16th Street

We all know those cool, weird, little moments, isolated from what you would designate normal reality.  They come and go and are forgotten but secretly always yearned for.  The thunderstorm brought me such a moment today and I wrote this:

The downpour has its own soundtrack.  Short and profound and beautiful, it plays for only a twentieth an hour.  From above, from the lying fluff, it flies down then runs away From a Basement on the Hill.  Generally, it cannot escape its musical companion, hope is fleeting.  But the slippery molecules play a lottery.  While falling pure and running dirty they naively continue an ironic search for vaporization, for return to the heavens, for lightning.  Gravity is selfish, and the enemy of all things atomic pulls them down away from their Highness, away from chance of an electric blessing.  The same blessing that can outrun their sound.  That silent, Godly blessing; here and gone in an omnipresent flash.  Quantum particles cry out in thunderous unison for its return.  The raindrops only live to die spectacularly.

Jotted this down not long ago while in the lab waiting on water to fill the tub.  It needs some work to get my point across, doesn’t really do that yet…

Like water
Flow endlessly with Time
As blades of grass sway in the Wind
Stand rigid stoic one
Make hours seem days
Like Gravity

Like trees
Die but one day Bloom again
As ice drips to bring Spring
Stay frozen, Stone
Break laws to Theory
It’s criminal

Like Chemicals
Capture some and kill others
As Flora seeks enlightenment
Oppose Foolish change
Infect the world and Destroy
Crutch Hope.

Footsteps, up and down,
it’s monotonous clunky pop,
foreign mouths,
flapping all around,
without a sound,
like little birds,
they chirp their songs,
seeming happy, but
is it real,
or do they feel?

Like the places in my mind,
that I don’t choose to be,
and just between you and I,
I’d rather not go,
rather not go.

I’ve fallen down,
making subtle sounds,
no fun or games,
in random names,
with no info,
there’s nothing deep,
seems life is bleak,
without a beak,
so you try,
to warp my mind…

But the places in my mind,
you can’t choose for me,
so just between you and I,
I will not go,
I will not go.

Now I can fly
into the sky,
or stay in form,
and be cast in a dye,
so will I die,
outside the norm?
or will I concede
and weather the storm?
is it real,
to warp your mind…?
if you don’t choose to be,
cause just between you and I,
I’d rather not go,
I’d rather not go…

Rainfall creates those lonesome, stray puddles
Miniature dirty oceans that live for a day
A paradoxal world between the land and the sky
The flying ones take no notice above it all
Chirping with cheer while they soar in mid-song
For them it’s been a sunny day all along…

They live simple and happy with only short term regrets
I stay depressingly complex, and try coping instead
Flying high, on and on, while I fall with the weather
Is it nature’s imperfection, or you and I in the wrong?

Too caught up in the technicalities
Listening in vain to the sky signs
I don’t wanna go, don’t wanna go…

Simple living has every task turning chore
Patience, she’s there, but Happiness gets bored
Challenge confronts me, inspires, and I’m whole
Life’s backwards for me you know, that’s all
Ignorance can’t be bliss, just a temporary remedy
What ails me is deep, deep in my soul…

This could all be part of some elaborate excuse
My method of madness to escape it all
The girl, Conscience, she’s out on the loose
A parading ghost of thought who loves when I’m down
That big guy in the sky, is he muted or mute?
Drowned out with preconceptions, or has he left town?

Too caught up in the technicalities
Listening in vain to the sky signs
I don’t wanna go, don’t wanna go…

Realization comes and goes with the seasons
One day I may not even need these faux reasons
Backwards isn’t bad, different is all,
Elliott said it’s all about taking the fall,
I can fall and recover, but will I ever walk tall?
I don’t wanna go, don’t wanna go…