Introversion Impulses – 13

introvert-impulses-13
Introversion Impulses – 13

At times, our inside world,
Doesn’t match our outside world.
Often, the blessing goes by unnoticed.
That we’re oblivious,
And should be thankful,
We have an inside world to begin with.

W.E.

The excuse for the lame,
for the mediocre,
for those that haven’t the will,
nor desire to toe the line of taboo,
to find what hurts and peek over the edge,
hang from a ledge just to feel the weight of their body,
held only by their fingertips,
but content with the breeze between their floating legs,
is that;
we’re crazy,
that we’ve lost it,
that we aren’t normal.

Why?

Because they lack such a vivid inner world as we do.
They don’t hear their own voice let alone many voices.
They don’t feel anything but outside their skin,
so how are they meant to know the soul of us,
the ticking time bombs waiting to splash vivid colours of paint,
off our inner palates, onto our canvases.
So we stay inside.
No, they’re dull, they’re lifeless,
and it hurts so much they have to paint others,
the same way as themselves,
it is too much effort,
to look anywhere else,
except at where others are looking,
where other’s eyes are lurking.
Are they seeing you,
isn’t better than,
are we seeing ourselves.

W.E.

Introversion Impulses – 12

Impulses

Can you love me from afar?
I thought not.
I’m a butterfly floating from flower to flower,
Searching for my nectar,
No,
I’m a lion walking from carcass to carcass,
Leaving the poise of the jungle,
Leaving a trail of mess,
Seated harmless, savagely heartless.

How do you love a contradiction?
Someone who shows no love at all,
To anyone outside his cubs,
To anything outside his field of blossom?

You love them like a documentary,
Watch them from the comfort of your home,
Don’t try to interrupt their home,
Their home of alone.

A lion leaves the whole jungle alone until it is time for its feed,
A butterfly only comes out in seasons that suit meadows,
Even then, you thought naught of it as a caterpillar.
It is utter folly to expect an introvert to come out at any time,
Except when they want.

-W.E.

Introversion Impulses – 11

lonliest3

I have a different set of rules than most.
I’m at my most comfortable when I can be completely quiet, absorbed in myself, immersed in thought or un-thought.

It’s not a conceited absorption, rather an internal mechanism of sophisticated Swiss like clockwork that is perpetually movement based.

My inner workings need to feel the wrist pulse of solitude so I may exist, the need for the occasional vibration elicited by wavering of states. Elation and depression, advances and retreat, warmth and frost, albeit the epitome of it all is if I can experience it in the presence of another.

This is why I have but one real friend who can be near me but allows me to be far without expectation. Why I can be near him and let him also travel and be where ever he needs to be.

The only other person who can also be this way with me is my wife and I am protective of that, knowing full well, I would not be fit as a spouse for many other women who would demand – and it would be their right to – my attention.

I simply could not give them more attention than I am capable of, and there would still be no neglect on my behalf, but forever they would assume the worst of me, find me negligent, impatient to my brief moments where I’d share of myself……. share so intensely I would burn them to a crisp, leave them scarred and branded forever with my non present, presence.

If you don’t like scars, some people are best left to themselves, don’t play with fire if all you seek is a spark, don’t stand atop a volcanic mouth and dare it to erupt.

Let our furnaces burn, feel our warmth from a distance, know the cackling fire inside us burns alone but can keep the household warm if you stoke it when it needs to be stoked.

-W.E.

Introversion Impulses – 10

introversion Impulses 10

I’m an adulterer of the worst kind,
I cheat on myself all the time,
When I get bored of her, of him, or society’s mind,
I have affairs with myself, a madman in rhyme.

-W.E.

I’m so absent whilst being present it’s a wonder my wife doesn’t think I am cheating on her. I don’t mean to be so lacking in presence physically but my body means nothing, it’s just material, it can be anywhere. I apologise, my mind has places to be, it’s chasing after my unsettled soul.

Introversion Impulses – 9

introversion impulses 9

I was under that bridge… The whole time during my wanton visit, he watched, I was drawing first blood, breaking first bone, losing my home, racing for the gold of affection granting, please sir, I want some more, scabs keep reappearing,
I promise I’m not scratching…I promise those tracks lead straight back to who I am, that’s why they’re there, don’t take them away from me or I’ll never find him again. Take what you want from me instead, give me anything, fill my head but leave the blizzard rope back to the barn.
Bare chested in the summer sun, see me beautiful one, you remind me of him but better, I don’t deserve better, I want worse, I want punishing pain to remember him proper, remember him sane, see me new sir, or I’ll  let your friend see me, let him tell you of what he did to me, maybe then you’ll see me. I saw you seeing me, I was layering my beams through sand mist, salt crisp air, we dared, we swam and inside the ocean I put my arms around you to see if you’re him but you scared me, you’re so much more, so I let go, found another friend of yours to cut you, slice you good, because you deserve this pain, you can make something with it, but finally I didn’t find him, I lost my tracks, I lost my rope, he took it all from me, I should have just told you, I wanted you, I should have given you my crystal blue, eyes, released my blue to you, but I didn’t believe you’re true, too good, too good to be true, you, who on that summer beach, alone, you saw through. You saw me, but I didn’t see you so Alinta remains blue, untrue, done and through, finally, I withdrew. Under the bridge, that motherfucking song.
-W.E.

Introversion Impulses – 8

introversion impulses 8

We’re all shit
Some of us choose to fertilise
Others choose to be a foul odour
-W.E

And you thought you were this grand and majestic thing, don’t be so ignorant, don’t be so arrogant.

You came from the excretions of two beings performing an act of otherwise vulgarity, we choose to veil it, call it love, grandiose it into a masterful artful exchange of physicality, a mutual agreement of references, contextual poles, shadour of acceptance, yes you came from that fake thing that ends when the deliberate race to expulsion satisfies all the lies with a moment of truth.

That moment, you were born, despite the lies. They lead you to believe you were utterly loved. You weren’t, you never were, you were chance, and the debt of chance never goes away, weighing on the shoulders of the gamers, the liars until they have the courage to pay you off, pay themselves off. They then pass that debt to you and if you throw it back in their face, they despise you, they sabotage you, they patronise and concoct, connive and sly against you. Pry and vie against you.

Separate I tell you, don’t be suckered into being a foul odour, fertilise, the earth is waiting, fertilise. Fertilise with your seed of love, but don’t make love a pretend thing, don’t make love and pretend it is grand, you’re just a beast like us all, a beast of shit, but fertilise, spring forth flowers and fruit, trees for shade, palms of dates and olive for oil. Fertilise and wait for your return to soil.
-W.E.

Introversion Impulses – 7

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I don’t like talking to people for a reason, I don’t want to deal with your emotions of trying to understand mine, yes call me cold if it makes you feel warmer, I’m happier in containment, detainment, refraining and abstaining and believe me, it’s for your benefit, not mine. I’ll talk to my page and if I don’t like what it reads back at me, I’ll tear it out and burn it to a crisp and if I don’t like the way the pen flows, I’ll break it and get another, and if the black doesn’t look good on white, I’ll take to it with red and let the blood speak louder than ink, through it’s cross hatched fibres sink, let it speak louder than words, disassemble the assembly of words, the syllable herds, soldiers of nouns, adjectives, and verbs, lines of psychotic disturb, leave it unread, unheard, unfocus me, blurred, brain stroke me, words slurred, just let me be that guy who says shit absurd.

No, I don’t think you’d take it too well if I splattered you with my blood, so enjoy my silence as a form of merciful relief, ignorance is never bliss unless the ignorance involves sheltering from being exposed to too much and what I say is too much, it has no filter, so better I say too little and even that will be too much, your ears won’t like the way my words awaken areas of your life you’d long forgotten about, but writing has only privileges, privileges that can’t be met by human deficiencies, deficiencies of you, deficiencies of me, there, I’ve told you mine, can you tell me yours?

-W.E.