Typewriter Series #419 by Tyler Knott Gregson
Text for Tired Eyes:
At this exact instant on this exact planet
there are more people than you, or I, or anyone else
would ever care to admit, that are buried beneath
the weight of wasted time.
The shoulds and supposed tos and becauses and jobs
and money and requirements and responsibilities
add up and pile up and entomb us.
How many miles separate how many people
from the lives they should be leading,
the people they should be loving and the moments
they will never get back?
The justification of this frustration
paints a glossy veneer of happiness over the rust
of the truth hiding below it.
It’s the realization of our encapsulation
that cracks the paint and lets the color fade.
When do we forget the value of what we hold
and when do we forget to care about the burying
we submit ourselves to?
Somewhere a much younger version of ourselves is staring into the future
raising tiny fists, clenched into the air
and screaming a wordless warning that falls on
deaf ears that age has stolen sound from.
We see ourselves and we see the meaning we’ve assigned
to meaningless things;
we see the imagination running off the pages we painted,
watercolors evaporating and leaving behind only blank
canvas, only dry brushes.
Hasn’t the time come to stop this, to put water
to the burning of our futures by the flames of our
past restrictions? Has not the time arrived to
mix the color in the water and dip the brush,
dried an atrophied and lonely from the waiting it too
Live life like you love to live and make that life
the one you’ve been waiting for.
At this exact instant you and only you
can rise from the layers of wasted time,
drive your hand through the sediment and
feel the sunlight on your fingers.
Rob Bell, Drops Like Stars
She considered everything she recorded like an entry in her diary. “It’s like writing a lot of personal things down on the page,” she told me, “and wanting them just right so that when other people see it they’ll see how it was and how you really felt.” - Donn Hecht, writer of “Walkin’ After Midnight”
A classic beauty and a talented artist. Inspired by Patsy Cline. (at Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum)
I don’t know what I’m looking at most of the time
I also don’t know why humans focus more on
the reasons why we don’t look at you
instead of actually just looking for you.
I also wonder how many times I stare at a wall
while you wave your hands in front of me
hoping I’d believe you were doing…