I remember Tokyo.
Funeral Clothes
…and in that vein, Palmer continued to stumble awkwardly through life, wearing rejection over his heart like a decorated general, who despite having fought bravely for all his life, was left with nothing but a nice suit to be buried in.
Unrequited
How many times has the night sky stared down at us only to receive nothing in return?
Let Go
It was right then and there, staring at the stucco sky of ceiling, that the epiphany of the present life dawned: Everything is a creation of mine, swirling with will, a delusion of the non-enlightened mind. It would come to be still. My hands eventually wearing scars from gripping tightly the mind’s reigns. And when I became ready, I could let go.
Let us toast to animal pleasures, to escapism, to rain on the roof and instant coffee, to unemployment insurance and library cards, to absinthe and good-hearted landlords, to music and warm bodies and contraceptives… and to the “good life”, whatever it is and wherever it happens to be.
Hunter S. Thompson
The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past childhood or past manhood and all the living and the dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify (by their own lonesome familiarity) to this feeling.
Jack Kerouac - Dharma Bums
The Weight of the Fog
The dense, dreary morning fog settled its weight on my tense shoulders, relaxing them with force, separating fleeting thoughts from the physical vessel in which they typically reside. This focus is rare. This moment is unique. It will never happen again.
I tried to make the best of it.
What is this seasonal madness and pride in spirit that we have cultivated but a pre-meditated insult to other people? A defense against their love?
Allen Ginsburg, 1945
The Weight of the Sun
Jane is a soul soaked in love. It seeps out of a seductive smile. It emerges from the flirtatious flashing of sky blue eyes and the sun-soaked skin of a California beach dweller. She puts forth so much beautiful positive energy - so much unconditional love - that she oftentimes was drained of it, leaving nothing for herself. Like a starved polar bear mother, ill-equipped for the melting ice of a changing world, gladly dying in order to ensure the survival of her kin.
Sentiment
It was one of those memories that you think you would’ve lost forever, if not for having just accidentally stumbled upon it while strolling sentimentally through your own mind. This memory springs to life, despite having just been clinging to it. You remember not only the scene and the visuals, but the smell and the feeling and the emotion - pure emotion. You get chills in your spine as you realize how perceptions can change over time. Instead of fuzzy and distant and distorted, this memory is sensationally bright, and clear as the sky in May. Until once again it fades into cold, dark winter.
A February Dream
A dream is more than a simple delusion of the slumbering mind. No more does it begin with sleep then does it end with our seemingly solitary state of temporary rest.
Some dreams change while some remain. Some are celebrated, familiar, infectious, revolutionary, or indescribably horrific. Some come true, while some are rooted in truths known within every man and woman. Some end, while some exist indefinitely. Dreams are born of the very madness which they themselves are able to incite.
Though, sometimes you feel as if you’ve been touched by the hand of God himself, like his hand reached through the window left ajar, and soothed your head into a state of remarkable clarity. You want to do something, and the path has been brilliantly illuminated.
You are joined in this dream by billions of people.
Sunset
The sun sank halfway below the horizon, its blazing round top painting the sky with broad brushstrokes of a warm palette. The sky resembled a bruised eye: indigo turning to black as the sun escaped in the other direction. And just as the whipped orange clouds stood in stark opposition of the encompassing darkness, so too did she stubbornly stand in solid opposition of herself.
Could you make me a map, please?
I sat there musing over my own accomplishments and what would eventually become of them. The sun beckoned through the tattered blinds and confronted the weak orange glow of the old artificial light. As I opened the floodgates to the light, another piece of an infinite puzzle settled softly into its designated position. Progress had certainly been made, but to what end?