non-reacting
presenting an acting exercise

— it’s windy outside.

non-reactors finding.
searching.
stillness in the storm.

the great thing about Bic-Round Stic M is that the ink doesn't bleed through the paper.

singing all day - will the willing to write songs and produce a great debut album.

where do i stand? anywhere—

where are you?

babe…

why must you ask such trivial questions?

then again, i grapple with an external validation problem,

curbed by a body—my own diary.

andy denson's diaries, tales—sweet.

thoughts flutter like moths to a flame,

yearning for the light of recognition,

yet finding solace in the shadows.

the pages absorb my musings,

ink drying without a trace.

Everyone knows children are usually pure of heart
Moreover, their creativity is almost impossible to beat
So, we should listen to the child within us
Let flow a vast pool of ideas
Pouring back and forth from every corner of the mind
Remember, a child is most willing to bend
This allows him/her to think out of the box
Thereby significantly increasing the chances of success
We must be free and secure, like a child
Even when we grow old
This way, we can always be happy
Even when we don't get our way
Which will happen a number of times
An adult mind is complex
Which often leads him/her to overthink
And once we begin to overthink
We will get trapped in a vicious circle
And in our demons' court, will be the ball
Thus, we will be in a perennial state of anxiety
Even if we embody honesty and integrity
Hence, it is important to encourage the child within us
And follow our instincts
Well, maybe not all the time
But at least from time to time
Because, the child represents freedom
An escape from boredom
And most importantly, flexibility
Which leads to more positivity
And helps get ride of the clutter in our minds
So essential for achieving inner peace
Hence, I will say it once and for all
In the child's court, should be the ball!

Folding thoughts like origami
fortress of the hectic army
a sea of fans cheering wildly
and nothing certain waning mildly.

A pile of notes and bloated files of writings,
the little terrors these forgotten worlds invite in.
A choir of friendly voices turning choices into stressful hourly junctions degrading your peace and eroding your mental function.

I write in lines the complex as the simple but between them find a blurred reflection, a swirling mirror in which I seek answers but find only an ever increasing number of questions.

I'm cursed with a terrible mindset
I forget all the good of this world
There's evil afoot, and I know of such
but of love am I rarely reminded.

I long for the abstracted season,
when the world's undone at the seams.
When wild gods come knocking, the cradle stops rocking
and insolence bows down to reason.

I yearn for the coming of laughter.
For the chill wind to tell me the tune.
The song still resounding thereafter,
as we walk past the relics and runes.

I'd show you the gift of the rainstorm.
But few would sit and see.
The Otherland is all around.
But no one's got the key.

What's wrong with this? I'm used to it.
Doesn't mean that it won't fit.
But I want more, something obscure.
I want to tell a story.

But I'll set out on that journey
only to arrive back in my world
I blame myself.
It's not so bad.
This world's fantastic.
Its just, you see,
you know, I'm lost for words.
It's good, but blurred. Absurd.
You'll only hear what's intended. You get life's blurb.
You're given freedom of winding cages.
Take this fruit, It's just for you!
I'd like a different set of rules, roll again.
We talk of chains, but who's to blame?
So take them off, have a dream. It's not such a pretty scene.
Unfold, place of mythic founders, and beasts that sit at limits passed.
Make a world that's twice as fast.
Draw my maps and hoist the flags.
Make a world and let me stab.
Boil one up back in my lab.

Sadly, the crew's out. No flags are sailin.
Gladly I bring her in, but she's thin n failin.
Turn on her side and see she's flat, my world, you'll say.
But I'll get better for that.

A mind, I'm trying to find a mind
to read to help me get refined,
so that my guise may come to hide
behind my shallowness of mind.

But friends are few, and far between
a while it's been since I have looked upon them,
so I'll love the world
a little less while I'm without them.

Still I'll push on, borrow a breath
to test the mind out of context
to get to know someone I've made
but I will slow with each delay.

And now I write in Jic and Saw
my people are in pieces
I might just try to talk about
completely different species.

For those you know cannot be faked
but you can take a part and break
the pieces off until you have
a species for the minds you make.

I'm a rectified nut. An idea ****.
I'm fine, as long as I hide the signs.
It's whispering lines in my sleep
that makes my secrets
hard to keep.
I'll try. but really just don't care
I don't care if
you stand and stare
I'll wear a tutu
get your own
and it goes quiet
and I'm alone.
The fizzy clouds and fluffy pop
this lucid world
confuse me not
for I am paper, you are rock
and I'm the key
and I'm the lock.
Pick up the pace and race on forth
I'm bored, this world just won't move forward.
"Mundane, find I
the sounds of day."
Good lord, don't judge by what I say.
It's true, we met when we were young,
But since then we've not got along,
You choose I and I choose We,
I think your mind is alien to me.

There is power unfettered
In one’s right to write
Universes upon screen or page
Weaving words like clay or paint
To express or depress the senses,
As even us gods chase for the holy grail
Of inner peace and enlightenment therein,
So waste no further on fruitless squabbles
And show me world’s within your pen.