The Butterfly Effect
why does guilt always come in retrospect?
what initially started out as an inconsequential meeting of the minds and seemingly irrelevant particle dance has now taken on the full flegded form of the butterfly effect. chaos theory in all its beautiful and terrifying interpretations, the butterfly's wing has returned trajectory ... phenomena ... esoterica behavioral dynamo .. to finally rest (or prey) on me.
the downside of being involved with someone older, wiser, and more emotionally in tune with himself (and also you ... cross your fingers hope to die knock on wood ditto black out for life and death black out for life and death doorknob) ... is that you can't necessarily get away with your regular antics (*ahem* ... tactics).
injustice only because it's disadvantageous.
so what's with that look of humiliation, desperation, and anger when i say that i can't (but he took it as "won't") see you in three weeks time? that for me, a break was certainly pending but hopefully not lost in the cause ... (or in the sauce) of foreboding.
so i wonder now if he's already guessed at the true reason. if he knows the real deal in the making (or the unfolding). that the winners are really losers. the players in fact sideline spectators. and the name of the game is in actuality ... charades.
the conclusion so far is only this:
between us, there is no real use for words. meaning is generated through the dialectic use of signs and semiotics ... made on the sly, off and running, something intentional or spontaneous. but in the end, having to cope with RE:action.
anger is often an extension, if not a manifestation of grief. i'm passing this silly notion off as weird chauvinism, male ego, or perverted yang.
and finally ... the language of desire has its own form of semantics. tonal gestures, the bold and the pastel ... unpredictable yet wary ... a language that not only shows us who we really are, but the way we were (ref. wheelis).
so the butterfly has flapped its wing ... and now all i can do is wait.
forecast?
tornado.
what initially started out as an inconsequential meeting of the minds and seemingly irrelevant particle dance has now taken on the full flegded form of the butterfly effect. chaos theory in all its beautiful and terrifying interpretations, the butterfly's wing has returned trajectory ... phenomena ... esoterica behavioral dynamo .. to finally rest (or prey) on me.
the downside of being involved with someone older, wiser, and more emotionally in tune with himself (and also you ... cross your fingers hope to die knock on wood ditto black out for life and death black out for life and death doorknob) ... is that you can't necessarily get away with your regular antics (*ahem* ... tactics).
injustice only because it's disadvantageous.
so what's with that look of humiliation, desperation, and anger when i say that i can't (but he took it as "won't") see you in three weeks time? that for me, a break was certainly pending but hopefully not lost in the cause ... (or in the sauce) of foreboding.
so i wonder now if he's already guessed at the true reason. if he knows the real deal in the making (or the unfolding). that the winners are really losers. the players in fact sideline spectators. and the name of the game is in actuality ... charades.
the conclusion so far is only this:
between us, there is no real use for words. meaning is generated through the dialectic use of signs and semiotics ... made on the sly, off and running, something intentional or spontaneous. but in the end, having to cope with RE:action.
anger is often an extension, if not a manifestation of grief. i'm passing this silly notion off as weird chauvinism, male ego, or perverted yang.
and finally ... the language of desire has its own form of semantics. tonal gestures, the bold and the pastel ... unpredictable yet wary ... a language that not only shows us who we really are, but the way we were (ref. wheelis).
so the butterfly has flapped its wing ... and now all i can do is wait.
forecast?
tornado.
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