Its like a muffle that wont close shut. The pain in my chest that pumps and continues and lives even if I tell it to stop. The pulse that forever lingers so lonely so free, so vacant in a place destined for fulfillment, but why must that be? I hate that fate is a facade we must create in order to go. Go where we ask ourselves. As the days break and the sun, somewhere lost in space, finds the time to give us light, that is still not enough. I want more, but I don’t know why, not even where, how the fuck am I supposed to feel when the universe is a calling me there? Why me I ask? How could this smiling face hide such dismantled distortion so well? They ask why I smile, I say because I am happy. A lie I never ever lie about. But wait, what about God and love and trust? Or wait lets not forget the cries that cringe our souls that we do nothing about. The hate that triggers our destiny or the destinies of those who don’t even see it coming. The war the battle, my life, the hassle. I sit up and stare. Staring into a room with closed windows, no air. No life, whatsoever. But its all in my thoughts. All in this suction of projected sanctions I know all to well. Now leave me be, as I try my hardest to fall back asleep and finish this dream.
Bri Lopez
Soulfully Universal
Preaching With Pedro
Instead of me writing a mesh of things I think I know nothing about, I will admit that I am only posting because I haven’t done so in a very long time. Shame on me to let what I created go to waste when I know no one else will do it but me. That’s kind of like life right? We tackle obstacles and get bored or discouraged and say “to hell with it,” but then sob in our own sorrows for not completing what we started. Sucks huh? But thats life and in life we learn, so don’t ever say no one has ever told you different. Im telling you now. Now let me go and apply my own theories and logic to my own life situations. Amazing how we can preach and lecture on whats right and wrong and make the same effin mistakes all the time, but hey that’s life and in life we learn.
By the way, the pictures are those of my cat Stuff, well his real name is Pedro, but I call him stuff. Thought he was cute to look at why I spew a few inspirational to do’s at you.
Blessed
More Than Yesterday
Today, tomorrow means more than yesterday.
I have yet nothing else to say as my pride chases sanction in the presence of a sound by Adele’s “HomeTown Glory.” The strictest of keys jolting my memories, flashing my life, holding me hostage while my mind knows not what to write. But in regards to all we know, all we are and all we will become, Today, Tomorrow means more than yesterday. Remember.
A Distant Distinction
Sometimes it’s the closest of things that occupy the furthest of our imaginations. Pay attention to the Distant Distinctions.
The Crisis of My Identity
Currently, as we speak, or as I write, my identity is parlayed in a time where I know not who I am. Am I wrong for not up rising to the discovery of one self, as we all so desperately strive for in our everyday lives? Am I ashamed at the fact that I do not know where my days of tomorrow are headed or that I can’t honestly say this is who I am? No, hell no. I would never change the mysteries of my life, the doubt in my dreams or the times I wake at night, not knowing who I be. I know who I am, I just cant explain it to ya’ll. I think that’s where the fight comes, where the camera in my hand sneaking a peek comes from. Words aren’t enough and my visual concepts are barely making it. If me not knowing who I am allows me to be who I am now, the crisis of my identity isn’t a crisis at all. Its me trying my hardest to explain to ya’ll that my identity is who I be, which isn’t a crisis at all.
Notice Me
I deleted what I wanted to say two times before I actually began writing this. I have nothing to say because right now in my life, words don’t seem to make sense anymore. But images, pictures, paintings, things that live in the still, I can hear what they mean. Instead of forcing my words to make sense of my thoughts, I just watch. This picture was taken on that same day so randomly a bit ago, in which I can tell you nothing of, but at peace this is for me. So before I continue to write the things I already told you I wouldn’t, I just want to say thank you to this lovely painting that didn’t notice I was there. We are so revolved around how “noticed” we get, that we never truly understand what it means to get noticed without wanting too. I guess I say that to say in life all we have to do is be. If we get noticed or we don’t, that doesn’t mean we don’t exist.
Prestige
A discovery of such on a walk of randomness on a day I don’t necessarily remember. Prestige. Vibrance. Excitement to say the least, as the stones and bricks a like create such a wonderment of poise and parallelity (urban dictionary shit). Prestige.
Why B&W?
B&W means everything to me. The contrast between what you see and what you want to see is so real when in B&W. Nothing can be separated, yet everything has its own space when color isn’t involved. There is no judgment, no name other than its objective. B&W means everything to me. It means emotion. It means purity. It means that I have the ability to change nothing and I cannot alter its relevance. B&W is personal, so personal that if I could, my reality would be displayed in B&W. Why? Many asks. Why do you shoot in B&W? This is my answer. B&W engraves a purity only seen when the color of judgment isn’t involved. B&W means peace, it means me.
Waiting to Understand
To understand the inevitable. To breathe everyday without the preparation of pain for the people who I love, who consume my mental strain.
I want to find a place like this. Is it in my mind or does this place really exist?
Do I base this sight off of what I see? or do I wish for something more as if what I have isn’t already enough for me.
The lessons we get from blessings or is it the blessings that teach us lessons, or am I over-thinking the once again, message?
We all know what we must do, we all know right from wrong.
We all know that at some point in time, only the chosen remain strong.
Do these attributes apply to me? Am I just as naive as those I speak of in my journal of fucked up diaries?
I pray to the sky to keep away this pondering negativity, but how can I when I feel like the man always has it in for me?
To understand the inevitable. To find places like these so that we can reassure our thoughts that the things we dream can exactly be what they seem.
Pieces From the Pages I use to Be
The pieces you regard, I use to love and live by. The pieces were increments of beliefs and desires and love. The bible to my life and yet these pieces, which once merged the space between my first and my thumb, have subsided. Fleeing like shadows when the sun pardons its beginnings, or like that moment when your tears find salvation at the tip of your chin. The pieces use to flow and the pieces use to tell my heart what my mind couldn’t dream and now the pieces, adrift. Hesitant and faint like the tone of my soul, but proud like the quake in which only God controls.
One day I’ll remember the Pieces to the Pages I use to Be, hoping these pieces and pages forgive who I’ve come to be.
Above is just a glimpse to the Pieces to the Pages I use to Be.
Pieces (words)
