outside my window (4am writing)

outside my window are scary voices
that seem to want to come in.
as we grow older we think that we outgrow monsters
but we only grow into them, giving them names and personalities
as we get more specific amplifing our fear. because we beleive it to be more true.


outside my window
at 4 in the morning were
thugs,gangstas and every other ugly word we have for people with loud and slightly angry voices.
I've shifted from them at the bus stop and been afraid to meet their glance. these are the acts that someone would have the right to call me racist for. but really my softer self says it is only pantsist. with our fear we feed their anger and their need to show the world their worth. by driving off quickly in cars and maybe being unlucky enough to die. every time I look away instead of looking them, anyone, any person, in the eye and showing them they exist, I've failed. And yet the fear clenches.
tonight I left the window open. what began as paralysis became a conscious choice. I had to convince myself to read the laughter, the noise and the disconcerting loudness as friends talking at night. like I do with my friends. Like I do with mine. said the logic trying to drown out the cramping stomach muscles. It would be much easier for them to stay outside than try to enter. plus they have no interest in my house. or in anyone's. that thought never even crossed their minds, or maybe it did. but not enough to make them enter a casual thought is a far cry from a deed. Eventually that won out as the truth over: this is a bad neighbourhood.there was no interest in my house anyway. though I do understand now why people call the police on voices in a neighbourhood, and why people get arrested for "disturbing the peace". feeling vulnerable and violated when the voices enter believing that the physical being isn't far behind. that the monster we shoved out from under the bed and out the door is back and screaming for vengeance. usually it's only our fear that we are dressing up and naming.

It's probably not praticularly well explained but I guess I railing at the fact that we don't look behind what people portray at why they protray it, we don't see them fully as people because in that split second when fear beckons it is easier to slam the window shut than wait to hear through it.

outside my window (4am writing)

outside my window (4am writing)

4am writing 5am cleaning.

5am finch:

sprinklers making small patches of rain

coyote

almost utter emptiness, with a few early risers with backpacks and eyes still bleary to the day ahead thrown in.

ghosts in the graveyard and the intoxicating smell of flowers.

I now know what my ghosts are like.

they sound like wind but rattle more

to show they are alive.

it is a sweeping gust and it whines a little.

they sweep the sidewalks between the graves make the little leaves patter

I can't really describe it afterall, go out and see it for yourself.

The utter vast emptiness of the parking lot at Promenade

proving to the world it's useless ness

when there are cars there it's harder to see it. but now. it is evident.

all around me grey grey grey.

the small outnumbered patch of trees has vast-ly more use

they do. something.

they breathe. and wave.

the most peaceful passengers on earth.

the empty lot just sits.

but the silence is nice

the expanse is nice

it leaves you bewildered,

as you should be

when bowing down before nature

at the dawn of the day.

(even cars parked on the grass, that would slowly turn to dirt would be better,at least it would have the semblane of being alive, it would at least it would be brown not gray. )