I make up the easel first, then paint what I see through
By: Dimitri W
Tags: Life Lessons, Fiction, Philosophy, Awakening, Vision

Oceans. Depression. Anxious feeling in my chest. Train Stations. Hotel complementary breakfast. Eggs over easy, maybe? I’ll pass on the coffee thanks. Seasons are changing, my frame of sight is being hidden. But still modern. Not outdated, yet.

Tell me what was really the purpose of this feat.

Action. Writing down words on a napkin. Eating one meal a day because I feel uncertain. I’ll watch “The Aviator” four times in a row with Leonardo DiCaprio because I can.

Ability. Opportunity. Look outside. For God sakes. Go outside.

More time to cultivate. Harvest these fruits that have been fading out. Spreading out our new way of reasoning.

A metaphorical cutting board. Called judgment. Scathing through your own reviews.

Silence, but it’s heavy. Unread emails, drafts. Cold drafts pouring in from the windowsill of perception.

Our souls are wistful in this epoch. We didn’t ask for blue check marks. Likes. Comments. Retweets. We asked for simple contentment without the applied material. Take away the half eaten Apple in our pockets and we are FREE. INDEPENDENT. CLEAR.

We don’t want to sleep. We want to be worn out. Frayed. Beat to a pulp by this fiction world.

We travel. We go on trips. Just to take pictures. How fiendish are we? How selfish.

I’m perfectly tranquil in this spot of incomprehensible discomfort.

The American Dream is entombed inside a glass box. A Gladstone that won’t pass through PSA Pre-Check.

Think about how rapid our biggest star flees in these winter months. It’s always tomorrow, even today.

Attracted on what’s to come. By choice.

I’d do anything for accuracy. For truth.

Our phones will never die. We will perish with our phones still healthful.

I glance around. I see a lot of things. On the TV, Phone. Computer. With my own eyes.

Wisdom. Bitter Medicine called hypocrite. Dreadful taste. We will wash it down with liquid. Firewater. Do you want another one?

What do I see? Whatever I want. It’s my world. All the people. They have novels too. Right?

I’m not in discomfort for the forthcoming. I’m in unheard-of distraction.

I’m intrigued. Captivated. Slightly entertained.

Second hand smoke fills my face. My lungs screaming for advice, it’s subtle but long-lasting. This all has to come to an end. Humanity is on sale right now. Half off. Shallow graves. Crooked family photos hanging in your dining room. Airplane coffee is dire. What comes from my Easel?

Frame with a white canvas. Painting the color Red. Night sweats. Street lights. Dead ends. Thunder storms. License plates in the back car window. Cracked phone screens. Leftovers. Empty bank accounts. Dryer sheets. Snow storms. Sunburn. Hangovers. Restaurant pagers. It’ll be a forty-five minute wait. Controlled. Avocado toast. Los Angeles. Angels without Angles. Instagram Models. Is that Gluten-free? Dead batteries. Low Tire Pressure. Dogs on three foot chains. Self-Checkout. UPS orders at Christmas time arriving the twenty-sixth.

That’s what we are negotiating with. Goodwill Cashmere. Five Dollars for that? A plunder.

What I see through, is nothing more than a daydream. Illusion. That’s why I paint my stand before hand.

Grow. Water yourself. Paint a sunset. YOUR SUNSET. Not the one on Instagram. Fine by me. My night panics are gasping for something. Eager for warmth.

We don’t really know enough to cry, so we sob anyway. To quench our thirst.

Why is that?

Because I, WE are manifesting. Blooming gorgeous.

Just because our grass hills are burnt, doesn’t mean nothing can flourish.

Did I say I was in solitary?

We get drained. Stale. Burned out over what we identify. This is not what I wanted.

I was BEGGING to GRASP VERISIMILITUDE.

Now I go and request my accolade of luscious unstable…..growth. Forgiveness to my ravine called guilt.

Into the crest of forgiveness I reside.

I still want EXTRA. Additional information on why our time is just a DREAM that has Dashed into the woods. To be killed.

I’m still in languish. I’ll wipe the shadows. The waves from my mind still complete.

I’ll soar back into TRUISM. As I should.