I notice patterns, it’s a thing I do.
Not quite Rain Man, although I do agree K-Mart sucks and hot water does burn babies.
I count crows, not cards.
I write things and other writers write things. We send our words out in little bottles to float through the flotsam and jetsam on the vast stormy waters of the internet ocean. Some are valuable and need to be caught, remembered and released. Some are like Wilson in Cast Away and provide company and comfort. And there is a lot of trash. This metaphorical ocean is polluted with bad metaphors.
I’ve been on this island of mine for over a year. I see trends in the things the currents bring. It’s probably just algorithms, but still. The internet is my ocean, I shall not want for things to read.
One week eeeeerrrrrbody is talking about wolves. Then they morph into monsters. Full moon comes and, moon things. There is weeks of goddesses and then masks floating ashore.
I have used poetic memes to weigh what sits with me like truth and what makes me roll my eyes.
Everyone has their own ideas, ideals, wishes and wants.
Anything that says things like “I am a queen bow down to me.” Makes me think (nay, KNOW) you aren’t a queen, you are an asshole.
All this talk of wolves is mostly done by sheep who have stolen real wolf’s clothes.
The real wolves are naked and don’t give a fuck…because they are wolves howling with laughter at the fucking sheep playing dress-up.
This week it’s about love, this year really or if I am going to be totally honest, this life.
I am still learning what it is to love and be loved.
Correction, this week it is about equating love with the ocean.
There it is, that is better.
“My soul is so deep I want a deep love” rhetoric is right up there with the kings and queens of sheepland. Not buying it.
Turkeys often drown in puddles because they don’t have the common sense to get out of the rain.
But “I want a love so deep you need James Cameron to find it”. It’s really cold out there kids.
There was room for 2 on the headboard. Fuck that love.
I am tired of drifting, tired of drowning. I’d rather float.
I wrote this ages ago. Paraphrased the idea really.
I needed to stand up. I like knowing where the bottom is. Fuck, I love knowing where the land is. I like that stability of knowing where I stand. May not be as deep as the ocean but I have found these abysmal poets are all talk and no action anyways so I am drifting in a lifeboat interpreting Morse code, waiting for someone to come get me? Nah. I can swim. I’ll be on the beach with a bonfire, blanket and snacks getting wet and overwhelmed by the waves when I feel like getting wet and overwhelmed.
They weren’t wrong when they said salt water heals. It does, but it can suck you down in its depths too when the boys you cross oceans for make you cry the seven seas and liquefy into a puddle of tears.
I prefer waterfalls, flowing rivers and days at the beach.
No more perfect storms.