesterday we decided not to judge ourselves. yesterday, we listened to each other and I heard you and you heard me. Yesterday we looked at each other. Yesterday we laughed. Yesterday we shared each other. Yesterday we decided that today was going to be you and me. tomorrow we decided that today was you and me. we decided today was you and me and we never looked back at tomorrow ever since.