I love iPhone notes.

I get drunk and write myself reminders for the next day. I write shopping lists, grande epiphanies, whimsical and all other kinds of stuff.
I like to ask folks what their oldest “note” is. Its funny because it’s usually not note worthy.
But lo’ and behold! There it is, at the time there was nothing more sensible than writing that down.

Myself, i’m an avid jotter. I do love a quick scribble in the iPhone notes.
My oldest “note” is a poem. It’s pretty crappy, I wrote it when I was lost in Tours a few hours south of Paris. Waiting for my girlfriend at the time to finish teaching her class and come rescue me.

22/1/2012 *1057 days ago. -I realise I’ve had this phone for a while.

Tick:

Tonight I walk,
The path home,
Alone by choice.
Wondering what makes us tick.
Our hearts and brains make us thick.

Hearts tell love untruths,
While brains decipher,
And say in love we find.

I walk alone
Tonight it seems
Alot is on my mind.

Thoughts of love
Thoughts of games
And some a different kind.

Sometimes the walk alone reveals,
quite a different side,
A side that hopes and pines for things.
The likes you’ve never had.
Thoughts, I now clarify
as neither good nor bad.

What does it mean, o’everything.
The feeling in-between.
I just feel raging grey I say.
A caring grey, angry and swirling.
Limitless by void expression.

To compare to others is a pin
needle, among the hay.
I wish I had a smile like you,
‘you know the other day’.

Depression and being depressed
are two very separate things.
One from being alone too long,
the other just a mark.
Marks come in all and every size.
Marks tell us where we’ve been,
and if we’ve been unwise.
Marks for girls and guys alike,
some can be disguised.
Though not as topical for you and me,
it’s certainly on the rise.

The clear sky, the dripping tap,
the fatally awful feeling.
Rest is needed but the stained glass,
though appealing.
Reveals your life is stealing.

Stealing away, from you.

If you ask me…

“is there anything I can do to help”

You’ve already failed, in helping me.

-initiative.

Pray, do not speak to me of weather
Not sun, not cloud, not of the places
Where storms are born
I would not know of wind shivering the heather

Nor sleet, nor rain, nor of ancient traces
No stone grey and worn
Pray, do not regale the trouble of ill health
Not self, not kin, not of the old woman
At road’s end
I will spare no time nor in mercy yield wealth
Nor thought, nor feeling, nor shrouds woven
To tempt luck’s send
Pray, tell me of deep chasms crossed
Not left, not turned, not of the betrayals
Breeding like worms
I would you cry out your rage ‘gainst what is lost
Now strong, now to weep, now to make a fist and rail

On earth so firm
Pray, sing loud the wretched glories of love
Now pain, now drunken, now torn from all reason
In laughter and tears
I would you bargain with the fey gods above
Nor care, nor cost, nor turn of season
To wintry fears
Sing to me this and I will find you unflinching
Now knowing, now seeing, now in the face
Of the howling storm
Sing your life as if a life without ending
And your love, sun’s bright fire, on its celestial pace
To where truth is born.

|Malazan Book of the Fallen Series|
-By Steven Erikson.

I let my mind wander today and came up with Metaphor Misapplication.

-I started trying to solve real issues in a nonsensical fun kind of way, and promptly lost track.

Global warming is like a child wearing too many jumpers.

I can’t afford dinner like a duck can’t be a dentist for chickens.

The food was off, like a pillow with a hole through it.

Paul liked mice in the same way underpants are blue.