Then there are the tired days, the 'not today, world' days I'm in my own form of thinking -
call it self preservation
call it selfishness
call it indulgent
call it me needing me - more than some publicized technique
my strength needing to wane, my mind to empty it's infinite data
into the great unknown of nothingness that exists as much as the six senses
constantly registering every atom's life matter into spiraling vortexes
cycling and recycling past, present's futures; sifting through the wants, shuffling priorities
refining, defining, replenishing all that is old, new, modern, era dated,
colorfully bland nothingnesses into a belief of could be but not me
why not; unsure, unaware, unconcerned, over labeled, over criticized, punished thinking
delivering hosts of rambunctious, miniscule possibilities to express
with the censorship of personalities interfering with expressionist's probabilities
within bordered fantasies undefined drifting in and out of sleep writing
while awake pondering considering if any word would
adequately explain the simplicity in unleashing the inner qualities
room to placate the desires roaming in search of escaping procedures
to manifest in unstructured form something erupting with distractions
running amuck with nothing more than basic humanness in all it's wantonness,
all of it's, 'not today, young writer, keep your propriety'
keep your personality, in careful tact avoiding the pitfalls of over publicized specialist
while the basic creature's unequivocal archaic needs meets determination
on diverse levels of explanation and acceptance or the lack thereof
ushering into life a calming intensity equated without resource or reference
by something unspoken, unrehearsed, understood only by another who has known
the indwelling of such abandonments of thought to seek the depths
unbelieved by undermining factors which only calculate their conscious to determine
outcomes unconcerned with adventurous intimacies long lost without notice by any then if
to only be used or disregarded in power plays of promiscuous promotions
without consent or concern to fulfillments of craved satisfactions casting out
hungry gnawings alive under skin for living experience free from evasion
of normality within the realms between artistry, reality, creativity, conformity,
distinguishing past characterizations to perpetrate preset boundaries
of what tantalizes, what seduces, what propels initiations of emotion's longings
into exercises of release and reluctance prohibiting explorations in totality
delegating separatists as wholesomeness while plying shallow minds
repeatedly repulsing petitions of what is conceived over years of adequate considerations
developed as it's own amazements to which still seeks daily a sign of life as existing
somewhere in the entirety of eternities henceforth and ever after shared or destroyed
alive or obliterated from ever having application to imaginations of revelations
through following the delicate soft longings waiting for a hint of existence outside itself.

Jade Jaspers