Category Archives: Self Awareness

Suddenly, Higher.

A light is on.

Felt it glowing,

Through my belly,

Out my fingers.

Even triggers,

Could not darken

This warming light.

Want to tell you

I forgive you.

Want to tell you

I’m still alive.

Want to see you

Inside my light.

But I have plans.

Darkness gone now.

Serenity.

You are loved now.

Infinity.

By AEW

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Just Before Dawn

I anticipate the sun;

His bright red face

burning through

the dark night of

the soul.

He’ll pucker up

then blow away

Clouds,

then plant

a warm

Yellow kiss

on my belly.

Soon,

I’ll return home.

A.E.W.

[Photo courtesy Chris Frosin]


A Poem– Carnivorous Lily

Carnivorous Lilyby A.E. Wallace

Not sure how we came to the notion,
taking that potion at the end of the day—which lead to the smoking—
Seer’s Sage;
This is where it all went a different way.

Leaving my watcher,
I went for a wander
down a meandering path.
Pulled down dark chasm—floating, falling, flying —
Into a message
that shot through the dark—
from a distance—
in some uncertain tongue:

All that is, isn’t.

Chaos conversion—Tranquility.
One-time daydream demanding development–
Eaten alive in some floral reality,
the need for my Freedom became the key–
The inviolability of my heart had been much abused.
No longer loved—but bound by a vow–
The elegant simplicity;

He is not the one.
lily


Kerouac Rules for Spontaneous Prose #19

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19. Accept loss forever

Keys. Goddamned lost my keys. Everything in those keys. Stability, freedom, tranquillity, worldly wealth, the words on my papers that tell me who I am–what I am–who I will be at some point if I live that long—or who will get what if I do not. I reach in to my childhood for St. Anthony to come and search for those keys—to let me in the house—to help me let the dogs out—to let me use the bathroom—to sleep.

Keys are beautiful—dangled, distracting my crying baby boy–Tinkling in summer wind through art room window at college—keys dangling from the wood beam, holding within them locked away memories in long ago houses from some time that was but will never be again. Forgotten rooms, elapsed moments, long ago lust, hidden away Spector in stasis–precious things– keys all rusting away in some man’s utility drawer; expendable like so many disremembered names of those that faded away when pain expired.

I stand accused of not being bothered because I cannot access my mail– those All important missives laden with requirements that sit just within the locked door. I lost my keys.

The locksmith will come anyway.


Kerouac Rules for spontaneous Prose #16

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The jewel center of interest is the eye within the eye

Last night, I wore a mask. I was the Great Gatsby. The Great Pretender. The Life and Soul of bullshit. This morning, I am all but broken and a little bit lost. But then, this all makes for good material if nothing else… This is from where my strength comes.


Kerouac Rules For Spontaneous Prose #10

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“No time for poetry but exactly what is”

What is exactly this? This is life. This life is Responsibility. Responsibility is about duty. Duty is fear. Fear is regret. Regret is about being wrong this time. Time is gone. Gone are the days I thought I knew what I was doing. I was doing so many things. Things are a reminder of need. Need is too much for me to Dream. Dream is too big a word. Word is being a Catholic. Catholic is something I did wrong. Wrong was trying to be happy when I clearly was unhappy. Unhappy is what I am not now. Now is something that goes far too quickly. Quickly are my days of trying to be good at my job. A job is something you do to get money. Money is never enough. Enough is about silence. Silence is all I seem to hear when I speak to you. You do not see me. “Me” is a concept I am trying to make real. Reality is something that science can prove. Proof is something that has not been de-bunked. De-bunked is a funny word. Here we are with Word again…

I need to have Faith.


Kerouac Rules For Spontaneous Prose #9

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“The unspeakable visions of the individual

It was a Once Upon a Time moment. A man and a woman sat at a table in a garden café and spoke to each other. He noticed how her eyes sparkled when she spoke. She noticed the gentle tilt of his head when she made a point that he found unpredictably unconventional. They both enjoyed their conversation in, what seemed to be, a deferred moment in time as people blurred by in a disconnected frenzy of white noise. The only interruption was to come when the waiter crossed the threshold of their intimate sanctuary to enquire after their culinary needs—their general comfort. The time was spent with no other motivation but to be within each other’s company without distraction. That time was good.

Paradise was lost the day they became connected to all their friends and relations through the use of a mobile phone, social network and instant mail. Time after time, there was the debilitating sound of a small buzz that came from his coat pocket. He would pull the device out and check it. A friend needed help later. Would he come? A brother had liked someone’s photograph. An old lover lamented that she wished she was in Disneyland. And his mother was tired of picking up dirty socks. Her phone was on silent. But his constant notifications encouraged her to check her phone. She would read the screen. Her forehead creased. She was in a state of confusion one minute. She was mildly amused the next. Another time she looked absolutely vexed.

Neither mentioned what was happening in their respective worlds. They kept these messages private–For their eyes only. They thought about the goings-on of their other friends and family and the conversation between them became unfocussed and fraught. The world felt all too and they were far too preoccupied to speak to each other. Rather, they sat drinking their cups of tea, discussing the latest application and skirted around the issue that they knew all the news of each other because of what they read about the other from other friends on the their mutual friends-list.

One day, she was too distracted by his frequent checking of the social network. She wondered why he even bothered coming to see her that day as he was much engaged by what was being posted by his other friends. He became annoyed because as preoccupied as she seemed to be by the text messages she read, her answer to his question, “is everything ok?” was always, “it’s nothing.”

Suddenly, there were too many people at the table for two. In the effort to be “connected”, they found they had stopped being so connected to each other.

But they have not “unfriended” each other on the social network.


Kerouac Rules For Spontaneous Prose #7

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“Blow as deep as you want to blow”

Smoker, sinner, gambler, ho. It is none of these that are in the know, yo. But to blow. Deep. Sink into the unconventional vat of real self and swim for your life or die trying. There is nothing worse than regret. Inhale deep–keep–feel–then out slow and pass the pipe, figuratively speaking.

Saturday morning. Wake up still in my black dress from last night. Still in bed as I write and wish I could magic up a cup of tea. Laughing out loud because I know I drunk texted, drunk called, drunk sang and I do not need to hurl…this girl was in control through all the i love yous last night. This girl was deep and true. This girl was her own and her own was me.


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