A low rumbling, followed by a spattering of rain. A louder rumble, a cacophony of collisions of tiny raindrops on rooftops and shelters echoing across the night. The night sky streaked with brilliant flashes of light, if only for a second, destroying the place it strikes, a supercharged vessel of Zeus crashing down onto the earth. Imagine this striking you, passing through your body, straight through, frying every nerve in your body until pain, pleasure, heat, cold all fold up into a numb haze. In that moment, you might fry, or die, or receive a single most epic moment of clarity. As if struck by lightning you might see the world isn’t at you thought it is, a supercharged event that dulls you yet fills you up with more than you could ever imagine. I can’t say how it feels to be struck by lightning, but I think at least once in a lifetime we’re struck by these unforeseeable moments of clearing numbness, this numb clarity. An event of such epic proportions that it passes you faster than, well as fast as, light, changing you forever.
Author: treajo
Lightning
A low rumbling, followed by a spattering of rain. A louder rumble, a cacophony of collisions of tiny raindrops on rooftops and shelters echoing across the night. The night sky streaked with brilliant flashes of light, if only for a second, destroying the place it strikes, a supercharged vessel of Zeus crashing down onto the earth. Imagine this striking you, passing through your body, straight through, frying every nerve in your body until pain, pleasure, heat, cold all fold up into a numb haze. In that moment, you might fry, or die, or receive a single most epic moment of clarity. As if struck by lightning you might see the world isn’t at you thought it is, a supercharged event that dulls you yet fills you up with more than you could ever imagine. I can’t say how it feels to be struck by lightning, but I think at least once in a lifetime we’re struck by these unforeseeable moments of clearing numbness, this numb clarity. An event of such epic proportions that it passes you faster than, well as fast as, light, changing you forever.
White noise
A buzzing.
A million voices.
Indistinct chattering.
Flies, mosquitoes.
A million 808 drums out of beat.
The crass cacophony of a brass band with a fingerless conductor.
Chaos. Cars honking. Traffic jams.
Long queues. Crowds. Temples.
A call center. Losing focus. Drowning.
Passing out in a haze. All the white noise, put me in this daze.
Where I can’t hear myself think, it’s pushing me to the brink of my own sanity I turn around and there’s no one there but I heard it, I heard you. Screaming out to me, saying my name. I move closer to you. Trying to find the source of this rage, this violent need for me. The closer I step towards the light, out of this daze. I find a mirror. Me. Surrounded by blinding, deafening, white noise.
*A/N* technically a phrase, deviating from the theme but thought I should share it.
Coherence
Mind. Blank. Brain. Waves. Impulse.
Tomorrow. Yesterday. Whenever.
There is no escape. There is.
Maybe this is.
I might not even be, what’s the opposite of free will? That.
I write to escape. This. Reality. Consuming.
Time ticks, tick, tick, tick.
This cluttered brain does not want to respond to me.
These sentences I make do not free me.
Yet I write. Ink across these pages, pixels across these screens.
My thoughts a blur, incoherent.
My ramblings.
Nights
Starry nights forever etched in our minds.
Those spring nights we spent on the hill,
entangled in each other’s company,
Lying in that cool damp grass,
Gazing at the constellations up above.
Starry nights that meant so much to us,
Until you went away,
Leaving me alone underneath the vast open sky
I thought I saw you as a shooting star,
Wished that I could see you again.
I guess my wish can’t come true,
We’re six feet away, I’m on top of that damp green grass and you’re below. Gazing up at me watching our starry skies that we share no longer.
Cold
A winter breeze blows.
Ice crystallizes on the tip of your nose.
As they walk out on you.
In the dark, dreary night.
You don’t put up a fight.
You can’t face the bleakness either.
Warm up by a fire,
The chill still doesn’t go away.
You read the news everyday
Hoping the crises will go away.
Blue skies fading to grey.
You wonder why every line has to rhyme.
You wonder
“Why is everything so cold.
The family.
The weather.
The world.
Is it for a lack of warmth
Is it cause of a black hole
That just sucks away.
Till just the cold is left.”
Then a little girl.
Maybe five years old.
Throws a snowball at you.
And the world doesn’t seem as cold anymore.
Sketch
He’s an artist. But he sees everything in black and white. Drifting through a sea of colors, he notices the shades. All his life he’d been forced to paint within the lines. Told to be happy, to be himself, but not be fifty shades of grey. They found him in a black and white walled room, on a chess board on the floor, painted himself black as a pawn. Nobody knew that all he wanted to do was sketch.
Basketball
Life’s like a permanent stand at a free throw line
Sometimes it’s a swish
Sometimes we get so close but hit the back of the ring.
Sometimes we bounce back off of the back board
And sometimes we miss
But in the end we’re always there, every second
Trying harder, looking for perfection
The sound of the ball going straight into the sacred net.
Welcome!
Hi guys,
This is my first blog ever and it’s going to be a place for my unfiltered, unedited thoughts. Everything that goes up here will be based on a single word and will attempt to weave a story around this word. Cheers.
Story Of A Word 