ming.

Ming lies.

He doesn't even drink sake.

nothing, gracious, vacant nothing

Is there a way to make the brain stop over thinking when it refuses to?
Can we make the mind flow yellow when it wants to default to blue?
For some it all stays on the level, while for others it delves too deep.
If only I could make it calm, then maybe I could get some sleep.
To have a blissful night of nothing would be a dream come true
But dreams of nothing, gracious, vacant nothing
Would make me nothing but a timid little shrew
Who knew so little of the world around her spinning madly fire like
Eyes so wide and full of wonder waiting for that painful spike
Right through that madly working brain that does not seem to ever stop
And then here comes reality forcing in like the butcher's enthusiastic chop
And nothing, gracious, vacant nothing is merely but a fantasy
But what a world would that be when one could dream of ecstasy
Then torment oneself with "what ifs?" "how comes" and "what was.."
And all the stupid other things that this mind seems to be filled abuzz
Please let the placid air surround me like it does so well for them
They seem to be happy there, living their ignorant little shams.
If only I could donate some, like long-haired vixens do
When cancer victims need their dignity, they will gladly take some in lieu
Donate thoughts aplenty just in time for the freakish holidays
They can take all my thoughts and make sense of them,
Turn them in to happy days.

Song of Drifters

Song of Drifters
by Carl Abramowitz

sandwiched between laughter and solitude,
the insouciant follower of gregariousness,
slowly, slowly, slowly breaks open
lockjaw to speak like jettisoned debris from an agatha
christie runaway train...

quietly, we become the people we pretend to be,
pretending like it was some sort of fantasy game
and wielding delightful faucet-shaped smiles
we dance the dance of the sunset
the fusillade of our tears silenced by the deafness
of our hearts beating in syncopation

we promise no longer to be monochromatic, to be
clowns of one color because they, the institution,
placate adroitly the strenuousness of our dreams
flattening our tiny worlds we kept so secret
from our parents, and their parents,
to ancestors who no longer spell
their surname the same way we do

new website, meditations

In a melancholy haze I removed my old website and decided I would never paint again. I know, I know, "artist" you think. Sad, melancholy, emo artist.

Someone had said something to me to absolutely crush my soul and spirit and I couldn't dream of embarrassing myself again the way I have been doing the entirety of my life. But, as my work in progress, after meditating and finding myself again, I am recreating website.

www.meggibbs.com

This seems to give away my pseudonym on this blog, so hopefully my 2 followers won't tell anyone it's me. Enjoy my mediocrity. They're going to have to deal with me anyways... and seriously, there are way worse artists out there than me.

When I run I meditate. Something about the "left, right, left, right" matra that goes into my head when the mp3 player dies that is akin to "om" that seems to clear my head and bring me to my destined path in life. "left, right, left, right" feet pound on pavement, treadmill, whatever. Thoughts enter my head so I run faster, harder, until the only thoughts are those relating to my immediate body. Pain. Soreness. Wimp. You can go faster than this. You are powerful... then the run is enjoyable.

They say that if you fake a smile while running, enduring pain, or lifting weights, etc. that the "smile" will trick your brain into thinking that you're doing something enjoyable. This sometimes works... either that or the absurdity of knowing I'm smiling or seeing my smiling face in a gym mirror makes me feel like Heath Ledger's joker. Creepy.

But funny. And so strength builds and i move on... and meditate. And my problems are solved at least temporarily until the endorphins wear off.

Together as one

I wrote a song WITH lyrics this time. The tune is easy, Am, E then progression at A to chorus.
F, D, G, repeat. Followed by E7, F then back to original progression with Am.

Lyrics go like this:

I hear the footsteps down the hallway

I turned to look but no one’s there

I hear the voices there behind me

But there was no one there.

And summer fog was thick as winter

No one around to see or hear

And in that summer the flowers wilted

I swallowed

my tears.

I swallowed all my tears

And in a crowd of a thousand people

Marching together for their cause

But in that crowd I’m a lost soul

I was never there.

And summer fog was thick as winter

No one around to see or hear

And in that summer the flowers wilted

I swallowed

my tears.

I swallowed all my tears.

I am my own best companion

She will always be with me

Hand in hand we went together

And we were free

So completely free.

And the summer fog was clearly lifted

The sun shone down from skies above

And not a single flower wilted

We were together

As one

Together we were one.

Night wash

She's found it to be
That it echoes in ceaseless harmony
The music we hear each night

A faint whispering
Or perhaps it was a thundering
That caused her to see the light

Under a blanket of stars
There was an ocean of passing cars
Barefooted path she took to you

A green grass highway
And fleeting lights that would not stay
Only the scenery stays true

She hitched a stranger's ride
While the full moon's ebbing tide
Took the ocean far from shore

And then took it all in
Beauty washed away her sins
There was nothing she wanted more.