the voice we hear in our heads.

the voice we hear in our heads.

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

why is my inner voice
not my own?
but I hear so clear
this voice, my mind, my thoughts
a direct action network crossed
the sound of my voice seems foreign to me
not from another land
but definitely from another person
so that is what people hear?
a different intonation in their ear
and that is me- ?
but I can not hear myself (truly)
this filter is biased
there is no doubt
or all doubt
how can I be sure
might I borrow yours (ears) for a moment
like headphones
or ear buds
so I might hear myself, as you do, as you might
but that is not the point
I point out
the doubt
can anyone else hear me, as I truly am
in my own head
in this theater I have led, all these years
my stage, my soapbox, my podium
will the technological trick ever exist
to link my voice to this?

notes.. my point? have you ever listened to yourself? on a recording? damn… I suppose yes, I think everyone must these days, not so much when I was growing up (or not), but now it is an inevitable thought… is that REALLY what I sound like? and how do I converse with myself with a different voice in my head? surely it is not nearly the same that projects out for others to ingest.. so strange, I hear a voice in my head so different than the sound what is released to the masses, that out of balance seems baked into my cake… but who knows? your thoughts I ask ? or should I not impose? as I can only hear your voice in word which is not the voice to which I refer, but yet… which do you prefer?

and… whimsy…

and… whimsy…

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

“trixter“

a quip, a whip
a backhanded compliment you say?
I’m not sure I swing that way
although you wear, quite a pear
fruit of the loom, I presume
dare I say?
a sharp bite, a stinging bow
so who’s to know?
as I sprinkle a pinch of dream
over your simmering dinner bowl
a barb, a frayed wire
tugging on your string to implore
you accuse me of being a liar
but honestly I only sell you half truths
what am I to do?
if you decide to greedily-swallow-them whole
…as holy true?

notes… just some weirdness that crept into my mind tonight on my not so moonlight drive on the way home from work tonight… some times, like this time, my mind drifts to the silly, to the whim, the muse needs a laugh now and again… and again, or just the absurdity of life, the supposed hierarchy, famous, celebrity, the unknown, in the end… well, the equation always equals one thing, so have a ride, grab an all day sucker, or yourself, enjoy…

PS: before I forget, all your comments, thoughts, criticisms, invectives and chile recipes are always appreciated, I mean this is my space.. but a shared space in that.. so… what do you think?

Sanity Drive…

Sanity Drive…

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

(stream of consciousness)

although admittedly I might succumb, I feel more numb, not depressed, in some strange way, refreshed, yes, I unzipped the lining out of my once beefy winter coat so I might feel the winter more, on my face, a brace, somehow, in these days where darkness seems the norm, upon dreary storm days, ice roads snarl, ice roads tease out the common sense or little good sense from fellow travelers, and I am at there dispense, or scowls, but feel no road rage back into their mirrored fallow, no, happy warrior ? hardly, detached ? maybe, not sure why I am so non plussed getting cut off by a commuter bus that is not even supposed to be in my lane, I guess I am ‘staying in my lane‘, as they say, regardless of the cars flying up my butt, to go where? I suppose that nano-second apparition of the space of a square two cars in front of me, the anatomy of the shuffling, no checkered flag, no trophy, just wake up, wind up, do it all again for no sake, no, not today, not for this one, not dropping my ten cents of sanity for a little ball of gum dispensed by the machine, I have no real reason to complain, my life remains all the same, even with the turn of a new year page, unless I grab the pen, and compose something utterly inspiring, maybe tomorrow, or the next, today I am ok with just cruising along, the little twenty-odd six miles long, I probably could close my eyes and count the mile markers in thought by thump, my display, my care, or lack thereof, is probably pissing the other ragers off, some, I am sure, want to bump me off, but today, I am just not engaged, I should be like so everyday, for my own mental health I guess, but the temptation, the titillation, the adrenaline mainlined to a higher octane is such a draw, I hate to admit it is even sometimes fun, but the act of burning is a dangerous one to engage in constant, fire is a hard beast to tame, if ever, I wonder if the fuel is at a higher cost than it seems for the slight thrill retained, but then again, aren’t all guilty pleasures built of the same seductive flame?

going old school with my musical pick this evening, I am sure most people only know Smoke on the Water… and yeah, from a simplicity stand point that riff is gold… but this is pretty cool and really demonstrates the sound bridge of the era (arcing between the 60’s/70’s before real metal). I don’t know why I broke into a music lesson tonight… but I did…

lost.love.letters.

lost.love.letters.

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

sometimes you come across unexpected things when cleaning, a forgotten article, a book, clothing… or a photo, dated on the back 10.99, a lifetime ago, but the impact is still a sinking-hole feeling inside, a sick feeling to reside, something, something I have never been able to shake, HER, the one, the one, there has been no cure, no elixir, no remedy, no replacement, at least so far, all these years, you begin to question, you wonder, wonder if you are a lost cause, or just flat out insane in some manner, but the feeling, the feeling is so raw, so guttural, ripping into your core that I can not ignore, am I just a broken person of the heart? the worst part, of course, is I blame myself for most of what happened, the separation, retrospect, of course is an easy road, but does that mean it is incorrect? I suppose, I feel (or am) broken, knowing that all of us are, somewhat, to lesser or more degrees, but knowing that does not soothe the driven cold spike I feel on moments like these, I don’t think I will ever truly be healed even if I pray to be, and I argue with myself, looking around at the world, do I even deserve a reprieve, when I can not even begin to forgive myself.. 10.99… October of 1999 – I wish to an inch of my death I could hold you close again, just once more, to feel your heartbeat and your warmth as we are one, just once more, as the reality of that memory is so faded now – those immediate memories, just the empty chasm of regret and pain… I wish I had a higher IQ of the heart, back then… I miss you, still, if you only knew, if you could only know, how sorry I am, how much, I am forever to dwell, in your love, and how much I will always love you, wrapped within myself now… within myself until the end of times, where I hope to see you, for that is all that keeps me alive…

notes… this was stream of consciousness, the photographic record of us is not large, I doubt she even has one of me, I can count only a handful, but the time we spent, two stars of different galaxies aligned somehow… there has never been anyone else but her, I have tried, replacements, forgetfulness, time… no, none of it was worked, but I am still alive, so there is always hope, even as my years fade into time, at least I had that time, and I would walk there gladly again, even in delusion, even in dementia, or anything, the pain of separation is the poison that dims the light of my soul.

dawn of a new year… (s.o.c.)

dawn of a new year… (s.o.c.)

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

gateway into a new dawn, or just another calendar to begin, a promise mixed in with the cracked confections of fortune, to you my friends, a toast, a glass, a raised hand, enlightened spirit, with a spirit in hand perhaps, just the gesture, an upward thrust, trust enough to not break the pane on another glass, for that glorious ding, that clarion belt, a countdown to hail resolutions heart felt, the optimism of a full glass soon downed empty, to be refilled, a night to reflect on the act of a closing play, to pick up the newly minted playbill to see what may be coming attractions, all hope and no bad reviews, a stellar cast, some new, some familiar, some left behind, some gone to pasture, the stage remains vaguely the same, the entrance and exit clearly marked, those do not seem to change by any age, so what will this host year bring? comedy? tragedy? drama? or a rom-com unseen? probably all of these, and we hoist a glass for the best of these, for days to come, nights to pass, every waking moment a miracle until the last.

notes… so yeah, I am doing the hack new year’s thing… it only happens when I am actually inspired, and so I was, so the sentiment was real even if it seems obvious to make a new year’s post.. I do have hope for the new year… don’t we all? the swell is so obvious as you watch the ball… but should it take that? why not turn your life around january 15th? or august 8th ? well… it doesn’t matter really, all that matters is how you travel down the road from now, pause at a rest area, take a deep breath, a little inventory of things, and go on, weather or circumstance be damned… we need to just plow ahead… life, truly is short, in the throes of youth it is ignored, but as time goes on… it goes on… so get on with it…

(s.o.c.) is stream of consciousness for those new to my little corner of the universe…

dilemma (a short)

dilemma (a short)

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

sentiment, reality though.
I never seem to have the time
to properly metamorphosize
so will I ever be…
externally
who I am, to be ?

notes… and so I ask you (yes you) what are we meant to be? are we free? (to be?) I’m not so sure sometimes, and others I am a blustered fool spitting in the face of an obvious tornado, what an odd fellow, one of my neighbors has a rooster now, I hear it in the morning, thankfully it is on the next block or my neighbor might not be waking up…

PS: if you have a word reaction to my work, send it in, the best I will tag back onto my post, as a reaction? a question? a continuation ? sure… any of these, so if I invoke a response from your muse… please share…

the consequence of bile… (s.o.c.)

the consequence of bile… (s.o.c.)

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

the consequence of bile, the hoarding of poison, the purpose of same, in actuality I am not painting myself as some viper or venomous snake, or perhaps I am, for the sake of this context, certain things annoy me, let’s say, push my buttons so to speak, but who is in real control of such things, do I lie in wait like an ambush predator ready to strike when given the predicted stimuli, yes, I must admit I do, but why? should I just let the rain swipe off my back like rain on a duck’s ass, instead of being an actual ass? yes, probably, would be better to avoid toxin to store and use, why bother with the poison at all, I guess that is my point, as I caught myself this morning, recoiling at a co-worker’s obvious intent to ruin my mood, but if I respond with kind (not “in kind”) the button of my tolerance gets rather stepped on merely than pushed, as if the throttle wants to go full open tilt, “kill them with kindness” when I just want to kill them, figuratively of course, I am no beast, well, at least not until Friday’s most weeks… the “ignore” does not seem to work either I’m afraid, the lack of action just creeps up my back not so subtlety, like a rolling volcano boulder up into my neck, causing the hairs to stand up and stir and cry “what the heck!” (or more likely more ‘colorful’ language… if I am to be fair), so easy in moments that pass to judge and say what would do, much less of an impress to put on those shiny goggles of hindsight (as I am now), I wish there was a trick, a magic one would suffice, where as I could slow down time and think things out, but that is not going to happen (no matter how much I study the arcane), the answer (I propose) is preparation, scenario recognition, they say life is too short, for a great many things, probably for toxin as well, but the gulch of what we know and what we do varies in the seasons…

epilogue: I caught myself this morning, being mean for no sheer reason, although I know I was being prodded, I need to work on myself, does it matter in the long run? probably not, but it matters to me, there is no reason to be terse just to be a jerk, or to live up to my reputation of same, even if I have to bite my lip, I should, there is no use spreading disdain in this world, our lives are too short, it is hard to remember that in the moment though as we play our roles, but I guess my acknowledgement shows some growth, not a trophy though, not a finish line, I must remember… to be kind. because, why not?

sunshine of the mind (s.o.c)

sunshine of the mind (s.o.c)

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment
Photo by Sachin C Nair on Pexels.com

is sunshine a state of mind? a phase? a path? I wonder… can I sustain as a beaming light, or will I fade, from the very nature of my humanity, which supports both and the same, to be a beacon, a guide, while being a scion on my own ride, so easily derailed, even before I have begun to embark, at times, so easy to distract, to deride, to find reasons for treason against a good tide, as to what the sculptor knows, vastly a different job from actual chisel in hand, and I know, you know, we all know these truths, they are not static, or some arcane formula that needs to be derived or teased out from numbers, no, they are naked bare, out for all to comply, if they care, or to be ignored, or tossed casually on the floor, that is the temptation, what makes the truth so grave, easy to identify, easy to shove aside, ’tis not a plow or a yoke, perhaps that feel when the field is against the grain and flow of humanity about, perhaps, but handed gilded gifts never callous hands do make, some prefer the hand out, I suppose, am I different? depends on the day, the question, all that I wrap myself around in tizzy for, but at the core, the threads of truth remain, like the light of each coming day, for night is a temporary thing, shadows are a cause not a spring – should I enlighten? and let sunshine become, a state of mind.

note… this is always my dilemma, I want to be a pure beam of light, so why can’t I be, I mean, I can, but I don’t but should… but to what end? such is the war in my heart and mind, what to do with my time, if it matters, or not, or should it? all the damn questions… and yeah, I am going to start marking some of my posts (s.o.c) for stream of consciousness, so if you like those posts more (or less) you can avoid or consume them at your behest…

the nature of a voice.

the nature of a voice.

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

voices are distinct, such as we, think about how much goes into a particular voice at any particular time, time, yes, time, genetics, body type, the evolution of ears that are around for the voice to enter, the endless amount of variables that makes a voice unique, because they all are, and then suddenly, like all things, there is silence, that distinction, that amalgamation of so many things… is gone. Never replaced by the same, there is no way to duplicate the recipe, sure, one can try, and maybe even bake something close or near a clone, but never, never to be exactly the same, so that voice has gone out, like a snuffed flame, once a life consumed, a remnant only in memory of a distinct sound, a singular voice, gone out, a golden disc, destined to roam the stars…

voices disappear
voices go out
like lights-
once guided, gilded
gilded lighthouse that surveyed the shore
gone, swallowed by the surf of years
and perhaps not all are lights
but some are
we come to trust
to guide
lessons learned
beards grow long, and grey
salt in the air
whether calm or fray
a beam we rely on
even when we know the way, so well
a voice gone
taken back into the sea
a light out
never replaced to be

notes… in tribute to my father, been a year now, he was not perfect, so neither am I. But his voice, the noise, the frequency… there is silence in that space since, his sound’s occupation is absent there… and is missed.