I just want to listen to music through the headphones of the globe, I'll mix their screams with the cries of laughter. I'll cross over from obese greed and drown it in tragedy. I'll take one shot to a building and ignore the millions of bombs we drop to compensate for our more expensive lives. I'll bask in the glory of being able to eat the African families weight, malnourished and all. I'll parade around in clothes I don't need, expelling exhaust. "everything i could say would feed into insignificance"

Welcome to my Journal. IGNORE GRAMMATICAL ERRORS, or become my Editor

7.09.2009

Flashback July is Over Blvd.

Time for the future. Time to move on. It's not that there are not things to reminisce and there certainly are not things to regret, it is just simply this, Today is a new day. How I was, the things/people I have met and done make up who i am..But today I am simply Sean Thomas Mullen. A collection of memories may help one to piece together their own version of the puzzle, but that is strictly an opinion. If you are looking for facts, good luck. Only a few things in life are factual, waking up each day may be factual but it is not inevitable sometimes we die in our sleep. I have not found any stability or permanence...simply just found experience. Live life in the way that feels right. mumble mumble.
Posted by Afflicted Wolf at 12:29 AM

2 comments:

  1. Graham HarbisonJuly 9, 2009 at 2:42 AM

    Wendell Berry, "A Timbered Choir" ...

    Some Sunday afternoon, it may be,
    you are sitting under your porch roof,
    looking down through the trees
    to the river, watching the rain. The circles
    made by the raindrops' striking
    expand, intersect, dissolve,

    and suddenly (for you are getting on
    now, and much of your life is memory)
    the hands of the dead, who have been here
    with you, rest upon you tenderly
    as the rain rests shining
    upon the leaves. And you think then

    (for thought will come) of the strangeness
    of the thought of Heaven, for now
    you have imagined yourself there,
    remembering with longing
    this happiness, this rain. Sometimes here
    we are there, and there is no death.

    --

    You made me remember this poem when you said, "a collection of memories." I hope this poem brings you some thoughtful inspiration.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Afflicted WolfJuly 9, 2009 at 10:15 PM

    Nice Poem. Thank you for the Interaction. :-)

    ReplyDelete

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