constantly evolving
the thrill of seeking subsides
This opening captures the paradox of creative pursuit—the simultaneous hunger for discovery and yearning for rest that defines the artist's condition.
and i can finally rest my mind
inside
got it backwards this time
always shinin'
never rhymin'
contemplations
delusions from the inside
handwriting for days
my hand throbs
quiet contemplations of better times
better rhymes, better insides
truly, my insides are gullible
sanity, my sanctity subsides
an ephemeral vessle, this time
craziness lurcking over on aisle 3
Least expected.
Dead directives.
Contemplations.
time-rhymin'
so...
verily, verily, i say unto thee
a peace that passeth understanding
not mutually exclusive
what is not saught is rarely found
This central axiom echoes the Buddhist concept of right intention—that conscious seeking is prerequisite to discovery, whether in meditation or creative expression.
Writing with pencil — seems good to me
writing with whatever— pressure sensitivity
the devil's in the details, they say
therefore, the Angels are in the rhymes
thinner writing — contemplating the meaning of it all
the pleasure, the toil, the mercy of the fall
subconcious communications — stifled by pride
...or simply getting older...
or antipsychotic medications, making me complacently
This candid reflection on medication's dual nature—providing stability while potentially muting the intensity that fuels creativity—highlights the complex negotiations many artists must make with their mental health.
reciting old dreams and visions into a tablet computer
the love begins to fade
to black
the rhyme is gone, can't get it back
to love
rhythm on, regardless — your song is yet to be struck!
to light
a chord of blissful delight, to signal
to end.