why i believe there’s more out there than us humans ;)
the simple fact that we have absolutely no way of proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is nothing out there, and i struggle to believe that in a universe with billions of galaxies that there is not some far off planet with life forms we have yet to understand that could be magical. there's just no way to know.
(and that right there is the only reason i would ever want to be immortal, to see the possible day humans discover something as insane as that.)
Magic Man in the Moon
Rakish man smiles
devious ebony skies
hovering in clouds.
Misted drapery opens
glistening petals drop
mouth of new moon
dancing in shadows
eyes on her.
Man paints moon onyx
with raspberry stars,
waltzing white swans
in whispered secrets
White wine poured
cream crescent moon
he touches deep skin
with yearning light
Kissing ocean’s reflection
entwining with sea
with sun-glassed sun
moon holds sun
in egg cup of morning
spinning, spinning, spinning
The Whimsical Side of the World
Ya know, I was just thinking about what to write here. But then I just realized that the simple fact that there are some really amazing things in this world is magic in itself.
In the glimmering reflection
of the Moon
across the Water, and
dancing across our skin,
The Glow of sun beams
through the Window, and
The Twinkle in our eyes
Oh the things I’ve seen
The guy holds out his hand sidways. he shows the length of his fingers, wiggles the thumb. that innocent thumb, oh...
he takes his other hand, covers the fingers from the top, only the sacrificial thumb is still wiggling. i guess by now it is beginning to suspect sonething is wrong. all eyes are on it, as the guy slowly, moves his left hand, along. pulling the right hand thumb with it.
i see no trace of emotion on the guy's face, but the pain is immense, the thumb is now completely sheered off, sitting motionless in the left hand. the guy spares me the sight of blood, just shows me the little tip that once was happily wiggling, clenched secretly in the left hand fist. like a cigarette bud.
of the right hand, the knuckle is broken off, and held inside. well, no one will want to see the mess.
the guy now, slowly replaces the left hand over the right and pushes the right thumb back in it's place. he's obviously wishing to reheal the severed thumb but things don't work like that.
except that they do sometimes.
just think of the level of training!
the right hand thumb is happily wiggling, and to show it is all well, the guy interlocks his fingers snd twiddles the thumbs!
what a master.
what did it take to acheive this level of wizardry?
i guess, he first took a cleaver and chopped the thumb off, then practiced for years and years to overcome the pain, to stealthily suture the finger with the pinky and ringfinger, to somhow suck up all the blood.
maybe after doing it so long it's like with cooks who don't feel pain when they burn their fingers.
but how does he prevent it from getting infected?
why would he go to so much trouble?
I twiddle my fingers a bit.
better practice on that for a while...
i don’t have any
that magic exists
every once and a while
i stick my fingers out
towards my pencil
and imagine that
it floats towards me
like i am
i like to imagine i have
so i can
escape from my
aren’t we all like that?
no matter how old we get
sometimes we just
stretch out our fingers
There is a time unmarked
Not a particular day
Or a moment even measured
But in this span, things are more
The grass is more green
The house is more home
The coffee is more warmth
That life is more blessing
It is within those quick,
Blinking times of more
That I truly believe
In magic the most
A Couple of Things.
What makes me believe there is more out there?
Parts of our history we cannot explain.
How did the Mayans cut so precisely with the tools they had?
How did the Egyptians build the pyramids in a precise alignment to the stars?
Why do perspective paintings show aircrafts not of that century? Before the dawn of television and CGI?
Where did the immortal jellyfish come from?
Magic? Or something greater?
A flicker in the air catches my eye. Is that what I think it is? Nah, it can't be. Magic isn't real. That's something for fantasy stories, ones in far off lands that no one but the author has known about before.
But there is it again. Another flicker of light bouncing from one space to another. I want to catch it. To see where it will take me. Maybe it'll take me to that far off place. Maybe it'll give me new powers I never saw coming. Maybe I'll be able to fly.
I would love to fly. To whisk around through the air, looking at things from a bird's view for once. I would never have to walk again. Instead, I could just jump off the ground and soar through the trees.
But magic isn't like that. I see the flicker once more, and then I understand where it's coming from. One little look, and I see a girl sitting beside her grandpa, listening to his story for the first time. She laughs as he acts out an angry ogre stomping around the room. I see a guy nervous to ask out his crush, wondering if she really would turn him down like his friends said she would. But he does, and she says yes. I see a hardworking woman who wants nothing more than to help her famil get the promotion she was going for, finally able to stop worrying about putting food on the table for her children.
That's the magic. It's not getting powers or going to a land far away. It's being here. In the moment. Ready for the future.
tonight i drove in the rain. Phoebe Bridgers was playing and the lights i've grown to know as my town were distorted and had an ethereal glow. my sister was sitting next to me. i've been told it's the little things. i never believed it until tonight. it might be the feeling of his head on my chest or my guitar that i decorated. it's my black eyeshadow and the way my angst eats me alive. my crystals might be fake, but i trust them like my grandma trusts a cross with a sheet across it. his lips were on mine and i felt nothing. i looked at myself in the mirror and felt everything. it's the little things. it's my friends laughing with me. it's pen on paper. i have to believe it's the little things. the little things bleed magic, however small. the little magic isn't witchcraft, it's human. the little magic makes me believe. maybe magic isn't real. i still hear you either way. you and i are the storm, darling.