What I Am Becoming — What This Is?
Life Is The Act Of The Becoming; I’m Anxious To Remind Myself Of What I Was And What I Am To Be — Morning Papers XXV
A Reflection On The Becomings Ways Of My Times and Wider Life
©Joanie Adams — Joanie Adams; Gift A Tea: https://ko-fi.com/joanieadamms
THE LAST PAPER:
The steering within me, as I steer myself down this humble page — I am sketching a lady in this creating womb, that hasn’t ever existed until these happening moments; the mild happenings of her conception.
Look at her, the eyes slowly peering through the blankness of the contrived sheet, all the processes it took not only for this paper to be, but the lead in this pen, the manufacturing so divorced from the modern entrails of this life, here, at least, far and away from the labor of your must, was needed for even the chance of making your will be expressed.
Look at this, an accident occurring on my mild lines, and whilst I type, the spilled ink spills down into a tearful tearing shape on her right cheek. So sad, ‘tis such a sight to sigh over, and to complain, I just did! —but nary a better moment to extemporize the manner of forms.
Or, what mayhap to cross the mind is a big knackering mistake, Oh, blimey boss, don’t say it is evenly sown!; speaking of sowing, may, hasn’t the natural temperament of these parts have changed since the last paper? Oh, how that week or so blasts by, even if this time-seer cannot always see that passage without the need to return your paying dimes!
By you, my friends, to the ones I think of whilst I write out my rap, as I stare off this status Dixon, over this hardbound foiling of Dickinson’s majesties — it is a sure thing, to be leaning over one’s console to imagine a realm beyond whilst one is stationary in a moving vessel.
That becoming notion, bleak or cute, a lover to a crass beauty, or the cracking pun under the neighborhood’s silhouette parching bar. Have ye missed the unrevealing clearance of this here sightseer?
One, long ambling path to nurture your curiosity and for me, to make sure the idol Somes are paying attention, don’t forget I’ll quiz you with a quizzical notion at the end you won’t understand without understanding every word till that final toll!
What’s this? The often beholden and upsetting image of the aging ones who are ever engrained in the immortality of the time being caught on film. Nicely parceling itself as it chooses to move on, becoming something else to somewhat, somehow, to someone who is further yore in the nearing future. What a present! What a prefix! What courting chaos to the notion of the understanding of time in all its totality.
An Anxiety descending, perhaps to some accords, playing and toying with the memories abounding in the aging mind, without recourse or repose to the nearing end of time.
As another love happens down in the bellowing storms of ungodly shores, I sit and stare over the atomic turns that block out the sun, and I wonder sometimes about the star who can remain stationary in such awful bouts to remain sentinel.
Kingdom what, to kingdom come within to, I so hear them say — becoming is what we all will be in the end, perhaps never finished, or naught left to meander on, but there we are, arriving and leaving all at the same time and at different times, at least, till we are parted again in the final, cold, blanketing silence of the quietened expanse of the universe.
Come to charity’s cross hereafter all that, fellow wayfarer; have you ever been told of this tale of the road-running ace throughout the boundaries of time?
Watching her flanks, rarely, posting and skipping throughout her remaining time; skip, skip, skip, Back on, defaulting to the academy, till? —
What? No one can say, but some say she’ll remain until the end of days. And therein, the measurement of one remains also to be something further loosened in the days perplexing away in the grands mist of times.
Terrible trouble to choke on! Head up, till this watching show is through.
Ta-ta Now, till the next brief chronicles of ye to thee. Till then, life hard, beckon well, be careful with your inner-wrappings, heed yourself true and… Be kind, I smirk to that… Only if was all but even. Only if…
Ta-ta.
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