Waveride

I'm getting up in just a few hours, and I know I should be sleeping; but I can't seem to make myself. I got good news tonight; and I'm going to ride on that wave for a long time. Everything suddenly seems endurable. And if everything goes well, it won't take longer than two months before I'm meeting with Alev, and another forum friend can be scratched off the list. I love this weird passion to travel that has suddenly emerged in me, planning to use it well...
GREETS,
POET in the JAR

Don't Leave The Path

You made me of lies
When I tried to be honest
With you
And still you questioned me
When I was lost
And I withdrew

Don't leave the path
I set out for you to follow
Don't leave the trail
That's safe for you
That's good for you

But I didn't choose this way to go
You always picked out all of my roads
So I'm leaving safe, leaving fate

You made me of lies
When I tried to be honest
With you
And still you questioned me
When I was lost
And I withdrew

So where d'you want to be?
I'm leaving you with your sorrow
And all that's left of me
I was crushed by you
Thrust by you

You made me of lies
When I tried to be honest with you
And still you questioned me
When I was lost
And I withdrew

I'm not selling second tries
I'm done with all that I've done for you
Don't question me again
I'll soon be lost
I lost my way
With you

I'm leaving safe, leaving fate
Leaving safe
Leaving safe

Leaving trail

_______________________________

An incident that has to do with us moving and all the buzz around it, and mostly my displeasurement about it, spawned into this song. It's been jammed into my head for the better part of the day. There's something about this piece that entices me, and I can't wait to get home and try some stuff out on the guitar that might match it (although to my defense I would rather see John doing that); but I might have to wait until tomorrow since my guitar lacks one of its strings. Strange, it was like that when I got home from Czech and yet no one claims to have touched it. Typical...
Anyways, this'll be the first post I'll cross reference at Allvoices. I discovered after my latest article there that I had gathered some fans of literature and poetry, so it might be interesting to share it there as well. (Either way, most of you don't read what I put there; so to you guys it will probably not be too hard to get over.)
Until next time,
POET in the UTTERLY DEPRESSED yet at least ENTICINGLY CREATIVE JAR

Another Flash

I saw myself dying again.
It was just a flash, just a glimpse, something fast that flickered me by while driving. But it felt so real. I saw it so clearly. Heard myself hit the brakes, saw the car slide across the road. Heard the scraping metal as I crashed. Saw the blood, oozing out of my chest, as the iron pipe from the truck ahead of me pierced my lungs.
Is it such a wonder that I sometimes find it hard to focus on driving, when interruptions like these come along?
Sigh.
As a side note on the good side of things, got another two fans at Allvoices. Seems with every post I make I gain more fans. Something to hold on to that is!
POET in the DELICATE GLASS JAR

Cross Reference

Funny! Just read my way to realizing that it's perfectly OK for me to cross-reference what I write here, with what I write "journalistically" for allvoices.com. So perhaps I will share some of my posts here, there, and vice versa. But for now I'll keep them separate from eachother, or my head will turn into one giant mesh of a mess where everything floats together and becomes vague.
And I just found this really neat paragraph in my book-book which is forcing me into novel land.
See you when I see you!
POET in the GLASS JAR

Suspiciously Innocent

And you whisper, everyone cries sometimes
But you don't know
the nature of this sadness of mine

I don't expect you to see
through my lenses
looking at me

Should I hug you again?
Will it make things worse?
You are half the reason I am this way
You're suspiciously innocent
and I'm hurt

And I falter, everyone falls sometimes
But I don't know
if I'll get up this time

I don't expect you to see
through my lenses
looking at me

Should I hug you again?
Will it make things worse?
You are half the reason I am this way
You're suspiciously innocent
And I'm hurt

And I wonder, do you cry too sometimes?
I wouldn't know
It's not the nature of your state of mind

Tell me whatever did I do to you
For you to pull me in like this
Stroke my hair and give me a kiss
Makebelieve that my eyes are green
Whisper in my ear that I'm worth nothing

Should I hug you again?
Will it make things worse?
You are half the reason I am this way
You're suspiciously innocent
And I'm hurt

You're weighing me down
When you should be lifting me up
I'm complicating things, like I always do
Before I know it I'll have lost you

I'm suspiciously innocent
To you

Iris & Memory

Wow. I open my other, rarely used email account (in fact the one for this site), and there it is. Someone who I don't personally know has stumbled here on Blogger, appreciates my writing, and invites me to write for their journalistic forum. Crazy enough, it's hell late and I'm just really happily surprised to get such praise from someone who doesn't tell me my stuff is "good" because they are friends with me, I accepted the invite. And alas your dear poet has now turned to journalism.
I beg your pardon. My view of journalism.
Which is:
I write whatever I want, whenever I want, however I want. May it be poetry material, may it be random ranting (I am good at that!) or some more serious criticism towards the world and all that inhabits it; whatever I feel like writing there, I will write there.
Also, I will keep that part of writing separate from what I write in here, for now. My favorite place to vent, all time.
If you're curious, you can now find my first "journalistic post", which in truth is like any of my here called Spontaneous Thoughts, "Iris & Memory" at Allvoices.com where you search for my username, which is simply poetinthejar. I would link it directly to you unless I got an internal error every time I tried. Be patient!
The world is waiting for you.
POET in the GLASS JAR

Fluttering Twitter

Alas, my dear fellas, I have taken the long dreaded step towards Twitter and made an account there. Mostly in order to follow Poets of the Fall's updates, but also to have a look at you old fellas, and allow you to have a somewhat look into myself. Although I did doubt there could be any value in updates this short, and not, for example, updates on a blog or a site; it's been sort of fun so far, and I guess we'll simply see how it'll pan out.
So! Peeps, follow me at my fluttering Twitter account, and meet you all there.
PS. Do not ask about the username. Eh... DS.
POET in the GLASS JAR

Photoshoot!

Ok, so straying here. Already it is Friday, but every day so far has felt like a Sunday. Alas! The wonders of vacation! We are about to head out on a little walk, going to Prague tomorrow and then to Bratislava for a forum meeting on Sunday. The actual Sunday, that is. As for now, I am mostly interested in what happens tonight... dressing up to do a photoshoot at a playground near here. Might be fun!
Merry go round, and around, and around...
GREETZ,
POET in the TRAVELLING JAR

In The Fog?

I'll be off for the next approximate 10 days, unless I happen to stray here when I'm gone. Finally getting out of here, even if just for a while. Just not having to go to work for once would be all the break I needed. Now I get to see just a little more of the world again, along with seeing a long time friend, my dearest Last Drop. If you very acutely find that you need me, look in the fog surrounding the bottle of absinthe or in the nearest Czech tattoo studio.
CHEERS,
Poet in the Travelsy Jar
PS. Bit worried about Ryan. Step by step, buddy. DS.

From The Storm

We all have different dreams
Why don't you see?
That your vision of ideal
isn't perfect to me
Let me see the world
and feel

Let me take my time

I'll never be tame
but I just might come out
to eat from your hand

every once in a while

I'll be wild in my dreams
You'll be calm in yours
Maybe sometime we'll collide
And make something beautiful

from the storm

You Nervous Wreck, You Clumsy Doll

The following is an example of the voices in my head, when I feel another down coming over me.

"Not now... not again... think happy thoughts!"
"Happy? Do you really think there's such a thing as happy?"
"If I think happy, I'll feel happy."
"Bullshit. You can't make yourself feel anything. You can't honestly believe that's gonna help you. You're beyond help my dear, take another pink happy pill and imagine there's some good in the world, and that there's some good in you, it doesn't matter like shit anyway; it's just one big illusion."
"I think you are an illusion."
"No one gives a shit what you think. Your every thought is worthless. Of all people in the entire world, why would anyone care more for you?"
"I don't think for the world, I don't write for the world; I write for myself, I gotta get it out of my system. And just maybe someday someone will see it. Will see me."
"No one will see you. You're invisible. And whatever crap words you put on paper might outlive your pathetic short life, but what will that matter, they will be forgotten just as you; and then there'll be nothing left. No one will remember you. You won't matter. You'll be invisible after you die, just as you were invisible all awhile you lived."
"I'm not invisible."
"No one sees you."
"I'm not invisible."
"You have no friends."
"I do!"
"You don't."
"I do..."
"You don't. How could you? No one puts up with you, you nervous wreck, you clumsy doll; you are just taking people's time, no wonder they won't call you or text you, no wonder they sleep with you and dump you. You scare them away, though that would be to flatter you, to make you something more than you ever were..."
"I'm not invisible..."
"Everything you do is a waste, no one notices you, no one thanks you, you are in people's way, you believe you were actually meant for something. Pathetic! There is no meaning to anything, especially nothing that you do, you only dream and imagine it in your head, get real! You're too dreamy, you could live forever inside your poems and words, you're probably gonna die with a one-liner rolling off your tongue, yet none of that is meaningful, it's a waste of time. You wasted time with every breath you took, wasted love with every beat of your ridiculous heart, wasted tears instead of doing something, instead of accomplishing something."
"I have accomplished things."
"Only in your head. That's what they are, and all they'll ever be. Things inside your head. You're pathetic, you're nothing, you're no one. Happy thoughts! How silly. Nothing can save you. Your grand plans, they're nothing but ashes. You're worthless, good for nothing, no one ever wanted you, even when you had the chance you blew it away, you can't even grasp luck if it walzed right in front of you. Admit it, you belong with sadness, you belong with melancholy, you tell yourself you're too damn intelligent for your own good. Bullshit! Were you ever intelligent? You just focus on the wrong things, you do the wrong things at the wrong times, meet the wrong people. You are wrong, you're a nothing, no one will notice you when you finally die, it's gonna be a relief for the people left to be rid of you so you won't try and make them feel, or stop and see, you're wasting their time. Let them live their lives and be happy and you just settle for what you got, paranoia and misery, someone's gotta do that part too..."

The voices die away.
Only silence left.
Fuck.
POET in the Delicate Glass JAR