No direction anywhere yet I know just to take it day-by-day
No direction anywhere while I wonder if it’s even needed
If direction isn’t simply for the weak
If the real option isn’t just in letting go

Writing these lines at 10 am in Barcelona
No fixed plan but to live day-by-day
Look into my shadow and see the reason behind this short of breath
Deciding to get some proper rest before facing the day,
I put my alarm at 11.30 am

Responsibilty
Respons-ability
The ability to respond
Not mapping out your entire life
Moment to moment having the ability to respond
Day-by-day without direction
The most responsible way you can live

Phone on silent sleeping through
1.30 pm as I open my eyes
Back to being depressed as I desperatey try and tell myself that it’s okay
That it really isn’t so bad what I’m feeling
Not believing myself,
dreading that day-by-day will never enough
my religion, my holy grail
The daily question of ”what is the right choice today?”
No path laid out, no decided way to walk
Nobody giving you orders nor pushing yourself for a goal
The act for the act itself
A freedom obligating yourself the constant question of,
”what is the right choice today?”

I wake up to the alarm as I hear her roommate in the kitchen
Dreading the encounter desperately hoping she will accept me as I’m afraid to look her in the eyes
Hating the fact that I just know she sees the state I’m in
The anxiety written all over my face
Surely thinking, ”what is wrong with this guy?”
This guy with no direction in life

Day-to-day, waking up in Barcelona
No fixed plan but knowing the time has come to look into my shadow
Day-to-day, propelling me to write poems
Do serious introspection, forcing me to be fully alive

I leave the kitchen with the implications it might have
Of being this guy who’s not more than what is presented in this very moment
Wondering how much it has to do with a lack of direction
Yet I wouldn’t want any
Nor could I try and force one on me would I want to
The only option being to come to terms with the fact that I have no idea what tomorrow will bring
Where I will be in one month, what I will do in one year
Life is not to be controlled but to be unfolded before your eyes
And if the prize for that is angst
What at times seems to be an everlasting short of breath
Then I choose the uncertainty of life
Rather than force a direction
A direction from my logical mind which doesn’t know ****, anyway

Writing the poem sooths me, as I for a moment accept my faith as the aimless drifterer
I ask a pretty girl outside the book store what she’s reading
Another girl inside only speaking Catalan if she’s finding anything interesting
Before passing by a punk with purple hair begging for money
”How are you?” I ask her looking at her five cups spread out
One for food, one for tattoos, another for vet, and two more for alkohol and ****

Take the anxiety as it comes with all my freedom
Sit down in the dark with a candle as long as it takes
Letting the emotions have their run
Only to wake up the next day with the very same question,
”What is the right choice today?”
No pre-conceptions, no judgement, no saying I should do this or that
Response-ability
Let my instincts guide me, moment to moment being all there is
Not as in watching Youtube or other so-called escapes
Fully engage and if you can’t,
take the huge amount of responsability needed of living day-to-day
Not falling into activites being about life rather meant to be lived another day
Unless, and if you can all the power to you, if you you can watch that kitty-clip with all your heart

What direction could I possibly choose anyway
Go to school
I love my freedom too much
Be a ***
Not really a direction
Neither is traveling
Work as bike messenger
More of a paid hobby
Be a poet
That’s not something you choose
A poker player
Not really something to choose
Devote myself to creative processes
But I wonder if I’m just fumbling in the dark
Desperately trying to hold on to something
When the reality is…

I want you to look back to this time last year.
Think about how much progress you've made.
Things may not be perfect, but they are a lot better than they were.
Use that as motivation, to show you can and will get better.
It doesn't matter how slowly you move forward; just that you keep moving in the right direction.

Like a wave,
You crash over me,
Open my eyes with,
The calm of the sea.

Like a book,
Your pages read clear,
Sentences true,
Chapters sincere.

Like a wagon,
You carry the weight,
Of love, hold it up,
As your wheels rotate.

Like a compass,
I use you to guide,
My direction
I let you decide.

A sailor and an artist on boat.
They fell for each other in the middle of the oceans, under the sky.
Directions lost and silence felt,
The sailor kept moving,
The artist kept painting,
The sailor watched the lanterns rise in sky
The artist then painted the scene on the canvas.
For nothing more mattered to them
Then time and place they met,
The heavenly love created a beautiful memory of that of them,
That could not be erased.
A love without letters and flowers.
A journey of memories, that would be with them always and forever.
That is how a sailor and an artist met.

There are scenes
I'd like to rewind
some delete
others re-shoot
ones to work on
in post production
shots to subtitle
some record  
and others
replace
to finally watch
it like a movie

the Truth

its with kind regards
that you've been asked to avail yourself
excuse yourself
from our crying festivals and internal ridicules of should-have's,
to make an honest revelation of yourself.
i'd understand if you've gotten lost along the way
or forgotten the directions;
its been a while since your presence was requested
its just that right now
i’d really appreciate your attendance to the vulnerability.

i know you’ve noticed
i’ve conversed with tribes opposite to you long enough
i’ve testified against your whispers.
yes, its done nothing
but heighten my complexities and insecurities,
and disrupt my rhythm.
the rhythm I thought I could dance to on my own
without you taking the lead
or setting the record straight.
i’m sorry:
the times I stood you up
the unwanted plus one’s
the cancelled reservations,
but know that this one here
is just you and i
a table for two
and a serving of unseasoned confessions.

let me know when you can make it. . .