I'm not a leprechaun

I'm too sticky for a double take, you only get one.

This one stare balances on the edge of disgust's first cousin "intrigue" and amity's bastard child "envy"

Im not a leprechaun ahh, that is a stereotype, well I guess since we are so hard to spot, you would only know that shalalie toting attention whore, not that I don't enjoy this attention

I'm beauty's messenger (and ex lover)

I just thought I'd tell you since I've got for the briefest moment of surprising disbelief: your gonna die and before you do you CAN live, give yourself license to...the treasure is trying

That's it, I know everyone always expects more!

Stop looking at me so I can do the poof thing

Hahahahaaaaaaa

Photo by Steve Brian.  Words by William Gillespie. 

Green Light Refraction

Huuwaaaaaaahhpoooga.  uh

Working toward the enjoyment of our notoriously nuanced kitchen

Im so lucky it Loves me loving it greening to preening

I meeeeeeeeaaaaaan, why me

Dishes disperse the doers, but ounce the drip is a clean one, that accomplishment, the done -Dom is weightless encouragement for the quitters to come and have fun

Haha

Work is encouraging? Not for some

Dishes, however whoever whenever, fever an absent ADD need to forgo

To go throw
          To blow it
                   To ...no

But I'm already done, did my bitching make it go by faster, can't be!

Haaaaaaammma oo there's the green and a little light, the kitchen is bright, and above all I try

Photo by Sadie Whitehead.  Words by William Gillespie.

Calm.

I am falling standing up,

never truly doing either for years within seconds,

staggered by the gap you have found yourself in

right between the layers of a poly amorous mackerel sky enclosed, dark and fleeting

holy shifting wonder, a light,

suddenly I want to know what cardinal direction I face

cause the smolder of ritual elation to come turns me to shadow

and I relate to a dark stage knowing it is a blemish on a sphere of possible

because I know that celebrations are kin to a storm

Surging following this current in silence

blankly inquisitive about devastation with a smile

Wondering 

                  IF

                     IF a      

                       IF a void narrative such as this becomes so strong that I cant distinguish it from my calling to pace with life

How do I know that I am here at all, much less catch up 

does anyone visit this moment

Devoid of me 

all that is known is that this presence i am filling feels a vacuum full

Every moment subsequent calls in unison with the one before

doors open and close

Photo by Fred Watford.  Words by Will Gillespie.

Far from Torn

Far from Torn

                                                      my mess comforts me 

                                    i know i have filled the room with intent...attempt

                                                             at least I embrace my mistakes

                                                                                       course mostly trash waiting till I purge my space

                                                                                but every articulation runs its course, no waste

                       

                    eventually needing sensoring...and as i edit i warm

 saying no to something presently means

 i am living presently and working presentfully

this mess looks of one who has something to say

                                                                                             and even if i don't

                                                                                             i love the action more than the idea

                                                                          drowning the room against an ideal to be trashed 

to be insulation made of getting it wrong from getting it right

my mistakes validate me

Failer means i tried,

crumpling means i started, 

so,

                                                  i can allow the wrongs to be heaped...while...

                                                                     writing tools know their place and so too the fresh paper

                                                  if my world could edit, i'd get tired of it

wait what was I gonna Right??

Acrylics in frantic strokes layering questions round

Photo by Caroline  Näslund.  Words by Will Gilliespie.

Laugh Later

Panting...Ding

Immediacy

vivid immediacy

i lost my wallet, my job, and i'm sure my kid is still in wally world (If i still have one)

i've won a million dollars, but can't find the ticket

all the room has color and infinite investment 

my life becomes the donation...in good faith...

every direction to go and no decision in sight

not a maze but just me lost with me

beams of lucky charm flavor Lucidity

every direction seeming more promising than the last

what will become of me...something MUST be done...and fast

i know that every second has lifetimes worth of consequences and possibility ,so,

every moment I reflect in stead of ACT begets a wholey unique living lense of the world

crystalizing this feeling for my unfelt generations to come

I've got too many jewels for holding still

Dotingly Negating Avarice 

acrylics of questioning all round me

no wonder we love watching eachother

a TASTE of this moment 

a light bulb irradiating immediacy 

and the meal is sweet so long as we don't know who is donated

because just as beautiful as my struggle becomes, it once alluded nothing and it was ugly sinking

JUST GO

Painting by Randy Conner.  Words by Will Gillespie.

Toe Calligraphy

i like to keep my Head down
          i don't Meet passerby Gaze
                        i don't Get a Fake hello
                                    a Bro-ish head Nod
                                                 a Shy recoil
                            Judgement aplenty with Sadness under every look
                 fabricated Impressions are easier to swallow
                     rubber Soles don't remind me of what i will Never
                                                                 Understand

            ...

muffled toe cacophonies Deposit the ever changing calligraphy of what is
                        Strides can't lie

                     my Phone can't lie

 while in step i need a Reason to Leave the plane of contact
                      i Take my phone Apart constantly
                                      Stretching the phone case on and off

to let the Truth or Simplicity of the machine out
   then to Quickly  Encase it again so that maybe it can relate to me


have u ever seen someone take their shoes on and off Again
                                                     Again
                                                     Again in a tick
                   
                             its the same thing
                                                     Shedding
                                                     Putting on
                                                     Clothing

                                something Ultimately Transient

       a Sea of unseen feet making unseen Footprints on unseen soil

it's the Eyes that Lack cushion

                 i Invest in the Journey
                                  Appreciate the ground covered

Heads Meet Fake Bro-ish shy sadness
Judgement Impressioning Soles to Never Understand the Deposit of Strides
Phones give Reasons to Take Apart the Stretching Truth
Quickly looking for Simplicity Encased AgainAgainAgain
while Shedding then Putting on Clothing
Ultimately only Transient Footprints in a Sea Eyes
Investing in what the Group Lacks

Journey to Appreciate

Photo by Amanda Grupp. Words by Will Gillespie.

droplets

life hurdles droplets of reflection at you perpetually
causing a brittle ripple in the pool of our focuses
making desperate the distinction of one’s inspiration or ignorance
party or pinpoint
staggering notions of the amazing     coincidental     intangible

it's that feeling when all the world      universe      you are in a gleam, a brick
when it seems billions of conspiring gnomes made your realization possible…
their grand decoy…no come-on

your staring at water on a window pane and the ramen won't cook itself…
but still it mumbles

then when doubt’s ripple settles and the surface returns to glass
the shower of rain becomes a meteor one…
and the haze of oranges, reds, and yellows widens into solar systems light years apart
the pattern of awe turns to a questioning one…and back…

oh shit neon’s of blue hue were within this palette?

you will always remember this spot, this light, and most of all this feeling
you thought of unfathomable things
you truly loved for a moment something that happens but once…
you appreciated loosing focus on your habits in habitat
layering your reflections on reflection’s face
a gifted moment never to have back, and yeah I like that…

Photo by Sadie Myers.  Words by Will Gillespie.

the man and his myth

Have you heard the legend of the man and his myth,

A mammoth life all lined up,

His godly glass half full,

Reeling through this feeling abyss,

Drinking his way through, while over the river Styx, I mean Ricks…?

And maybe just maybe…well

See, this tall tail of a man,

Carrying the width of monstrous truths long since forgot,

Making his living on maybes, broadcasting maybes,

His shirt longs for a maybe, His hat, his smile, his swollen hands, and his beard…even when hot

See, Myth or not, what we all wait for he already has,

His place will be forever held in line,

His face will forever allude his time,

And his path will always be the envy of mine, maybe.

If you see this man, stop him and extract the titans of wisdom he feared and maybe just maybe he wont feel so old… Or weird

Though…

Make no mistake,

His image is eons in the making,

His longing maybes are his divinity, and his demeanor his lightning bolt…

Photo by Tyler Ross. Words by Will Gillespie.

Really Now

Really,

My reflection is eating me beautifully,
I am everything I see,
I interpret me through the…

Creating and discovering me at ounce,
Often seeing my future is reading the signs of it around me,
And seeing signs of my past has held more weight than the moment they reflect,
Without trying, my past and future spill into now,

Authentic,
Inauthentic,
Real,
Unreal,

Its not about what I want as much as what my want is a reflection of…

Faking it, isn’t really,
Making due with, isn’t really,
And really it isn’t for me in the end…

Which is the reflection? ME OR THE …Really?

Photo by Amanda Grupp.  Words by Will Gillespie.