Lost

In the woods
Among ghosts
Among ants
With paths that are definitely paths
Paths that might not be paths
With towering trees
Hanging overhead
Casting shadows
Casting spells
On empty cabins
Without electricity
Casting spells
On empty beings
Without purpose
Listening
To birds whisper
Leaves rustle
Branches snap
With symphonic idleness
Rung emphatically
Don’t look back
I beg you
Run as fast as you can
Get out of the woods
Please
Keep onward
Without resistance
Toward civilization

That’s the reality of it. You were hurt badly, and those scars will be with you forever. I feel sorry for you. But think of it like this: It’s not too late to recover. You’re young, you’re tough. You’re adaptable. You can patch up your wounds, lift up your head, and move on. For most that’s not an option. The only thing most people will ever be is lost. It doesn’t matter whether somebody judges this as good or bad—that’s not the point. You’re the one who has an advantage. You ought to consider that.
Kafka On The Shore, Haruki Murakami
Loch Raven Dam

Loch Raven Dam

Sometimes

I just really want to tell people how much I miss them
How much I love them
Tell them how warm their thoughts make my heart
But when I do
They ignore me
Or don’t have the time
And though my heart’s warm
It hurts
It hurts knowing someone you miss with your whole being
Doesn’t miss you
My breath becomes heavy
Warm feelings turn sorry-eyed
I’m pointless fog
Safest silent

Straight Up

Straight Up

Shorelines

Country manicured
Suburban stoned
Breathing
In and out
.
Glistening
Amongst docks
Polished and worn
Under bay breeze
.
Glorified
Amongst top property listings
Below clear skies brushed with jet stream
Behind trailer parks
.
With long lines
Short attention spans
And a tree house for one
I sit behind an imaginary type writer
Throw sticks to dogs
Watch the sunset
In a place too good to be true
.
Tragic—happy
Sad—beautiful
Cliché
New age magic

Haruki Murakami

Haruki Murakami

I’m Sorry

I’m a little drunk
Always
Maybe not
But probably a little
.
I’m sorry
I accidentally threw your guinea pig
Against a wall
When it bit me
All those years ago
.
I’m sorry
I dropped that thing that one time
I’m not good at balancing
Plates
Emotions
Orbits
Scale
.
I’m sorry
I ate the last piece of pizza
I was hungry
And how the hell
Do you split eight slices
Five ways
.
I’m sorry
I never wrote you that letter
I should’ve
One day I will
Forgive me
I’m waiting for the right words
.
I’m sorry
I came home blackout drunk
That one time
And thought someone stole my car
When I really parked it across two spaces
Two blocks away
In front of a Kinder-Care
.
I’m sorry
I always smell like smoke
I’m just surrounded by it
Maybe I’ve become smoke
Maybe not
Sorry anyways
.
Sorry for being so sad
I don’t think I’m sad
Maybe a little off
Easily overwhelmed
.
I’m sorry
I hurt you
But like a boy who has been punished for accidentally peeing in his bed
I’ve been punished

Spontaneous Prose

Sidnsnsjsjdfggguahs
Nsdisbs
Isjejsow
Hahahahaha
Hssiahg
Bahhhsis

Kafka On The Shore, Haruki Murakami

Kafka On The Shore, Haruki Murakami

You Could Say

I’m an owl
Day owl—night owl
Hooting howls
Reading
Sleeping
Though not a wise owl
Still an owl
.
You could say
The universe has turned
Into a giant firework display
That’s rendered me motionless
Into time
Into time
To watch my life away
.
You could say
I’m the worlds best dancer
You probably won’t
Doesn’t matter
,
You could say
These funny images I paint
Have been blended
Crushed
Vomited
Beyond the point of justice
.
You could say
A woman in silk waits somewhere
Behind curtains unimaginable
On a balcony smoking
Waiting for me to bloom
.
You could say
Fish don’t have legs
Chicken’s a lie
God’s a pineapple
.
You could say
Dizziness is a virtue
.
We could all say a lot of things

She’s got be a ghost. First of all, she’s just too beautiful. Her features are gorgeous, but it’s not only that. She’s so perfect I know she can’t be real. She’s like a person who stepped right out of a dream. The purity of her beauty gives me a feeling close to sadness—a very natural feeling, though one that only something extraordinary could produce.
Kafka On The Shore, Haruki Murakami