Thirty Six!

Day Thirty Six:  Writing Rampage 101

Caution:  I let myself have a bit of time and go nuts here, so, well, it’s lovely for me but probably less so for you.  My apologies in advance, enjoy it anyway.

The huntsmen.  The hunt men?  The hunting men?  The hundred acres they hunted, underneath the bush, hunting men underneath the bush crossed hundreds of acres before finding the targets, prior to finding, pre, before mounting they realized that beyond this bush, beyond those mountains, was so much more.

The hunting men drove on, amidst the dogs and deer, until they could see in plain sight that before them laid their targets.  Not outlined, not running red with clarity, but they were there.  Was it something about the desire that drove each of them forward?  The deer played thoughtfully around them, and yet the hooves remained still in the flourish of the target.  The target.  Target?  Desired?

The desired was something so much more than what it was meant to be, but only in the eyes of the hunting.  Such a passive thought it is to be hunting something that is unrealised to you.  As if while suiting up that morning the hunting men thought to themselves they were going to shoot anything but deer, or in most of their cases simply nothing.  Is hunting that important to anyone, really?  Or is the validation ofs the shoot satisfying enough?

International craving of desire, the hunt is a crave, a thrive, a desire for…well, desire.  Sometimes it is a chase, sometimes it is something more of a hunt, pathologically tracing the footsteps, counting the prints, attempting to use every touching smelling scent to incorporate into their desire.  As if there was anything else for a hunting man to do but hunt with his whole.  Is a being true without a sense?  Does a hunter who loses his senses a hunter no more?  Or a being at all?  Senses define, senses dispel mysteries, senses deduce desires.  Is the desire in front of behind?  Arms outreached, you’d think the bows would have dropped.

In the short grasp of any hunter’s span of attention lays a target, but in these cases the deer played beside their horses’ feet.  Do hunting men hunt on horses any longer?  Or is this a lost image?  Have bows been replaced?  Have desires changed?  Is modernity passed all of these things that although I no longer hunt I hold dear to me?  Is a hunter a hunter without a sense of weaponry?  What is hunting if not looking for the end?

The funniest thing about a hunter is that they never admit defeat.  They never surrender.  A hunter is a hunter through and through, even when finished hunting those desires remain.  Would it be selfish to assume that although I’ve never hunted in my whole life I can only wish to be desired in such a way that I imagine hunting would be?  Or perhaps I have hunted, but more in such a tempting way that I haven’t even noticed.  Is it possible not to notice?  I think the bow would give it away.

So would the mountains, there’s always something getting in your way.  Is it not nauseating to think that with full bellies of thrill-seeking lust a hunter mounts in order to defeat?  Cause a crushing blow to some other’s hunt?  Is hunting even a competition?  Or would it be better stated as something of a triumph over the last hunt?  Depends on the desire I think, but then again, I don’t think much like a hunter, I think more like the playful deer.

Could it only be enough to want

Do reasons portray necessity

In such a demanding moment?

True enough there is only one hunt

And that is for the final desire,

The thrill, I suppose, that only true

Desiree’s contain, deep inside all

Particles that driving force enough for

Reasons, so insignificant within the today’s.

Craving one too many hunters, I must say,

Standing witness to those complaints virtuous of

A hunter’s chase, they crave the speed,

They crave the desire, but offer none in return

So empty, so empty and steaming hot

Because there are no negative passive no’s

For those who believe that they deserve that desire.

Desire for themselves, though, for them to be desired, that’s all.

Could it be a complaint though?  Those of us

Remaining in the dark?

Lost in this hundred acre wood, are we?

Could we announce ourselves as the hunters?

Or, in turn, reduce ourselves to those wanting the chase?

Bi-regular, bi-triumphant, bi-annual,

Trust me there’s more to it than bi-anything.

So understanding all of the everyday thoughts

Contains focus, more than I care to suggest,

And with all of these nonchalant

Are we lost in the physiology of attributes

Once held so low, so low compared to those of the flesh

Could it be that we all desire just one comfortable moment

Is it painful to feel all of those things at once? Is it..binomial

Transient, your translucent meanings amidst your darkness,

I’m lost in the hundred acre woods,  the robin boy has left me to shame,

Is he hunting?

after writing and looking this over I realize that it's not cohesive, but to be fair this is a first rough, and this is my own blog for me to try to express my own writing, this is how I begin writing anything.  I get all of the idea's that I want out of my head, and then sift through them later.  

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