Silly Boxes

Generation what. What do us 80's babies call ourselves these days? As a wanderlust addict, it's hard to stay in the box, between the lines, on the road, grounded focused on the they-isms. Pardon the french, but who the hell are they. Note, h-e-double hockey stick is far from the french within. D'accord.

Hold on to the edges, shock is about to rattle those strategically cut corners, blur those lines and split that road. It feels good to be home on a Saturday night. Alone. On a balcony with wide open grateful eyes and no boxes. Less stuff breads more happiness.

Calmly chaotic crazy fantasies dance from my head to my finger tips. The believer in, and on me doesn't accept what they say. We spend our whole lives trying to find something we can't define listening to them pretending.

I've heard them say, "When you know, you know. You'll be certain of it.". Well, the certainty boxes should be rather roomy these days. All this certainty roaming around dragging enough cardboard to jail The Big House justifies ideologies running wildly in the south of France felt by finger tips.

Some will only understand you when you fit in their box, keep pushing them away until they listen or stay there.

Be you, waiting for someone to meet you half way. Those on your half crowd the walls guarding the voices screaming replies without ever understanding the words you communicate in the way you can. Don't do it. Hold your line, drawn in your favorite color, crafted by the images floating around the world characterized by the perceptions that matter. Yours.

The perceptions of others should not reflect the perception of you. You know you. All the communication, or lack there of, still doesn't grant the outsider the power to choose what box you sit in. Be the box sending invitations to construct just enough room for those who make your soul happy.

So, I'll live by the tickings of my desires, not some clock they keep telling me I should hear. Running fast as hell, stopping to intensify the small things, having soul sex, pushing heavy objects, releasing weight, loosing hesitations to gut wrenches, defying logic, arguing with fate, knowing my definition of a happy place is no longer the ideal version they taught us all to cling to like a dirty rag trying to make the glass glisten.

Hell, Toys' R' Us kids don't grow up and they play with clocks instead of watching them.