restore/ re-store

Don't think I've been fully present thus far.
If things were more interesting, I feel, maybe I'd invest more.

The learning regarding the technical side of things is only starting to kick in - and I'm thankful for that. Making art is a beautiful process; I'm being pushed in my writing, in my observations of the world. I'm more intuitive, but I need to be even more driven as well. Most of my poems are on www.jupiterriot.tumblr.com so check that out :)

I still want November to be a month of change.
I haven't cried in a long while, and I still can't cry. There has been an internal implosion within; I feel like I'm parts of a space shuttle exploding in space, and all the parts are drifting away from each other - it's painfully slow. Another part of me feels like there's a huge stone stuck inside of me, in my chest. And I can't get it out. And somehow, through this pain, there is nothing beautiful in the light.

What is at the core?

I was lying on the sofa yesterday, praying. God showed me a camel with two humps in a desert, and a well with water that I knew was clear, because I could see it in my mind's eye but what surprised me was how thick it was. I stared and stared because it was the thickest water I'd ever seen. Then I thought about the relation between the well, the camel and the desert.

What I've learnt about the desert: where God meets us - you think you'd get lost in the wilderness, but that's where God meets you; that's where you are found. He meets you when you realise you are completely dependent on him and when you trust Him to have already gone before you in preparation and expectation.

Well: Jesus as Living Water, that refreshes, restores, replenishes.

The camel was new to me. It reminded me of this verse that I based a poem's title on.
Jeremiah 2:23-25 says:

"See how you behaved in the valley;
consider what you have done.
You are a swift she-camel
running here and there,
a wild donkey accustomed to the desert,
sniffing the wind in her craving--
in her heat who can restrain her?
Any males that pursue her need not tire themselves;
at mating time they will find her.
Do not run until your feet are bare
and your throat is dry.
But you said, "It's no use!
I love foreign gods,
and I must go after them."

It's interesting because we aren't supposed to become accustomed to the desert. We're not meant to get used to spiritual drought. Silly analogy but that's why I have a huge bottle of cocoa butter lotion in my room. But why don't I 'moisturize' my walk with God more?

Also, about the camel. Wikipedia says this:

1. Camels do not directly store water in their humps as was once commonly believed. The humps are actually reservoirs of fatty tissue: concentrating body fat in their humps minimizes the insulating effect fat would have if distributed over the rest of their bodies, helping camels survive in hot climates.

1. I like this because I'm allowed to be fat. Nomnom.
2. The camel is still ultimately dependent on water; my soul is still entirely dependent on Christ as Living Water.
3. The whole storage thingy going on: to store God's word in the heart when trials and tribulations come, not just to survive but to prosper, to thrive. To bear fruit that lasts.

I can't see anything in the blinding light, but something tells me to trust. I need to trust the One who made the galaxies much, much more. That even after this slow-ass ex/im-plosion, I know there's something to look forward to. Because that way, I'll get to see the stars without any distraction.

Faithful

In silence, we clink
our plastic cups

to co-existence.

convex sky 

the shape of wooden bubbles

I have been meaning to rot

but my pupils are stuck to yours

see-through glass is

material made to bend;

we break diamonds for a living

but I still honk like a caged goose

I'm a free thinker but

the Oceans harp on 

songs of salt crystals, trailing

white, blazing

steel, touching 

fingers, running

over two bruised fruits,

the kindest stains on your skin

yes, most kindly,

until side by side, the

dotted line slices down 

the Adam's apple;

she can taste you while 

I take a bite of fettered breath.

I crunch down but god,

the echo feels like 

glass in my mouth.

Cry after Orgasm

you broke my heart

from across the table:

one draw of smoke

and i wasn't there

all intensity  

lost to the night

falling

into a sleek slice of

cold air, cold space

selfish / jealous cut

    t    tt  ttt   ttttttt      tt     t

hands too warm to say “hold”

and there i was,

searching for some higher form of healing

to cure some higher form of heartache

man.

i was far,

far

gone

Mud Feud

When we are dry, we are drought.

Nothing overflows. 

The mouth is scorched

through and through: a 

Dry crevice 

That cannot close.

But in the mud feud, you

lick me like a core commandment:

Your hands the soothing of thunder,

Your bones the first smiting of lightning

Your gaze the holiest drops of rain—

I can hear your face.

The inner voice where 

The pain breaks

         '                         '

                    '   

               '            ''

     ''

           '''         '         ''                            

      

    ''''                                  ' ''

        '        '''         

                            '

and you smell like petrichor 

once more. 

So sing me like a song of Solomon

Forgive this prostitute heart, I am

Unashamed. Brazen.

But as long as you still expect the storm,

I'll run back

Chest first into wet arms,

The heart bowed in service

Like a happy, flippant Prodigal cunt.