You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘obsession’ tag.
Every second we have to be connected to our life-line;
every minute we are awake we are thinking about the people
who fill our lives, and whose place in our heart
will always be hard to beat;
every hour we want what makes us happy all the time;
every day we stay in the know and on the move
no matter what we are doing-
whether we are lying in bed, or sitting down at work,
or making our way through the world with out own two feet.
Our online identities tie us all in to the cloud
of instant connectivity with everyone else
who has a mobile device- which in this day and age
is pretty-much everyone;
our email addresses are our key to virtual doors,
our technology obsession is an evolutionary step forward,
but also a calling-card of something similar
in our collective history that has happened before.
Instant access,
instant communication,
instant happiness,
instant messages of the population of our connected,
biological, and technological,
electronic, and frenetic, world,
light our lives, brighten our faces,
make us feel reassured.
An instant stage gives us all an audience,
to whom we can say what is on our minds,
show what is right in front of us,
and we can literally write our own instantly,
living, and constantly-changing autobiography-
like a writer writes their words so easily on a page.
Our technology has become our best friend.
Our mobile phones, our laptops, our tablets,
our music players, our media viewers,
are our mobile lives, our mobile homes,
our morning, midday, and twilight zones.
The first thing we reach for every morning
has changed over time and will change again,
but our accessories of connectivity and belonging
will always be there now and forever
in the form of our multi-faceted, multi-personalized,
multi-coloured, extensions of ourselves-
which has become for us all our nexus.
Your signal is always the strongest;
your picture always comes through clear;
your frequency is always what I am in-tune with;
your content is always new-
but I would watch you, and I do watch you every day,
on repeat.
Your look is fantastic as it is
and never needs to be refreshed;
your ideas and dreams are the characters of a drama
with whom I imagine myself interacting with,
and in a world I would love to live in;
your taste is sublime,
and like a great meal,
every course of you is a feast.
You show me so much every day,
I simply have to look at you and I am already off
on an adventure in my mind;
you tell me and teach me something every day-
a mere glance in your direction is like staring
at an intense explosion of light,
who and which to someone else would be powerful enough
to send them blind.
I am addicted to you, and I have been for a while.
I would choose to be the moderator of your fan club,
and I would proudly wear a t-shirt with my love for you on it
and never hide away or live in denial.
I take notice and I record everything you broadcast;
I think about you even when you are right in front of me,
and the time when I can’t, nor anyone,
can take my attention away from you goes by
and makes my heart beat so fast.
When you fill my screen and talk directly to me,
and no one else, in true and vibrant colour
and in infinite and ultra-definition;
when you blur away the rest of the world
and suck me in, every episode of you
always brings me to the conclusion
that you are the most important gift in my life,
of that there could never be any confusion.
Your voice carries farther than radio;
your message is more hypnotic than television;
your name and your face is what I see repeated everywhere I go;
your energy is like that of the explosion
that is ignited to launch and propel a spacecraft
on a long and deep-space mission.
You are someone I could never just turn on
and not watch every second of,
and just leave to be, like moving wallpaper-
because you are like a window to so much
and so many wonders;
of all the magical sights in this world that I have seen,
you are and you will always be my favourite view.
You are my favourite station of destination
that I never want to leave,
and you can rest assured that any and every time
I want to scan and be in-tune with anyone,
I will always choose to be watching and in-awe
of Channel U.
The artist’s life begins with an obsession,
a need, an instinct, a compulsion to share the inspiration
that has been stirred within them,
and express themselves in any way that they can,
in the way that they feel most comfortable-
for some, that can be with their mouths;
for others, that can be with a paintbrush, or a pen,
or by picking up the pieces of something that is no more
and creating and making something brand new from the rubble.
For me, everything I do, or say,
think about, and express, all revolves around love-
my love, other people’s love, the hope within my heart,
and the goodness that I see and feel in the heart, eyes,
and mind, that is always there,
even when I am looking at a stranger,
or sitting looking out of a window,
while enjoying a hot coffee from a coffee mug.
Nothing is by accident. Everything is by design.
Things said out-loud are seldom what people actually meant.
Things done can never be undone.
Things made can never be unmade.
Things happen as a matter of both neccesity and destiny,
as well as happening as a matter of time.
A musician hears a melody in a cacophony of chaos;
a poet reads, sees, and feels, an epic, a sonnet, a masterpiece,
in the interconnections that they witness all around;
a painter, a sculpture, sees what they want to show
before their first brush-stroke,
before the first chip of the hammer and chisel,
before the first colour wash;
a carpenter can feel what they are making in the wood,
and they respond to every texture that they feel-
they know what they must do simply from a sound.
Every artist is affected by everything-
from the golden light of a beautiful sunset,
to the vibration that is caused and felt
by even a single drop of rain on the ground.
An artist wakes up every morning
and instantly creates something,
and they continue to do this every hour of the day,
even if it is only with a thought-
from morning to midday, from noon to night;
that is what keeps an artist going,
that is what keeps an artist breathing,
that is what keeps an artist searching,
that is everything that an artist wants
from an artist’s life.
Sitting, looking, taking in the view
of the young and the old, the timeless and the new-
I look up and out to a bustling city
constantly changing and revitalizing itself every minute,
as I sit alone staring at faces, windows, beauty, art, life,
from my spot at Millennium Place,
as sunlight bursts through the clouds and blesses where I am
so that everything is beautifully lit.
The city in which I am sitting was once described as a “ghost town”,
however I think that perception hasn’t been ascribed for a long time-
this city has a history, it is has a story;
this city reminds me of myself, and the people of this city
are like the infinite sides and colours of me;
I think that this city and I are by no means in decline-
I believe that we are in our prime.
Sitting on the circumference of this circular centre of congregation,
with a museum dedicated to the best inventions
of some of mankind’s best mechanical minds behind me,
I think about what the world has gone through, what I have been though,
the things that still stand on land,
and everything that lies, lives, and endures everyday in the sea.
There are creatures who live their entire lives in the dark,
deep, wonderland, water-expanses of the ocean floor-
completely oblivious to sunlight-
who have the ability to actively emit, change, and show their own colours,
whose bodies are as translucent as glass-
they shine in their own way,
some still to be seen by human eyes for the first time,
playing out a mystery unbeknownst to them, blissfully un-harassed.
As I grow older in heart, mind, and body,
I go to places, and I step inside the footprints of other people
who I imagine once followed the path that I am now on,
and my mind no longer feels foggy.
When you are a child you play in the fog-
the fact that you don’t know everything
doesn’t even become a fully-formed thought in your mind;
but you do want to do everything, you want to see everything,
and you have no idea that you should remember for later
the things that you leave behind.
I am enthralled by the future;
I adore every day, for many different reasons,
and as I get older I try to chronicle as best that I can
the days that have gone by-
because I have lost so much, and will continue to lose so much,
and because I have slowly began to give up the obsession of my youth
by stop asking the question: why?
The Life, the Light, the Tears, of the Poet of the Sphere 