Christmas Eve 2014. Thoughts on being a horse

“If you are fearful, a horse will back off. If you are calm and confident, it will come forward. For those who are often flattered or feared, the horse can be a welcome mirror of the best in human nature” -Clare Balding

This is Marley. Marley is an ex-racehorse. He is 15 hands high, and he loves hugs, especially on Sunday mornings. He’s a big softy. He also likes having his photo taken. The camera loves him, and he knows it. Marley is a meta-psyhical representation of my ideal life – simplicity of thought, action and emotion.

“I don’t know anything. But I know this: You and I would be friends. Or, at least, I’d love you no matter what sort of bad shit you’d do or say. Which I think would make you want to be around me. And even though I’d follow you around all day like a hungry puppy wanting attention and pussy, you’d still love me back because there’s no one on Earth that appreciates solitude more than me. But I’d probably leave you alone when you most needed me to be there for you. But I wouldn’t do it on purpose. The end” – CW. USA

“Some days, 24 hours is too much time, so I take the day hour by hour, moment by moment. I break the fears into small, bite-size pieces. I can handle a piece of fear, depression, anger, pain, sadness, loneliness, illness. I actually put my hands up to my face, one next to each eye, like blinders on a horse” -Regina Brett

“Nudity belongs to our life, in the end, we are born thus. And, nevertheless, we wrap ourselves immediately in clothing, and they do not put clothes away until our death. Those who offend this rule are stamped, and closed behind a NSFW wall and reduced to the cheapest of porn. It is no surprise that a person or artist breaks mentally under these double standards” – Ronald. Germany.

A poem about being a horse

I hope
My fears do not drown my nature

Not fear of age
Nor of being alone in physical space
But fear of what I don’t know

The phrase “caught up in my mind”
Rings true at times

My addiction to thoughts
Are a constant reminder of my frailer senses

Frail only because they are based on
Temporary recollections

As is a pretty face
Or an ambition
Or a bale of hay

Replaced

By an addiction to purpose
And the age old question

What’s next?

The wise man said
Any more wrinkles in your head
And thou will be able to screw your hat on

Wise men always say shit like that

But I don’t see the lines in my face as
Anything
But a road map of my life
So far

Caused by
The battle to
Overcome my negative sense of self
So ingrained
By the nature to survive

Mine is
The only mind I know

And don’t

How can this be?

I got this
I got that

I am lucky

But I am a servant
Because servants answer voices in their head

This makes me ponder
Whether or not it is truly mine
Or one tossed to me
In the birth canal on the way out

Here you go
You might need this
Called out the birth canal attendent

I thought he said trains
Not brains
And I like trains
So I said sure

Why can I not just sit
My brain down on a street corner
Take away its internet priviliges
And make it speak
Some sense?

For me
It is bothersome that someone has not
Invented an app to do this

But

I take off my hat
To the co-founders
Of this game called ‘Life’

Note to founders

Can I be a horse in the next one?

Or a train?

Or maybe a horse on a train?

“When words become unclear, I shall focus with photographs. When images become inadequate, I shall be content with silence.” ― Ansel Adams

A poem about Balloons. Not horses.

“A balloon is a beautiful thing.
Full of potential
Its shape pleases the eye
It is light and it floats around.

To those unknowing folk
To those babies who have never seen it burst
It represents ease and silence

But every balloon is just an inflated ego of its true self

There are only two outcomes for the balloon
Only two futures

Either it will explode with great fanfare
Scaring those around it
Or the contents inside leak out over time

And it just lays down and shrivels into a misshapen form
Like its original shape before it was inflated

The process to expand the balloon seems painful
The process to pop it or to let it shrivel seems also painful

In the end,
It would have been better
For the balloon to not have been touched

I guess I’m saying, I see your process

With Max by your side, you won’t pop
Eventually this all will be see for what it is

Your controlled deflation back to your natural form”

-Bernie Glynn. Sydney

Merry Christmas from me to you. Here’s a feather. A metapsyhical one. It’s the least I could do

Categories: Sex

One Comment on “Christmas Eve 2014. Thoughts on being a horse”

  1. December 24, 2014 at 1:57 am #

    Thank you for the feather. Feathers are good 🙂 Merry Christmas to you and Max. May your Christmas be filled with Joy and Peace.

Talk to me baby

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s