Pipe Cherries (for lack of a better tittle)

The stem of a brilliant flower in bloom

emerges candidly from the lips.

The bowl of an oracle held between

the index and middle and thumb.

Provoking prophecy and vision,

inspiring poets and philosopher.

In company of dear fellows,

we shall birth springs with every idle sitting.

You Put the Seat Down

I just realized that this poem was a really fucked up old draft... I may put it up again when I find the right copy.

Unrequited Love

Try as I might I'm still in love with you. You probably know I love you, but the idea that I'm IN love with you may never have crossed your mind; and that's okay because it makes things easier.

I've written poetry about you, I know you'd find it beautiful (or at least that's what I tell myself on good days) but I can't bring my self to read it outside of my own empty bedroom for fear that somebody well catch a glimpse of my speak and report the findings. Passerby's never make good journalists.

So this is to my unnamed love, who I don't dare approach, but who has been in this position of prominence (I tell myself it's an honor) for quite sometime.

I hope someday to believe in love more than practicality or convenience or fear. I hope that someday I confess my love to you beautiful one, instead of subverting my feelings to relationships or attempted relationships or quick kisses or one night stands or the attempted quick kisses and one night stands that seems somehow more justifiable than coming clean with you.

You probably won't read this. If you do, you probably won't recognize yourself. But if you do both of the former maybe you'd like to confront me instead of waiting for my little game to end...

A Vow

I vow to pass over every romantic opportunity with every individual no matter how beautiful, inside and out.

I vow to keep my heart closed to exclusives and to love everybody.

I vow to tun you down for a date, for a kiss, for a fuck.

I vow to keep my mouth shut if my heart or my hormones seek to ruin these vows.

There is of course one exception, But an exception I feel convinced will never have the chance to be invoked.

P.s. I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at myself for letting it happen.

Dearest Friend

My friend, let us discuss the merits of deity or reminisce of our reactions to The Stranger. Let us mix conversations of Sartre and a game of chess over deliciously brewed coffee. Let us walk cold midnight trails with our pipes full and our hearts on the Dharma. Dearest friend I need you; you are my salvation from this monotony, and I am yours. You are my Sense and Sensibility; I am your Pride and your Prejudice. I, my friend, am your Being and Nothingness and you my Joyful Wisdom. I miss you and I love you. I am looking forward to the days of shared poetry between us. To Flat Earth chips and Vitamin Water. Please rescue me from here soon. I apologize, dear friend, if this sounds more like a love letter than a declaration of our friendship, it is just that I know of no one else with whom I better fulfill the imperative given in the Introduction to Nature, and I know of only a few who would understand this reference without great thought.

Your friendship truly is my most precious friendship. I do not know how our friendship started, how we went from polar opposites to "friend-soul-mates," but I am most grateful.

Life is Vapid (I am an existentialist not a nihilist)

Somebody at work commented on my "lack of lackluster." After a moments pause I told her about how I was struggling to stay "alive," that my life was vapid.

"Oh you would just love this guy at the Empyrean..." she says. Something about this immediately struck me as inaccurate. When I reflected I came to this understanding: I do not want somebody to agree with me. I do not need anybody to sympathize with my feelings. I am not a nihilist, I do not need company for my misery. All I want is for somebody to make this vapidness no longer true.

Like I have said, I am not a nihilist, I believe meaning is based on perception. The lack of substance in my life is not relative, it is objective. I am not despairing because: "oh woe is me, for I have no purpose." I despair because my life lacks the things I desire.

I desire brilliant conversation with brilliant souls. I desire intimacy and love. i desire midnight walks fogged by pipe tobacco. I desire brilliant books, fulfilling work and more than decent schooling. I desire enough energy and vitality in my life that I can go to sleep without anxiety and get out of bed without needing to coerce myself and get ready with anticipation and attend class with interest and sit down for homework that tires my brain more than my soul. If I could die from lack of substance, you would have attended my funeral quite some time ago. Thank god such a death is not immanent. I pray that (oh yes it has come to prayer), life comes to my rescue soon, for I do not know how to alleviate this problem.

I need something of substance; in an infinite number of ways.

-School
-Relationships
-Friends
-Work
-conversations
-Homework
-Books
-Sleep
-Consciousness
-Wisdom
-Talent
-Love
-Mindfullness

All laking.
I call myself an existentialist, yet how can I have a philosophy of life when I am but a walking corpse?

"Life is vapid." Me, feel free to quote.