be—be—be the infinite

As I view fragments of an amorphous, that is, without regard to form, in the order in which they occurred to me. 

Sound is unjust wielding a phenomenon of nature’s calm storm.

Morning’s light moves elsewhere.

The invisible action of movement, it doesn’t act violent at this very moment,

the sounds of prosody,

ruffles

sputters

chatters, because the foliage is being frank yet coy with wind.

The atmosphere dulled in vibrancy, floating in an anxious field of cumulonimbus clouds.

The weather permits itself as sober yet existing within a false tempo;

________________________________________________________________________

what a fiasco of charmlessness.

Bountiful in tonal shadows, stringent in ominous relief: foreplay. 

The showers begin rioting furiously ripping and churning the air violently.

The noise, supersaturate when drumming the landscape with only droplets of rain.

________________________________________________________________________

When I don’t sleep at night.

Restless mind between the hours of night gives way to all the things I’m missing out on right now, who I’m not close to anymore, all the good times that will never happen again, the people who I’m not close to anymore, all the people who mean the world to me who have forgotten about me forever, and I get a awful sleeted mix between loneliness and nostalgia. 

Regardless of the future the moment is now; life’s a constant.

Time moves forward, people move in between the past, and future.

Considering time as a factor will fumble at your feet.  What matters is how you pick up what you dropped and move forward.

Regardless of the circumstances, I look forward to tomorrow.

You’re A Great Pollinator

My words couldn’t sum all the parts of you because people are endless as the universe, time, and space.  A description of words would be selecting, separating out like sand into different tonal, values, and thus you.  The world you continuously thrive in, as your passion, is constantly streamlined as a beehive of excitement, and its means of heartfelt are yours.  Gifted at having a big heart, nor is it to big for your body, and don’t let it go.

Kept in sight are infectious expressions such as a smile, laughter, stillness when walking, and even the willingness to share the unbounded mind of memories.   The exchange is marvelous. Resonance becomes a scope of affection; soft kept words, raining in shimmer of brown lockets and a background of somber lit eyes.  While cherishing the fondness of a good hug when having to part.

Doorbell Broken Yell Ding Dong Really Loud

Sometimes I feel like such an incredible nothing.

Pulling on both sides of the thought of being happy.  The only person that can truly make ones self-happy is our self.  Yes, connecting with people on all sorts of levels can bring tremendous joy; even just thinking of such thought, action, as a source full parsing is being happy.  When you sit and lookout from your eyes, with a stillness that clings to your inner being, anchored, and its unwillingness of willpower keeps somber.

In many respects grappling the loath of what this feeling is of nothing, hedges underneath the umbrella of subjugation. The willingness to sort out the conflict is a course but in turn, turning these thoughts off is not of the matter.

Dot Dot

I saw that you were perfect and so I loved you.  

Then I saw that you were not perfect and I loved you even more. 

Series

 

The inkling of morning sets it’s self in motion by the humbling of suited bodies, chirping a

coro-pregón tune, amongst an amber sky forming roughly upon the landscape.

 

 

Within our nature life is a long series of losses and I hope you realize that your success is more than just a race but a symbol.

 

No Wonder,

Being apart isn’t the weeping willow.

The subtext is upon understanding and tentative nature is subverting that understanding.

Grappled with foliage and overwhelmed when putting your heart apart from yours.

The will is unwilling to except the terms but the act is already in motion.

The current is strong and we can both see that.

Wishes will remain wishes because the substance sustains.

Smiling at thoughts of them and frowning when they are actually around. 

It’s hard to get around the pervious sentences thoughts because of conflicts within myself.

I keep holding all my nature’s feelings and thoughts at bay; they must stay.

That’s the great calamity and tension pulling me apart.

No wonder,

Summer With A Breeze

Walking Shadows by Jason Ratcliff

The air casts itself out into breezes. 

The skin begins to luster with moister and postures in a sweltering manner.

Hairs on the forearms glassine with a sheened pigmented tone.

Breathing is regulated by pedal strokes.

Traveling familiar roads, lights that cast their shadows on the landscape.

A few things left standing are climbing a unchanging hill to get home.

The Midst of Mist

I still have that skin crawling sensation when I’m amongst your midst.  The sensation would be described as lips touching skin.  Imagine hairs, on the back neck that grow ever so slightly, calculating like finger nails; that are that exposed when caressed by the subtleties of a hand. The Sensation of the neck being touched with moisture, that protrudes from breath that begins to swelter, and affixing itself when a mindful breath that fogs the skin as if it was glass. The suspense begins by building a means of condensation, through the multitude use of a kissing touch.

I’ve been asked countless times too turn on the fan.  Dialing on the fan with a few clicks it protrudes and omits the noises in the atmosphere so that your mindful conscious may rest.

I want that place again…  I would feel at peace starring at you with either a glancing eye or into your form, being lit by any background landscape that hints at being a shadow.  Sitting amongst you, find that beautiful smile that glows, and persists through your eyes when it looks as if you’re surprised by some feeling inside. 

Parts of Understanding

I find self constantly twisted in the bases of understanding.  It’s a forum of agreeing with one or more parts, even though you may agree with the initial thought - for instance - a moment in time.  When time in brought into prospective it’s accumulative and understanding lays its prickly blanket amongst actual thoughts. Trying to understand the comprehension of understanding will come fighting and you'll get backhanded even if your thoughts are sorting through process.

Agreeing on the known fact of understanding is a treacherous place to climb. At time I find myself dealing with understanding at face value as thought process but other times having to grapple and repel the understanding nature is a tough paradigm.

Planting a Garden

I’ve been away for a number of reasons and honestly to get out of my own head when home.  Don’t get me wrong home is a peacefull place with loving roommates that will put a smile on your face, warmth in the belly, and love in your heart.

When unaccompanied time is found amongst my own room the subconscious slips its weary head into making one feel everything is self’s fault even when you have been told countless times it’s not you.  I begin by doing my self the favor of not compartmentalizing, because it causes a slippery slop of not allowing one self to be consciously conscious of the emotions you are having.  The thoughts and feelings are waves crashing into the side of cliff, but that cliff being ‘self’, the gambit of flooded feeling and emotion are a part of the process.  Telling one self too let it all happen takes courage and it’s a process that needs to proceed.  Once you feel that range of emotion strung out as like a arche ways into a rainbow, it transforms you into a shaman - armed for battle with good and evil.  These forms of thoughts are calculatingly sharp and more radical then this idea of subconscious. The thoughts have neither end nor bound but you have to get to a point of telling your self, “Master your mind and don’t let your mind master you.”

Satisfaction

White line – gasps of air follow, complacent breaths fill in the pauses, breathing becomes normalized again, and the suit of breathing is regular.

Crossing the finish line, knowing I did my best, there’s nothing more to do, just breath again, and get my results. 

A Night

In the dark – 

this cold wind crossing the road into the trees, the leaves shimmering frecks of moonlight.  

Traveling Familiar Roads

The road is a character of sorts. 

While traveling any road its surface changes, some times immediate, transitional, but all else it’s in a constant state of flux.  It’s unyielding surface, hard and protective like a turtles shell but has no soft connective tissue inside of it.  The road is never on guard it’s a source, on ramps, off ramps, and axis that only one can choose to travel its path.  The values of nature hold no weather bond to the road, with the frigid cold and boiling hot summers high in the sky beating upon its surfaces.  The road is a universal path of pavement that doesn’t dictate it’s being.  We just choose how to travel upon it each by each.

When Our Hands Hold

Top and Bottom.

One road will lead onto, two.

One plus one equals two.

Count up from one and you’ll get two.

You’ll need two wings in order to fly.

- -  - -  - -  - -  - -  - -  - -  - -  - -  - -

A towed line separates it all from one another.

- -  - -  - -  - -  - -  - -  - -  - -  - -  - -

If I’m able to lean, why not on upon you as my support.

When you fall I shall catch you…

For truest to truest, its order is held as a go-between – two.

If I the beach you’d be the tide.

When the sun rises, shall we watch it fall.

If you were cold, I’d be your blanket of warmth.

Day needs night as night needs day.

Fold the paper in half, what shall you get?

If I ride over the hill I shall see you on the other side of it.

One and two.

Ivan Puig

The Three Pockets

Jersey packed with the essentials for a six-hour ride.   Those three pockets never fail, overloaded with disorganized clutter.  Left – Middle - Right are either stuffed for moments at a time  - sorted out- emptied too a rhythmic of the unconscious of the riders mind.  When reaching for a pocket theirs a deep gouge gesture of rustling going on as if you’re digging for the correct change when making a purchase of some kind.  A sign of relief when the item being searched for is revealed and unpacked for a form of consumption.  Sips and sloshes of water places everything into the body like pegs on a board.  Some times the ride feels at peace-quiet and other times all over the board that’s the nature of the cycling.

When getting off the bike everything is new, taking the sensations that are going on in the world on two feet.  Mind begins to collect thoughts – reflections of ride.  The mind is extraordinary – specially after the fact when you feel everything is some what heightened or seen in a new light of some sort.  A strange feeling happeneds with the eyes…  It’s as if you’d squinted with your eyes and look at the sunlight you get that oily swim sort of a swirl going through the vision and remains constant for a while.

Chase Them

Second wind hits,

Finally out of my head and

On the pedals.

Time Apart - Space -

I have a feeling that falls back onto itself as a hunch but lets just flip it and say I mostly know where these feelings are coming from.  A free body costing not down hill just different juxtapositions of costing specifically in my head, hart, and indescribable feeling that carries with in.  The feeling is lighter then daunting but its something people will ask, “what’s wrong,” and sometimes you just don’t want to talk about the feeling of emotions that are coursing because the help only helps for a briefer period every time.  It’s better to be around people when you know you’ll be trapped in your head, especially if you’re going to be alone.  When it comes to sleep and laying your head down and getting rest, the feelings of saturations become overwhelming and course through you from the last few days, it grips tight dwells on your mind harder.  Sleep turns into tossing and turn in bed and a moment comes, STOP thinking, everything begins to relax.  You wake up some time through the night and the feelings hit, “not now, I need this rest,” you say.  Morning comes and you put your self together for the day, the feeling is lighter but there the thoughts aren’t unraveling themselves so strong as before. 

Time apart, - space - are making things clearer, honest, and healthier decisions are being made with noticeable spectral change for self.  The time apart from the other – person -isn’t what we ultimately want and it seems backwards when initially thinking about our feelings but again its not.  Discussing the thoughts with people that are all here for you physically and mentally are all thinking of you in return.  So that helps…  But also you want to talk too that other person badly.  I haven’t given up on you, so why crack at a thought that grew into a deep halt into giving up on me or us.  We’ve been at each other for the bettering that person but also lost sight of taking care of our selves.  That’s why this time and – space - helps us collect ourselves before tarring one another apart from one another.  The realization is that we are giving our selves a chance to check into ourselves and not be deconstructive in the relationship.  Lets keep progressing, building meaning, values, and all these great things by working through our thoughts of wanting to improve ourselves at human beings. 

That hunch feeling is special its ties itself like a rope on a tugboat when guiding a massive ship into port – we just have so much potential to grow even more by being together and hopefully, you can see that.  If not with me I can only hope with in your self-first and someone else in the future.    

A bloc - 'full gas'

No, I don’t have the pedal down on ‘full gas’

I’m at sorts of feeling out of gas, meaning that im out the control of using my own gas.

Legs aren’t tired; the support of me tapping into the reserves is at a miss.

Where are these thoughts coming from, new training, and racing as a Team?

Work schedule is hectic trying to ride with not so nice weather and limited time on the bike.  No one wants to get sick and I’ve been sick two times already and feeling like this allergy has turned into a long awaking sickness…

Mentally we all want to do well in races, in everything, and yes why not.  The tops of my thighs always feel out of gas on the flats, on the hills everything is fine and comfortable on the cycling machine.  Odd but I just have to be consistent with the training plan.  Results from training don’t come around in 2-4 weeks it comes in 6 or even greater.  The season is young and as much as I want my body to be at a certain place as it was before the race season started its not there right now.  I just find that my body is breaking down what was ultimately solid fitness.  Sure, ill be back at it again – in the game of racing well and not feeling that I should blame anyone not even my self.  Don’t let your mind beat you up, let your teammates and friends do that by putting laughter in the belly, warmth into the heart, and a lighter load on the mind.  It’s too hard to live a life as your own ally and enemy.  Keep pedaling through the chaos and all will fall into place.  You can’t be fast every day and the same goes for the people you know are fast now.  This is why Teammates are crucial and important in all forms and not singularly cycling.  

Facing Facts

I’m facing facts and always doing battles with my mind even though you can reassure your self that everything will work out.  It’s a hard fact that you know you have trained, put-time-in, effort, planning, and in the end it doesn’t boil down to excuses.  Yes, I know I am hard on myself and it’s in my nature to be and I could say the same for a lot others.  Its very difficult in knowing that you can do better in certain weather.  I know and have trained a lot in brutal cold weather then the average Cat 2 & 3 last few years also commuting in the cold for the last 6 years in Kansas City.  I have been racing for 3 years.  I know now that I will definitely show up for cold, brutal hard man weather but other spectrum of race results never add up.  The mental notion of adding cards to your deck and also a great learning curve is the victory that day.  Now that I know my body prefers hot as hell races!  I’m still excited to race and compete in the cold also excited to wake up and ride early and still have a entire day a head of me for Spring-Summer conditions.  For all the people that do very well in cold weather racing I salute you and ill make sure to return the favor soon enough.  

One day at a time

All the days that you wake up, you have one job, and that's to get better ever single day.

Circling the String

 A lesson, value, or a common assurance; life seems to be strung out on a string some times.  I’ll leave you be, so you may extrapolate about what the outcomes can happen when tying string.

Make a string to long or to short you can run into a number of probabilities of problems, sometimes none at all but no one is perfect.

The emotional body that comes with life, some things can be avoided, adjusted, also the unexpected can happen. Learning to live with pain.  We hold onto things and also let them go, pain can be one of them but also learning that pain some times needs to be let in and we must learn to make room for it.

Edges

Edges in the cold,

Just before the fold in the ear you have a creased contour that rises at the ten position and sets at the three as if you where following the hands on a clock.

The place where the fingernail ends and the fingerprint begins; mocks a curve that never meets a physical demand during the day.  Same can be found when the foot is flat against a surface.  The cold is always the first to get too these edges of the body first. The pain settles in but stays fresh as if you received a fresh paper cut or rather the feeling of a repetitive irritation of something is beneath the skin nagging like a fresh scab.

As I lay

The paint is imperfect on the sealing.  One blanket covers the crumbled crumbs that lay with hairs of cats and people in the seams of the pull out coach.  The bed is made for two.  Tails of stories are told with the grips of fresh brewed coffee keeping them and us awake.  The staying awake was much needed a different character of that person came fully pure, in that moment in time.  Now a story was being explained as a mist, a distilled moment in time, that would need forty-five minutes for the story to flourish but it would be remarked as a echo, “…this is me stoned.”  The night carries on with cracks and cackles of two talking through the night, it’s almost as if there playing telephone but they are laying next to one another. 

The sun rises with the date of a new year.  The paint is imperfect; it might be the posture of me lying crooked with a pillow beneath half my neck and shoulder. Then again paint can’t always be perfect.  The colors that come through the blinds are of a spectrum of whites, warm-yellows, and blues that mimic sky blue landscape.  Outside changing supplely because of the early morning tide. The blinds make soft hard lines across the space as if they were mountains and I lay low like valley.  What follows through the blinds besides blocked out space are tonal colors of sienna yellow, warm ambers, woody browns, yellows that should piecing but are soothing.  The colors that I saw would be worth a picture but in that moment I found it all in her hair and skin.  Her hair changes to the light that it is given at, so do her eyes but in this moment it was a form that I didn’t realize I could take all for myself and carrie with me now.